Down the Pike News

Duh Blonde and the Bald:

Salisbury, Nah Hampsha.

staff writer: Fanny Sharted

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It had come down the Pike that the local order but not fraternal, Bent on Bikes were called upon to perform a search and rescue.

The Angry Lesbian and Grumpy Old Man Landscaping Co., had gone missing.

Better said, Duh Blonde, from the above mentioned company found herself lost in the thicket of things.

“I had yelled and screamed for her damn near five minutes. But I’d been out back pokin’ about with dem funny lookin’ cats. Guess they liked to be called, Tea Cups. Anyways, that’s when I heard the singin….”

Grumpy Old Man, commonly known as, Mr. Clean, had told this reporter that he’d had his eye on Duh Blonde. That the two had come to an agreement to disagree and work together ’bout a year or so ago.

Mr. Clean explained futher the last known conversation with Duh Blonde.

I ran over fast as my  prosthetic would carry me. She’d been singin’ ’bout being ‘A woman and being proud and wanting to roar’ on that funny little gadget she carries with her.

I asked her, “them brakes go?”

“Yup!” she said.

I said, “well, did you put the brakes on?”

“Well, how the fuck else would I know them brakes had gone?” came her reply!

Mr. Clean stated the last notable rant he heard… is one he’ll never forget!

“Did ya’ down shift?” I asks.

“No, ya’ Peckerhead…I was doin’ my nails!”

Mr. Clean, owner of the landscaping company ended the interview with saddened tone in rustic harmony with his un-oiled metal prosthetic.

‘She just gave me the bird like she always does. I thought she was callin’ it a day…ain’t heard from her since!’



Updated editorial on local Woman Gone Missing:

As a dedicated reporter…other than the days there ain’t any A.A, meetings ’round, I felt it my duty to find Duh Blonde and put an end to speculation of tomfoolery and shenanigans.

By chance I was needing a few hair’s cut.   So I got on the trusty moped and headed down to the Harley Hair and Pool Hall. Best hair place in these parts. Always, always, always, having da’ same price no matter what fancy spin ya’ like puttin’ on ya’ self:

 Bull Dyke cuts $10 and Men’s Buzz Cut $12!

As I shoe horned my ass in the stylist chair I heard a voice from the past.

“Rack ’em up boys. I ain’t here to play with myself. Needs me some money.”

My heart sink. Duh Blonde hadn’t gone missing anywhere but here. Still fouled mouth as ever.

I asks her:

“Where ya’ been for Christ’s underwear? People’s been lookin’ all over for ya’!”

Duh Blonde in true ‘ridden hard and hung up wet’ fashion just said:

“That Mr. Clean…he’ll talk ’bout shit ya’ don’t understand. Ya’ better stick to the matter at hand before the whole damn unwinds. So…I just left him talkin’!”

Bears Watching

Just another blonde Sunday?

I have read agreed to the terms of use!
I have read agreed to the terms of use!

I have many surrogate blonde friends…I know they do what they do…just to make me feel better. They drive their truck into Stephen King-land…because the GPS told them to! They vacuum for two hours straight. Sweat pouring out of all orifices. Only to recognize the fact that that fancy vacuum cleaner and it’s vacuum cleaner head…have been turned upside down…And, indeed, they have been cleaning with the wrong side and cursing out whomever sold them the piece of ‘paid for by installments’ Kirby.

So often I find a smirk on my, cynically and clinically, filled with disdain face over these:

‘I think the people should tell the police what they know…even if they don’t know anything!’ pretend blondes.


Rustic...another term for LOST!
Rustic…another term for LOST!

While walking with arrogance and asshole corrective-ness …I thought of the Kennedy clan. Wondered, as I do often, after one of them is killed, drowned and/or missing:

‘Why the hell do those people keep putting themselves in the limelife…like they do?’


‘How the fuck can a pedometer be accurate when everyone’s shoe size is different?’

And, again, as always, I had been with the Dog and the Other Dog.

While these and other useless, I should write this shit down, vagabond thoughts beckoned me further into the woods…A Dog went missing. Mind you, I have been in these woods and up this it should be called a mountain, hill, before. Most likely, four years ago today, to be exact! Somehow or another…my parent’s set of, psycho terrier should have gotten big dogs instead,  mutt runts, got loose. How do I know? Well, either subconsciously or consciously, I had a hand in the whole sordid affair. Up and down the, you can hear the echo of a pin dropping in this the God forsaken land of Canterbury…New Hampshire; I walked with my own set of Dogs. I walked and walked and walked and walked. I even made up a joke or two.

My favorite?

‘If a blonde falls in the woods can you hear her?’


‘Not unless she has her pedometer volume up to ten!’

On that particular, antiquated day, I did not find the above mentioned Bonnie and Clyde dogs. The Dog, the Other Dog and the Blonde, however,  did find…Daddy bear, Momma Bear and Baby Bear.

Today…a little bit of herstory repeating itself…As I went further in the woods in search of…the Dog. My dog.

This is the Dog that comes for a fight when there is no fight to be found.  This Dog who brought back the memory of that fateful day four years ago. The repeated tale of ‘woe is me…you don’t know what I went through..’ spoken by my father who sat in his Dodge Dakota as I lay myself open to the world of Canterbury‘s wild kingdom.

So, the memory hits me…right! It reminds me of the assorted stupid mistakes I’ve made and how I’ll probably make some more. Off in the not far enough away woods, a snap of a twig, a branch that is aroused from slumber and a Dog. A Dog that is running faster than any Greyhound on crack could ever run. Though, near and far-sighted, I see the dark, dark, malice of her pupils. She is thinking, ‘WTF!’

Up aways, over yonder, on the embankment of broken down trees…sits Baby Bear. Baby Bear has now grown into a fine young specimen and is very near the spot where I lost my Blonde Shit…four years ago. Both the Dog and the Other Dog and I turn and make for the tar wheels on a dirt road…’bout one mile away! Out of the excitement and over my shoulder…I chastise my Dog.

‘Mattie, you are too old, too fat and too arthritic to be runnin’ off in the woods like this!’

Like the scene from Vacation where Chevy Chase is surpassed by his son due to his own arrogance…

The Dog is quickly up on my heels and straight ahead of me…High tailing it. No pun intended. Her thoughts to me?

‘Mom, you are too old, too fat and too arthritic to be running off into the woods like this!’

If you can't run with the big dogs...stay in the Subaru!
If you can’t run with the big dogs…stay in the Subaru!