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Friday, July 12, 2024

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye Episode Three Clapsaddles and Hairy Shoes

https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode-two.html

link to Aachoo Voo Episode TWO⬆️

 




Aachoo Voo, Private Eye 

Episode Three

Clppsaddles and Hairy Shoes



I was sitting in my office filing my nails when there came a soft knock on the door. My office was on the first floor of my apartment building, situated between a cafe/sandwich shop/dirty old man hang out by the unique name of Clapsaddles and The Sit and Spin Automated Laundry Mat and Lost Sock Depository and somewhat adjacent to the Alaskan Relief Charity foundation thing. (What kind of relief Alaska needed I wasn't quite up to par on yet) (more blubber perhaps?) but I dropped the occasional quarter in the donations bucket shaped like an igloo out in front of their door. There was rarely anyone ever in the office as far as I could tell. (They were probably up in Alaska delivering the quarters no doubt.) But I believed in the sowing and reaping principle myself and only hoped that should the occasion ever arise, Alaska would be there for me.

Getting to my office was like running through a maze. Everything was at all angles.The elevator rarely worked, washing machines flooded the hallways on a regular basis, little old ladies got mugged bi-weekly for their dimes as they sat waiting for the dryers to stop hoping their flannel undies didn't catch on fire. (In the dryers, I mean, not on their persons.) The wastrels that frequented Clapsaddles roamed around at all hours trying to catch some girl wandering in the maze looking for a way out. (And let's face it, it was usually me.) All that whistling and pinching and groping got to be pretty annoying after a while and I'd let out a good scream and the little old ladies would run out of the Sit and Spin and beat the hell outta them with their dime filled purses. I know those are some long run on sentences but yeah....these were long run on scenarios that would have filled the diary my mother had given me but since I knew she frequently snooped when my back was turned, I usually just made stuff up.

I kept complaining to Harold who was the manager/cook and also the under the counter illegal bartender/pt time therapist/owner of the place but he just grinned and wiped his hands on an apron that had seen it's share of battlefields and did nothing. (Imagine my face when I was eventually told that he gave free buttered toast to the man that could make me scream the loudest.) They said he actually kept a graph. A graph!

The one small window my office boasted faced a lovely alleyway with a breath taking view of trash cans and cats of every size and description. In fact, that's where I had found, excuse me, rescued, my own crazy feline pet, Wiener. I had noticed a commotion one day while sitting at my desk doodling and moseyed over and discovered that a veritable gang of hoodlum-like kitty cats was mauling the stuffing out of this one skinny orange character and screaming like a pack of seagulls after a meal with gills. He was lying there holding onfor dear life to this long red frankfurter. Fur was flying, people were throwing pails of water down out of windows trying to shush the racket, trash cans were overturned, whistles were blowing, winos were halting in the middle of their hangovers to watch. I swear if they could have, those cats would have been wearing black leather jackets and carrying switchblades. They were just that darned mean.

"Shoo!" I yelled at the mob waving my arms and kicking at them with my high heels. "Stop it, you pack of rat eaters! Leave him alone!" And I swooped down and picked up the poor little guy and ran back to my office with him, wiener and all. And you know the rest of the story. (Don't you?)  I named him Wiener. Duh! But I digress, as usual..............
                                              

I was supposed to be working on my filing cabinet that day but I just couldn't get into alphabetizing and opening drawers and stuff. It seemed like too much work. So I had pulled out a nail file instead and began working on my long sharp nails. I was going for the scratch-your-eyes-out look. The knock came again. "Yes?" I said, perturbed at the interruption. "Come in." And in walked the strangest little man I had ever seen. He was barely three feet six if he was that. He had shaggy dark hair, big ears and enormous blue eyes. He was wearing short pants and a heavy coat and his huge feet were shod with the most bizarre furry sandals. At least, I thought they were sandals. I couldn't stop staring. I sat there in amazement, nail file suspended in the air, my mouth open. The little man was holding a brown bowler hat in his hands and his bottom lip quiverled with emotion. He looked at the floor and waited for me to get over my astonishment. (He seemed to be familiar with the reaction.)

"Hello. What may I do for you, Mr....Mr......" and I stopped. "Arehte," he said softly, "Mr. Bilbo Arehte." "Mr. Arehte!" I smiled, "What an unusual name! What kind of name is that?" "It's Elvish, ma'am." he answered and he looked up and his big blue eyes were brimming over with tears. "Elvis?" I asked, puzzled. "No, ma'am, Elvish." he replied ."Oh!" I said, "Of course. ElvishR.r..right........" And I put down the nail file, clasped my hands together and sat up straighter in the swivel chair. "Please. Have a seat, Mr. Arehte." I offered, pointing to the tall, velvet chair to the left of my desk. "And then you can tell me how I may be of service." For some ten long minutes or so, I watched as the little man attempted to get up into the chair and seat himself. It was quite comical, at times alarming and finally, he gave it one more shot and jumped up and turned himself around and gave me a look that said, "A small triumph! And it is mine!" and then looked down at his feet in humility. I was strangely touched and ducked my head and pretended that I hadn't seen a thing.


"What seems to be the problem and why do you have need of a private investigator?" I asked as seriously as I could. "Because the police won't help." he said matter-of-factly. "I've begged them to and all they do is laugh at me and refer me to Children's Services!" Then he huffed. "Madam, I am muchly aged! I have been robbed and I mean to have my possession returned to me!" I tried not to widen my eyes but they did anyway and I cleared my throat and leaned forward in what I hoped was a compassionate pose. "And what was the item that was stolen from you, Mr. Arehte?"

He looked at the floor again and then at the ceiling and then again at the floor before finally meeting my eyes. Then he kind of whispered and I had to listen very closely to hear what he said. "It's an original unpublished J.R.R. Tolkien manuscript." And when I didn't respond, "It was his first book, written when he was a mere child in West Midlands. Way before The Book of Lost Tales. Long before Lord of the Rings! It's titled "Sorryman and the Coal Truck! And it's priceless!" And when I still didn't respond, he shouted in his high pitched little voice, "Don't you know who Tolkien is?!"

And I had to be honest. I said, "Sorry, I've never heard of him. Is he a big band leader?" And he gave me a disgusted look and then fidgeted on the chair for a moment and then apologized and said in a controlled manner, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I  keep forgetting that humans cannot see into the future. "And I said, "What?!" And he jumped down from the chair and put his pudgy hands on the desk and looked me straight in the cleavage. "Are you going to help me or not?" and I kind of looked around helplessly for a moment, totally taken aback and stuttered, "Sure. I'll do my best. I mean, it's only a book, right?" And he gave a small groan and said, "Right! And the Taj is only a Mahal!!"

So I ran next door to Clapsaddle's and bought him some milk and a cookie and tried to calm him down as best I could. I was sure that I was interacting with one sick puppy in desperate need of medical attention.  (Of the shrinky kind.) But I was fascinated. He ate the cookie very politely and drank the milk slowly and deliberately like he was trying to decide how much to tell me. When he had finished he looked at me from where he had seated himself on a box of paint thinner that I had neglected to take home. The milk mustache was distracting but he wasn't aware of it and began giving me details concerning the case so quickly that I had trouble keeping up, barely able to jot them down in my notebook.

My shorthand was not very short but I was using my own personal scribble that no one but myself could decipher (and sometimes even I had to run upstairs and ask the parrot to help interpret the squiggles.) He waited patiently for me to finish writing and then asked again in a much softer voice, "So, Miss Voo, can you help me or not?" "I think I can, " I answered, "You've given me a lot of information which is always helpful. When did you say the theft occurred again?" "Day before yesterday at my hotel." he said as he got to his feet.

"I'm positive that it was Sorryman's grandson, Sour'un. He followed me from New Zealand when I booked passage on the ocean liner. I never saw him on board but I caught a glimpse of him as I checked into the hotel. My neighbors had seen a strange man in black with long wild hair and reddish eyes lurking about my garden back home and I knew then that they had somehow discovered my whereabouts. The Sorrymans, that is."

"You see, they own all the coal mines in my home land, have for centuries! They are very wealthy, very despicably evil people. J.R. had found them out and wrote about them in his book. Reuel, ( I called him Reuel) and I were very close as children. His family lived near mine, all the men in the village worked in the coal mines, you see, and eventually we began to notice that many of them would go to work and never come back. Reuel and I would sneak away and watch the coal trucks going to and fro, with all those strange letters on them and wondered why our friends' fathers seemed to be vanishing.. Well, Reuel found out why!"

"Why?" I asked breathlessly, hooked line and sinker now. The little man paced back and forth holding his hands behind him and told a story that was half fairy tale, half science fiction and half.....oh, wait, you can't have three halves, can you? Okay, let's make that a third fairy tale, a third science fiction and a third, uh...a third, um...... Oh, rats! Whatever it was, it made my heart pound and I almost half believed it. Apparently, the Sorryman empire was huge and their lavish but gloomy estate was laid out in the isolated countryside, yet not a great distance from the boys' humble lodgings in the village.

My client's description of the gigantic black castle with it's high towers and loud fearsome furnaces was quite terrifying even if it was fairy-tale-ish. (Actually, I found him a better story teller than The Shadow Knows play actor on the radio drama.) I found myself wishing I had some popcorn. "One day I heard the sad news that my friend and his family were moving away." Mr. Arehte continued. "His father had passed away in South Africa and my old dad and granddad had kind of taken him under their wings in a manner of speaking. We were all quite fond of him. He had such an imagination. I was very distraught to hear the news."

"The night before the family left, Reuel came knocking on my window at midnight and when I opened it he appeared very agitated and frightened. He produced a brown paper wrapped bundle out from under his coat tied with string, (the bundle, that is,) and handed it to me and told me to hide it where no one could ever find it until he got back to me. He said that the Sorrymans could never know about it and must never find out what he had discovered about their evil empire. Then he shook my hand and said to me, "Don't ever grow old, Bilbo." and fled into the night.

"Uh-huh." I said enthralled and motioned for him to go on with my nail file. Unfortunately in the doing,  I poked myself in the eyebrow with it and then caught it in my hair. I tried to extract it gracefully and he tried to pretend he didn't notice but we both failed miserably in our attempts. Embarrassed, I dropped a pencil on the floor and dropped down behind my desk and fought valiantly to get the nail file out of my hair without making too much noise. Victorious at last, I popped back up holding nail file and pencil, plopped back down in my chair and clasped my hands under my chin and murmured softly "Do go on, Mr Arehte."

Moments later I glanced at the window, caught my reflection and to my horror saw that my usually neat and wavy hair now resembled a werewolf's in mid transformation!  I grabbed a comb out of the desk drawer and went to work frantically on my coiffure. Mr. Arehte had been busying himself inspecting the paint thinner box and my paperback detective novel collection, all the while hiding a tiny smile as best he could. Finally he turned and continued. "The package contained a manuscript. The one I now ask you to retrieve for me. It contains a complete expose' on the goings on in West Midlands and thereabouts. A complete history of our village and the townspeople. It's written in novel form but believe me, miss, it's really more of a biography about my family and our friends."

"I had no idea that Reuel was writing it in his spare time or that we had inspired him so. It's a wonderful book and one that probably gave birth to all his other books and stories but one that up until now...... was probably never meant to be published. At least, I've never thought that J.R.R. would want it published. I don't know. Maybe he's forgotten that it even exists. At any rate, I think the time has come to act. That's why I came to this city seeking a publisher and a journalist who could help me expose this corrupt family and all their heinous deeds. There is a young lady, an old family friend's relative, who works at one of your largest newspapers here and she's promised to help me. I was bringing the book to her to read. That's what....." And he stopped and let the tears fall down his face washing away his little white milk mustache and looking so forlorn that I wanted to put my arms around him and hug him but I was afraid I'd break him.

"I will help you, Mr. Arehte." I assured him, wondering if that were true. "I promise!" "Thank you for your kindness." he whispered and wiped his face with a small white handkerchief. "After losing my parents last year in the mountains, I've been at a loss as to what path my life should take. Now, I've just recently learned that my cousins and nephews back in the village have gone to work for the Sorryman Mining Company and several of them have gone missing....I must do something! I know what is happening to them and I have to stop it! I must!" "There, there." I comforted him in my most soothing voice as he stopped and stood before my desk in the late afternoon light.

"Tell me, what happened to your parents? Was it a mountain climbing accident?" He was silent for a long time and then turned thoughtfully to look out of the small window while standing on his tippy toes. "No. It was dragons." he said barely above a whisper. I shook my head twice. I could have sworn he'd said....dragons but that was ridiculous. "Did you say....?" I gulped but he combed at his mustache and gave me a sweet and curious smile. Then he handed me a sheaf of notes and papers out of his pockets and said, "This should help you find the fiendish Sour'un and get my manuscript back. And this is for your trouble."

He then withdrew a beautiful shiny object out of a small velvet bag and laid it on my desk. It was exquisite. A long silver chain with a pendant shaped like a vine and flower. In the center of the flower sparkled a jewel more brilliant than a diamond. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I took the object in my hand and electricity ran through me and light and joy and visions of riding through the forest on horseback with my long hair blowing in the breeze. The moon was full and shining and I was laughing at a man who rode a silver horse running in front of me. There was a stream and a bird and a........

"What did you say?" I asked pulling myself out of the fantasy. I suddenly felt very lightheaded. More so than usual. The little man was standing in the open doorway about to depart. He turned to look at me smiling that curious smile. "I said... thank you, Miss Voo for accepting this quest. I knew I had chosen wisely and I know you'll find my precious treasure and return it to me. You know where to reach me." And he put the little bowler hat on his head and said softly just before the door closed........ 
"Namaarie..... Amvanya heri nartyë." And he was gone.



TO BE CONTINUED in Episode Four...........
                  *



                  
           Mr Arehte   









         
Rodger "Arehte" Ashton-Smith
                                from Myspace and New Zealand
                         (Tolkien fanatic like myself)




 (my apologies to my beloved
 J.R.R.Tolkien...........smile)

***********************

btw: Arehte is pronounced Ar-uh-tay which means.......uh......um.....something.
 psst!!!! Rodger??? What does it mean???

*************************************
 Points for those who find the reference and/or references to another of my online stories in this episode!!!! 


Special thanks for the use of specific names:

 CLAPSADDLE, Harold, Tolkien, Bilbo
and

Weiner

(you know who you are!!)

Tenna' ento lye omenta

(until next we meet in Elvish)




The Quest by David Arkenstone


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Aachoo Voo, Private Eye Episode Two Upper Crusty In Voo Bayou

https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode-1-side.html

link to Aachoo Voo Episode One ⬆️



Aachoo Voo, Private Eye

Episode Two

Upper Crusty In Voo Bayou

                                                                                             


                                                                         

Lance was cool. He didn't bat an eye. (Well,
actually, he did but he always did that for effect.)
"I'll be back," he said softly. "You know, you really 
are hard on a guy. This is the third pair of pants I've
lost at your place." And I blushed, remembering
the jelly incident and the slamming the door on his
pants leg incident and the...well, that was enough
remembering for now.

Like I said, me and laundry just didn't get along.
Maybe it was all that innate rebellion stemming from
childhood and the fact that gathering up dirty clothes
to wash had been a hated chore. There had been
several years of my childhood in Louisiana and after
we had moved back to New York when we had been
practically penniless but my mother would kill me
if I told anyone that so I won't. After the passing of
my Grand- Muh-Ma Paramore (yes, I had to say it
like that....Muh-Ma) because it was "upper crusty" 
like she was, we were no longer penniless. My father
was a proud man and didn't especially want to be
anything other than a pipe collector and Vice President
of a non-descript company that didn't actually have a
President and no one, including my father, knew exactly
what it was that they did there. (And when he retired, no
one showed up or gave him a gold watch.) 

But Muh-Ma left us a fortune and my mother
was over the moon. No more laundry after that. No 
more chores. We had upper, lower and in-between
maids. We had a butler. We were filthy rich! (Well,
rich but scrupulously clean.) So very, very clean. It
made me sick. I missed playing in the swamp and
jumping in mud holes. I missed the South. (Except
for the mosquitoes.)

Most of the time I just gathered the clothes up and
threw them in the garbage chute or the furnace until the day came
that my dad had been late for work because he couldn't find
a thing to wear and my jig was up. I was grounded
for a month and my mom made me learn to sew and 
make all my own clothes for the rest of the school year.
(I think MiMi talked her into that just to see if she
would do it.) Told her it was a Voo family tradition and
that "the child had to learn at least some of the 
Voo Ways" in order to inherit the much bally-hooed but
 mysteriously secret Voo Fortune hidden in the swamps
and rumored to be part of the legendary treasure of the
pirate Jean Lafitte.

(And to the old lady's ever lasting amazement and
playing on my mother's greed and love of all things
monetary, she did it.) My father kept insisting that
it was just an old trunk full of Confederate money
and his baby teeth but she wouldn't believe him. So
he eventually kept his silence but he smiled a lot when
she wasn't looking.

It was not a pretty story. Most of the time
I went around looking like the scarecrow from the 
Wizard of Oz. Which was an embarrassment, 
especially to my mother because she was born into
high society and despised the lower classes which
included her in-laws. We were in a class by ourselves,
of course, but still, that particular punishment 
backfired on her and she had to keep me out of the
public eye as much as possible. Naturally, I didn't 
cooperate. I had too much Voo blood and not much 
Paramore. MiMi had always told me that my mother 
had found me in a cabbage patch on April Fool's Day.
Perhaps she was right.

My father thought it was a terrible thing for her to do
because he adored me and kept slipping me money 
to "Go buy yourself something pretty." But I saved it
to buy myself something I would really need later on.
It was my junior year and I sneaked out to the 
Ayers' Used but Lovely Resale Shop and bought myself
a prom dress that didn't have discernible stitches and
upside down zippers and told my mother that I had
made it with my own little fingers. But I digress.......
(It was an interesting year.) MiMi had gotten her
revenge at last and never let "The Lady of The Manor" 
forget it! Of course the way she pronounced the word
it came out sounding more like "Manure."

The parrot snickered at me as the side door closed and I
snickered back and turned on the radio to drown him out.
I noticed the water in the fish tank was mysteriously low 
and the fish were kinda gasping for air and had drawn 
little frownie faces in the algae. I erased their artwork, 
refilled the thing, threw in some fish food, and went to get
the mail. I was looking for a check from Big david, the mobster 
who spelled his name with a little d. I had done some work for 
his sister and he'd promised to send me some moo-la. I didn't 
much like his kind but his sister Prudence was nice enough. 
The case concerned her cheating husband Ricky and the fact 
that he had gone on vacation with her worst best friend after 
cleaning out the bank account. I found the two louses on the
 beach in Mexico.
 
I had actually found them on my second day there but
didn't report back to Prudence until eleven days had
passed. I needed a vacation and the lovebirds needed
to get all that pent up passion out of their systems 
before Big david shot 'em. I thought that was the least
could do. Neither one of them had two brain cells to
rub together. He was short and she was tall. He was an
accountant and she was no account. They were perfect
for one another. The check was not in the mail.

I picked up the newspaper and noticed a handsome face 
on the front page. It looked vaguely familiar. Very familiar
actually. Said the face had been found murdered the night
before by a night watchman on his rounds at Marshall's
Hardware and Hat Emporium. That was where I bought
all my furniture refinishing products and the occasional
hat. No wonder the face looked familiar. It belonged to 
Si, the Shellacking specialist. A talker, if there ever was 
one. A fairly nice guy but there was something about his
shifty eyes that gave me the shivers.

He flirted with you from the time you walked in the door
until you bought twenty five cans of Shellac and then
insisted upon delivering the purchase to your place of
residence. All the time trying to impress you with his
extensive knowledge of wood and how to care for it. He 
looked like a would-be movie star but there was just
something......you couldn't put your finger on it, no 
matter how hard he tried to get you to put your finger
on it.....you just couldn't. Like I said, he had shifty eyes.
They darted. They looked you up and down. Undressed 
you and dressed you again in satin.

I shuddered remembering the last time I'd seen him.
That would have been last Saturday. I needed to strip
my neighbor's old chest that he had been nagging me
about and I was all out of sandpaper and stripper
and had run in to the store that afternoon hoping
someone other than Si would be behind the counter.
No such luck. "Well, hello there, you good looking,
thirst quenching, pretty polished piece of fine furniture!"
he said exuberantly as I stepped inside "How may I be of
service?" And I blanched. At least I think I did. I'm not
really sure what blanch means but it sounds appropriate.
"Just need a few items, thank you." I said as coldly
as I could manage but it didn't put him off. He was on
me like ugly on a baboon's bottom. Came out from behind
that counter, took my arm and led me back to where we
usually ended up, the Tung Oil aisle.

"Listen, Miss Voo, I need help and you're the only one 
that can help me!" he whispered urgently as he looked
around to see if anyone was near. I didn't think much 
about it at the time because he always said that to me 
but thinking back now, it was pretty obvious that he'd
actually meant it. I just hadn't been in the mood to help
him. Now he was dead. The paper said he had been found
in a pool of paint thinner. He wasn't wearing any socks.
He'd been clutching a folder full of receipts and a 
corkscrew. I felt bad. Not bad bad but pretty bad. I 
wondered who had killed him and why.

I also wondered if I'd been the only girl he'd sold 
Shellac to and flirted with so relentlessly. I wondered if
he'd just flirted with the wrong girl this time. On the other
hand, he'd probably been married (guys like him always 
are no matter what they say or how hard they try to hide
their missing wedding band tan lines with furniture polish.)
You could always tell. It had been the wife, I was almost three
percent sure. Too bad. He was a doll dizzy creep but he sure
knew his wood grains.

I shook my head and put the paper down and went to
change out of the pink bathrobe. I had twelve of them
hanging in the closet. Pretty soon I'd need to replenish
my supply. I hoped they still carried my size and style
at the bathrobe shop. I had bought up their entire stock
last time I'd been there. I told them I was buying them for
gifts. (It was none of their business.)

I threw the soiled pink robe into the trash and stood there
naked looking for something jazzy to put on. I had a
movie date with Andy at four. He was sweet. I liked him
and he liked me. We had been out twice and neither time
had I set him on fire or tripped him with my long legs or 
turned his clothes into rags. I was the epitome of grace 
with him and it felt wonderful. Yes, I was looking forward
to this afternoon's matinee and the smell of popcorn and
aftershave.

I forgot the day's headline about Si the Shellac salesman
and his untimely demise and giggled happily as I put on
my hose. Then the phone rang. And I heard the bird in the
kitchen say, "Pick up the phone. What am I, your slave?"
Stupid bird. "Answer it yourself!" I shot back and fell in 
a tangle of hose and garter belt, a box of bath powder and 
an open bottle of turpentine that came crashing down from 
somewhere at the same time that I did. Well, at least I didn't
have on socks when I got into the shower this time.


    TO BE CONTINUED......in Episode Three
https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode-three.html

               
Various photos of my mother taken throughout my
childhood. She always seemed to be stunned when
looking at me or hearing my answers to her questions.
I can't imagine why. And after the incident with my
brother and then my surprise birth, she'd just lost interest in
having more children altogether. (Much to MiMi's
chagrin, who unbeknownst to anyone, kept putting
Cajun fertility potions in Mother's coffee and beignets in
the hopes of having a big brood of bebettes running 
around. But it didn't happen so my Grand-mere 
spoiled me wonderfully and hopelessly rotten.)

Nevertheless, she dressed me up like a baby doll,
had hundreds of portraits taken and/or painted of
me, made me stand in the corner when I sassed her
in Cajun and played with me occasionally until she
couldn't stand me anymore. I loved her but I was fou fou 
about my MiMi!  She's the one who named me Aachoo
(behind my mother's back.) She hadn't known she was 
pregnant you see, so had really not expected me at all 
nor anyone else. She would continue to give me that 
impression whenever I walked into a room. I just wasn't
expected.

People always made fun of my unusual name but I thought
it was funny and told them it was a Cajun word that meant 
Your Majesty. When I was seven MiMi told me the whole crazy
story of my birth (with embellishments) and how she had 
almost named me Cayenne.....(Ki-yan in Cajun)
(As in Ki yan pepper) Ki-yan Voo....Lord have mercy!!!!


(50) Justin Wilson: How To Cook Chicken a la Justin - YouTube



(Baby Aachoo Voo Voo)
(topless....don't look!!!)













I have no idea what I had done that day
but obviously she had had enough. Oh, wait!
That was the day I burned up her silk negligee
from Paris!!!! Ah, yes. Now I remember......


💖

And here is my dear ole Dad. Always calm. Always
the gentleman. Always quietly terrified out of his
 mind of the womenfolk in his life.......      
💥










My mother in what my father referred to as
"the palm tree dress" She loved it.
He hated it. (He slipped me some moola to
throw it in the furnace) He was happy but
my hinder parts still hurt from that spanking.....

💕

The happy young couple before my brother was born
and before they were forced to move to Louisiana.
(Where I was born)
My mother was never the same. And neither was
Louisiana.......


Aachoo Voo's  parents are being played
by Phyllis Calvert and John McCallum

(based upon my friends Patricia Paramore
and John Smith from myspace and friendburst
whose photos I have misplaced.)


ALSO STARRING 
in our cast of characters........
friends from myspace and other sites
and personal friends and family members

david, Si, Lance Strait, Voo, Andy,
the fish and the un- named parrot



david   "qzert" from myspace                                 
                                                









Richard Bellamy as Big david the mobster 
                                                                                 
 Si (the poet no one could impress)
from Myspace...................    


Craig Stevens as Si, the Shellac salesman










Andy of myspace land 
The Last Digital Bastion 
   

Ray Milland as young Andy 

special note of thanks
to the following for use of their names:
***Ayers and Marshall** (Rusty and Linda)
and Prudence


a little soo-prize!!  👇




                     
                        *  
        Continued in Episode Three



CLICK HERE FOR EPISODE THREE



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