Evans’ Rag

Vol 2 Issue 15

On the Verandah

Relaxing on the verandah talking to the little missus as scurrying servants hurry in with the fruit tray and refill our wine glasses, “One day, we must hike Vesuvius for a picnic, don’t you think?”

“My, but the mountain’s acting up. Look at the smoke. Maybe we should wait a bit.”

“Don’t worry, my dear. Augustus is saying it will all be over soon.”

“So here’s what you do: You make sure that you always tell the absolute truth and don’t hold back data…  It is not, as it were, under control.  Because it’s still going up.  Are we trying to control it?  Yes.  Are we having an impact?  We are doing some rather dramatic things.  So even though the inflection is going up, there’s no doubt that what we are doing is having an impact.” 

Anthony Fauci, Doctor of Medicine, as quoted by the Washington Post. 

Where’s My Charmin, Dammit! 

I am a man of foresight, a man of careful planning. A warrior of the old school. An ancestor of mine stood at Thermopylae, according to Ancestry.com. I never flinch in the face of calamity. I am one who plants himself firmly, always peering forward. Think wise Indian chief. Think Bill Murray’s Lost in Translation, posing with his glass of scotch for the photo, falling in love with Scarlet… oh dear.

Unlike some, I was born for this pandemic. I plan to live forever because I planned to save my TP. Some call it hoarding; I call it careful. After a last episode with those wicked Thai chili peppers, I swore an oath never again to go without. (get it–go without?)

While engaged in a pre-dawn wander through this, our impregnable fortress, whistling the tune from The Bridge on the River Kwai, I was going about my usual meticulous inspection, starting with the canned goods in the pantry. All were in good order. Campbells hearty beef by beef arrayed next to Chef Boyardee, all smiling down. Peered at the cabinet stocked with Tasters Choice and nodded–no shortage there. And the next cabinet with the creamer, ah, yes!

If there were an expiration date on it, I wouldn’t load a single case into the Costco shopping cart. Though did you know Coffee Mate could survive a nuclear blast? Particularly the hazelnut flavor, it’s been proven.

Though continuing down the hall and opening the door to the spare bedroom, converted to hold my most treasured commodity, I stood in horror at the doorway; my TP was dwindling. I was able to walk weakly from door to window, nary a twenty-four-pac in sight. Where’s my Charmin?

Life throws you curves, as Sedicus, the great Roman declared standing astraddle in the Colosseum before they let the lions out.

Had someone broken into my American dream? I rushed to play back the last several days of the Nest camera we’d paid a cretin techie an unholy fortune to install. Surely, I’d missed something–it was late last night, and I hadn’t caught the last bit, so I called the Google gang demanding they initiate a second survey lest I’d missed a clue. Nada. Zip. No—thing. Ms. Google said I’d exceeded my limit for daily help calls and cut me off, though I heard her laughing as she hung up.

But I wasn’t giving up for love nor porn. I pulled up my jock strap–I sleep with it just in case–and marched out across the drawbridge on my mission, armored with the righteousness of my cause.

I strode to my first neighbor, pounded on her door, woke her and screamed, “Where’s my TP, dammit!”

The second neighbor, hearing the first one scream unprintable words, slammed the door in my face. So I modified my tone a wee.

“Please, dear person of some sex I wouldn’t fault you for, did you borrow my TP? I couldn’t fault you, how soft it is against the skin.”

Which didn’t go over so well with the neighbor right of me. He’s really, really conservative–he voted for Goldwater. That, and because he opened the door with his AR-15, his youngest behind him standing grimly with a grenade launcher, it seemed the wisest to withdraw–with pride and flags waving, singing “God Save the King!” so he’d understand I supported the old cause. Tory to the death!

Though who would take a man’s last ten billion TP sheets? My beautiful Charmin in another’s hand wiping, always wiping, it made me want to weep. Mainly because my bowels were moving about with eating last night’s frozen gourmet feast while watching CNN. The TV or the food, one.

I am a man of courage in the face of this evil. Though, any time I’d have nailed that babe with the pearl earring, the one with Bill Murray in the movie. Did you see her in that other flick? Man alive was she hot!