Bainwarble’s Three-bread Walk

           Bainwarble always keeps a folding wire grocery cart in his Yugo for those odd carrying chores that crop up on road outings. It’s handy for getting supplies for our chef, but its purpose is unlimited. Two hundred pounds of sugar for his alley winery. A chainsaw for a camper remodeling project. (The chainsaw now hangs inside the privy in case he ever has trouble getting the door open.) Road kill…

           He came dragging the cart in one day, loaded with the flaming red pot off the top of his Yugo, the spare tire, the passenger seat, and a dead skunk with the grimacing coyote still attached. “I need some tomato juice,” he mumbled.

           “Get that out of here,” screamed Ducky Bumps! “What have you been doing?” We followed Glassshard to the terrace. A nice breeze made continuing the conversation possible.

           “What is the past tense of Yugo,” the exhausted butler asked?

           “You went,” I offered brightly.

           “Yugo went,” he said, collapsing into a lawn chair.

           “I think that tree stump over there would be better for you,” I said, “You’d be more comfortable on that stump.” Ducky Bumps just shook her head.

           “Where’s the Yugo,” she asked?

           “I tipped it into the ditch when the cart was full,” he muttered. “It’s about 11 miles west of town.” Ducky Bumps disappeared inside and returned, handing me three loaves of white bread. I held my breath and took them to Bainwarble.

           “At 3 calories a foot, that’s about three loaves of bread,” she said. “Will you be changing jobs???”

Bainwarble and the FBI

           Bainwarble, exhibiting well-known Welsh prudence, agreed to stop carrying his gun during his Neighborhood Stop and Frisk (N.S.A.F.) sorties. Still, the fun continued: one night we got a call from the FBI office downtown about Glassshard obstructing a federal investigation.

           It seems he had encountered a stranger lurking by the fence at the Marijuana Growers Association Gardens. He immediately suspected a criminal undertaking to steal product from the local economy. He collared the hapless evil-doer, and by the probing 1600-lumen light of his N.S.A.F. crime buster flashlight, found a belligerent federal gumshoe.

           “Kill that light and identify yourself,” the stranger scream-whispered, “I’m FBI !”

           “I don’t care if you’re Facebook, Twitter or Google Maps,” retorted Bainwarble! “What are you doing?!!”

           Hence, Glassshard’s arrest and another 3:00 AM phone call. Ducky Bumps and I looked up from our graphic novels, and she reached for the phone, frowning. When she hung up, she strapped on her Gloc and said, “Come on, we’re going to get our butler!”

We screeched to a halt outside the Federal Building, doused the off-road lights, and stomped down the hall to the FBI office. Ducky Bumps didn’t knock—we walked right in. The startled staff looked at her hip and someone yelled, “Gun!”

           “Relax geniuses,” she said, “I left it in the truck. You can’t bring guns into this building!”

           “Oh, it’s you!” exclaimed Senior Agent Congers. “I guess we can skip the formalities with your butler.” It always amazes me how nobody wants to get Ducky Bumps pissed off.