THE COMICS

         Between here and Chatham, Route 203 is a series of squiggles that has killed many a driver, but that's not what this story is about, not yet. Before I can hit the road, I hear my father calling.

         "Are you finished with the 'jokes'?"

         That was always Dad's term for the comic pages, the 'funnies', whatever you want to call them. Why did the phrase come back to me? Because a lyric keeps running through my head:

"There's a man in the funny papers we all know."

         As in the next line to that song, my dad did live 'way back a long time ago', back when afternoon newspapers were gray and read all over. "In Philadelphia, nearly everybody reads The Bulletin" the slogan said. They did until Eyewitness, Action or some other catchy slogan News came along at 6 p.m. and then expanded to three half-hour segments beginning at five. Who needed the drab, fuddy-duddy Philadelphia Bulletin when they could watch a gray-coifed anchor read the news on the idiot's lantern?

         In time the morning paper drove the evening paper out of business. Now that same morning paper is finding that fewer and fewer people need its flashy graphics and community journalism. Matt Drudge brings the news via the Internet.

         Of course back then the anchor did not read the comics, but Dad wasn't reading the "jokes" either. The crossword puzzle was in the same section. What ridiculous thoughts song lyrics will inspire! I have gone from Alley OOP, who was not even in Dad's jokes, to Matt Drudge. Mr. Drudge does not carry the funnies. Maybe I can get him to put in comic pages if I give him a good scoop. Do I tell them about the other song lyric that came to mind on Saturday when I was driving to the same State forest where Pam and I took our walk last fall?

         The aforementioned Route 203 is the byway to get there. The driver hung a right turn at the bottom of the hill and proceeded gently. A mile onward the road straightened for a stretch. The motorist picked up speed as he headed toward The Berry Farm and the Empire Livestock Auction, but on this late Saturday afternoon, a State Police car could be spotted cruising around the parking lot of the auction, which was not open.

         Was he patrolling? Then why was he parking? Maybe he wanted to take a break? As the driver heading towards the police cruiser slowed down, a station wagon coming in the opposite direction pulled left across the highway and into the same parking lot. Behind the wheel was an attractive middle-aged woman with frosted blonde hair. She nudged her car around the side of the building where the officer of the law was parked and pulled alongside him.

         The eyes of the driver behind the wheel of my car lit up as words came into his head. He turned to his canine companion and belted out in a twangy voice:

"She's heading for the cheatin' side of town."

         Are you interested, Matt? Probably not, it happens all over the world. If questioned, the illicit couple would probably tell the press that she was merely delivering a special meal, for "he don't eat nothing but bearcat stew." Likely story! Who makes 'bearcat stew' today? My mother never made it for my father to eat while reading the "jokes", but then everyone knows that lovers caught in the act will stonewall, take the Fifth and finally prevaricate. Always have, always will.

         At least the parking lot of the auction is private property. I think it was last fall as the weather got cold that my furry friend and I pulled into a rest stop on the Interstate near here. It is her favorite place to do her business. It must have been cold because there were no tourists, and on that day, there were no trucks either. Our car was the only one of three there to exhibit habitation. We got out and began to walk. The dog decided to head toward the empty car that parked along the curb. It stood in a spot where trucks normally parked.

         She had so many interesting scents to check out and she was not making any noise other than that of an animal sniffing. My tread was not noticeable, but something must have sounded an alarm, for as I looked toward the empty car, a head popped up in the back seat, followed by the cranium of the opposite sex. There seemed to be a great deal of shuffling going on in those friendly confines. Embarrassed, I turned my eyes away and led the dog off toward the fence. When we came back, the male of the party was out of the car and the female was behind the wheel. He was straightening his trousers before heading to his car.

         There are several stories here, but I'm sure Mr. Drudge won't be interested unless one of the foursome has some claim to fame. Had I a video camera, I could have pitched my tale to Entertainment Tonight, or perhaps Cops, but I have a hard time with a Polaroid, let alone sophisticated photography equipment. Maybe I should begin my own gossip sheet? I don't think so. I doubt my county is ready for a juicy tabloid.

         Where DO I go from here? I could wait for the next song lyric, but a true visionary would see opportunity. What this county obviously needs is something to get the adultery off the highway. What it needs is a good 'day-rate' motel! I have the acreage, and with a little expansion my house will do. The ground is zoned agricultural, and what is more agricultural than attempted husbandry.

         I will put out the funnies in the small lobby should anyone want to read, and there will be free television so couples can watch Eyewitness News, or use the control to surf the net and read the latest antics of Pamela Anderson. At the door of the reception area will be masks to hold in front of faces to preserve anonymity. I shall wear a cover-up too. It sounds so lucrative and should make a bundle because:

"You just can't seem to hide your lying eyes."

Valatie May 7, 2002