THE DROP OFF BOX ENTRY

THE MANY MISADVENTURES OF ORVILLE AND WILBUR

(From the skits of 12th Grade English created by Gregory and Manny C)

by Gregory Forster, Jr (Gregory)

Hi there, everyone takin' time to listen to this li'l tale of mine.  Like them high-falutin' folk say, allow me to be introducin' myself.  My name is Wilbur, Wilbur Gregory Cole.  And let me get this out of the way right now before I forget: There is only a select few I allow to call me "Wiggy C", ok? If you weren't with us at the I-35 Stemmons Freeway Celebration Party back in 1959 when they played "What'di Say" by Ray Charles and I just had a little bit of Jack prior to,  you ain't received the permit to call me "Wiggy C".  Nothing personal, just the truth.

Anyway, I've got this brother of mine named Orville: the silliest, goofiest, dumbest dude ever ALLOWED to roam the Earth without supervision.  But, daggum, I can't help but to love that crazy guy and I've come to feel responsible for him, too.  Now, don't get the wrong idea here, folks.  More times than not I just wanna wring his neck like a wet dish rag, he gets me so worked up.  I mean, he means well, he really does.  And I guess you can say he's living proof that ignorance is bliss, oblivion is even better.  That Orville, I tell ya.

I know what you're wonderin': how can I sit here and call Orville the silliest, goofiest, dumbest dude ever allowed to roam the Earth without supervision?  Alright, then, here we go.

See, he and I, we works for Ms. Petry out on the farm.  She got to be the most angelic person I know.  Sweet, kind, wise, pretty as I don't know what, considerin' she's about 70.  And every once in awhile she's got to go make groceries and leaves us with special tasks to do while she be gone.  Well, as Shakespeare done said, hey, y'all, that be the rub. You just never know how it's gonna turn out when we're left to tend the house and other things.  It's a wonder we ain't loony-goonies by now, I tell ya.

Anyway, I guess the Good Lawd needed a good laugh one day Ms. Petry left us in charge of doing things on the same day she got herself a brand new microwave.  It really wasn't all that fancy or complicated.  You jest opened the door, put in your food, close the door, turn the dial with numbers on it and wait until it go "DING!" to let you know your food is done.  And you hoped to God that your food wasn't black or 4 times smaller than its normal size.

Well, fortunately, THAT disaster didn't take place.  No, no.  The REAL tragedy came later.  Get ready for this, ok?  Now, I must say that when it come to chicken - and I mean in any form, any way- hands down, nobody touches Ms. Petry's chicken.  No-bo-dy, you get me?  If the house was on fire and flamin' metoerites were pelting the Earth, I would do anything to send Orville in there and save that chicken. Hey, somebody's got to enjoy it, right.  In a word, Ms. Perty cooks mean yard bird.

She told us on this particular day she left out a big brown Tupperware bowl FULL of wings.  You know my mouth went to salivatin'.  The only thing we had to do was pop it in the microwave and feast.  Simple. Easy.  she told us how to make it happen before she left, so I figure things couldn't get any better.  We was about to chow down on some wings. 

Well, on this day, Mighty decided to pay Peachy a visit and scare her flat out of her mind.  See, there's this dang-plumb mouse I come to call Mighty that pops up every once in a great while who refuses to die and will not stop botherin' the horses, Peachy in particular.  So before she could do more damage than she already did with the stable door, the other stables, the barn door I had to go out there to calm her down.  As I ran out the house I yells back to Orville, "Put the wings in!"

After about 10 minutes, I managed to get peachuy to calm down, see that Mighty left and she could go back to her stable.  I would somewhat put the stable back to a state where she'd realize she could stay in there.  So with that done, I headed out the barn, on my way back to the house.

And then I smelled it.  Oh, did I smell it, and it was something plumb awful.  When I say awful, I mean the stankiest stank that ever dared to mess with God's clean air. I'm lookin' around, trying to find where it was comin' from.  I should be seein' my nose dancin' from those herbs and spices the Ms. Petry only knows how to put together, not this funk.  And then I get to thinkin'. "I told him to put the wings in.  Why would I be smelling meltin' plastic if he put it in...the...".

Like roaches when the light come on I ran toward that house and tore that door open just to see Orville smilin' at the microwave.  If I wasn't in such a panicked state, that stench would've floored me, no doubt.  I moved him out of the way, and, sure enough, he put the bowl IN THE OVEN-OVEN!  I didn't even thinks about gettin' a mitt.  My babies were in peril!  I dove in there like they were drownin' in the creek and brought out what once was a brown tupperware bowl, now a plastic mold of mess.  I thought there was hope when I did see part of the lid hadn't fused to the bowl and I could pry it open and dump the wings onto a plate.

But the plastic smell killed what would've been the sweet aroma of Ms. Petry's cookin'.  "I was waitin' for the bell to ring, but it never rung," he said.  I couldn't respond to that.  I just...couldn't....respond to that.  I was hungry and didn't feel like jail food that day.  All I could do is try to eat through that plate of funky death, wonderin' what did I do? 

But, like I said, I STILL love that NUT!  Well, I'm tired from tellin' that story.  You come on back, 'cuz there's more where that came from.  I promise.