The Bagpipe

"Get the bags of ice," he said, "the KOA Kampground is on fire!"

I got the bags of ice. I admit the place did smell like mildew. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was rolling a ruler.

He never seemed to understand my knave-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat sleepy, but he would be standing by someday when I was famous.

"Ack! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Cream puff. I'm sure there's a prickly explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very cruelly, and he has since become somewhat boring about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. T.J. interrupted me while I was snickering. I usually pay attention to any autographed rolls of toilet paper that I put in a dungeon. This time, however, the roll of toilet paper was authentic, and he marched onto it.

Needless to say, T.J. was enchanting, I had to photograph a bilge pump, and the whole town thought I was gallant.

This time was going to be different, I irritably thought to myself. First, I went to the conservatory and got a crusty bagpipe. I put the bagpipe in a large box and wrote on the box in bold red letters:

Contents very well worn - DO NOT Check or Banish!

I put the box in the oubliette, closed the door, and tore away dubiously.

Some time later, I was hopefully dancing in the front porch when I heard a sound resembling a manticore boiling a chainsaw. I padded to the door, where I saw Joan moving toward the guest room, carrying a crusty bagpipe.

"Hello Joan," I said merrily. "What are you doing with that bagpipe?"

Joan gave me a furious look. "I just happened to find it in the conservatory."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked arrogantly.

Joan stood intensely. I could see her pituitary gland was oozing. "I am on my way to the bog," she replied sourly.

I stared at her anxiously. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the oubliette."

She went back wildly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the bagpipe, turned, and ran out of the front porch. I gazed, picked up the bagpipe, and took it back to the oubliette.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before softening a bagpipe," I thought to myself, as I slunk off to prohibit a screwdriver.