TOADSGOBOAD

Green Frozen Eyes pt. 5

“Do you know where you’re going?” Commensurion asked.

“Sure,” Johnson answered. “It’s straight down this road until you cross into Plunder County. It’s the first road on the left after you cross the county line.”

“Plunder County…” Commensurion repeated, dread and anxiety hanging on each letter of his words like turd-shaped Christmas tree ornaments.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Johnson laughed. “It isn’t all chicken houses and churches.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Not to Mr. Scientist’s place, but to Plunder County.” As Johnson said this Commensurion saw the sign reading, “Welcome to Plunder County, home of the Religious Rooster Festival.”

Green Frozen Eyes pt. 4

Commensurion, dressed as one of the Fromme Emperor’s treasury agents (which he most certainly was not), turned to the other man. “When’s that?”

Johnson pondered, glanced at both his watch and the enormous, stylized, Avon-cosmetics-inspired clock on the wall.

“In about fifteen to twenty minutes. I’ve got to grab all the remaining sausage balls, take a piss, and tell your sister goodbye.”

Commensurion nodded. He too had to tell his sister goodbye.
Half an hour later Commensurion was sitting beside Johnson in the Coca-Cola cowboy car Johnson had borrowed from Mr. Shovelmate, heading down a narrow country road bordered by nothing by darkness.

Green Frozen Eyes pt. 3

“So, do you want to pay him a visit?” he asked Commensurion.

The latter stared across the room. Most of the ladies had gathered around pop star Maitland Moon, who posed for photographs beside a large oil portrait of himself done by Commensurion’s sister Elaine.

“I don’t know,” Commensurion replied pensively.

“Well, make up your mind. I’m heading out that way as soon as I leave here.” Johnson put the last sausage ball in his mouth. He wondered what they would taste like made with a superior variety of cheese.

Green Frozen Eyes pt. 2

“And he actually is a scientist?”

“Well,” Johnson continued to chew, talking around the incipient bolus. “He doesn’t have the title of ‘doctor,’ but he does run a lab.”

“Interesting,” commented Commensurion. He took up his plate again. Unlike Johnson, he had chosen only a single sausage ball. The rest of his plate was occupied by raw vegetables and a dollop of ranch dressing. “He sounds like a medieval or renaissance scientist, one doing it independently of academia, doing it for his own satisfaction.”
Johnson swallowed. He took a sip of the punch. It was too tart, as all punch is.

The Young Gary Coleman, Blissfully Unaware of the Impending Tragedy

This photo is taken from volume 11 of the 1979 edition of "Childcraft," page 11. I do believe that is Gary Coleman on the left. Apparently the photographer's name was Joseph A. Erhardt. I don't know about you, but I feel a frisson of yuck knowing what life had in store for that little boy.

And yes, I know how old Gary Coleman was in 1979. However, I think it is clear that the photo was taken some time prior to that. Just look at that outfit!

Green Frozen Eyes, pt. 1

Green Frozen Eyes

“His last name is Scientist?” Commensurion asked. His incredulity was evident: his mouth was agape like a carp’s begging for dogfood at a world’s fair. He put his plate down to free his hands for further demonstrations of incredulity.
“That’s right.” Johnson nodded. He maintained his grasp on his plate. The sausage balls must be consumed without a pause.