By Ted Colin
Recently, my co-worker Gerrard and I went down to Mt. Pleasant to work on a story about co-eds and their behavior in night clubs that have live bands versus their behavior at night clubs that have a DJ. Gerrard had this theory that college women are more likely to go out on the dance floor and jump around if there is a DJ instead of a live band. I was kind of skeptical so, we thought we would do some research on Gerrard’s theory and then write an article about it. We figured we could get a room for a weekend in Mt. Pleasant paid for by our editor, my brother Tim. My cheap brother laughed at us as he said “No way you dumb…” Tim only uses colorful language when he talks about spending money.
It was just as well that Tim turned us down because I was able to borrow enough money from my brother Mike so that Gerrard and I could each get our own room. My brother Mike has a rich girlfriend that gave him a bunch of money. He claims his girlfriend is a vampire but, I don’t believe in such foolish stuff. Of course I really don’t care what she is as long as we got enough money out of Mike so that Gerrard and I can each have our own room. You need to have your own room when traveling with Gerrard because he always drinks too many beers then, he starts to drink shots and shooters and finally, he gets really sick for about two or three days. I think that’s why his mom makes him live down in the basement.
There are lots of motels and hotels to stay at in Mt. Pleasant. We stayed at one that had a night club in it with a large dance floor. This way we would not be driving while drinking. Just to make sure that we wouldn’t do anything stupid like try to drive somewhere after we were kicked out of the nightclub, I gave my keys to the front desk and asked them not to give me back the keys until the next day because I knew I would be unfit to drive anywhere. The front desk girl thought that I had a really good idea. I hoped I had scored some points with her since she was really nice looking. I asked her if she was going to be at the night club later on and she said she would and she’d look for me there.
I obviously scored some points with the front desk girl when I turned in my keys and showed her how responsible I was unfortunately, by the time she showed up at the night club I was already having problems standing and she quickly left the place after I accidentally fell on her. Evidently, she was not impressed. She should have been glad Gerrard didn’t fall on her because he weighs nearly twice as much as I do.
After watching the girls at the night club dance a little bit, the next thing I remember doing was wandering down the streets of a town called Clare. It was early morning and I could not figure out what had happened. Gerrard was also wandering around in a confused state. This little Irish town is located just about 15 miles North of Mt. Pleasant. Neither Gerrard nor I ever figured out just how we got there.
There was an Amish horse and buggy parked nearby and our shoes and pants were covered with horse manure. An Amish fellow also waved to us as he got in the cart and drove off. Maybe we hitched a ride. At any rate, we decided that we should find a place out of the cold. Luckily, Irish towns have plenty of pubs so we went in the nearest one and bellied up to the bar.
Gerrard and I didn’t want to spend too much money so we each ordered an Old Millpond draft. I was shocked because the draft was green colored. I said to the bartender, “What’s up with this? I never drank Old Millpond beer that was green like this.”
“It’s St. Patty’s Day. The beer just has green dye in it today, “replied the bartender as he busily unloaded his dishwasher.
I had forgotten that it was St. Patrick’s Day. I usually missed the holiday because I usually started celebrating way too early. After a couple of green beers I started to feel a bit more coherent. Gerrard also seemed to be coming out of his stupor. Then, Gerrard wondered out loud “I wonder if we can go hunting for leprechauns today. “
At that moment in time I thought maybe Gerrard had a good idea. “We couldn’t actually hunt one with a rifle since I left mine back home,” I said,” and, my lawn jarts are in the trunk of my car but, if we could capture one I think the DNR has some sort of reward for them.”
Gerrard finished off his beer and ordered up another one and said, “I think you get some sort of gold pot if you turn one in. I think that’s the bounty on them this time of year.”
The bartender brought over a frothy beer to Gerrard and said, “There, that’s your last beer for now. It’s only 9 o’clock in the morning and by the sound of things you fellows have already had too many. You need to sober up a bit so you can watch the big parade at noon today. There‘ll be leprechauns all over the place during the parade. ”
That was all Gerrard and I had to hear. We drank down our beers and just went pub crawling down the street for the next few hours. I was trying to steady myself on top of a bar stool when suddenly; I heard the blast of trumpets from a band. I used to play trumpet in High School so I know what they sound like. Gerrard was sleeping face down on the bar when I roused him to go outside to see if we could find a leprechaun to capture.
When we got to the sidewalk we witnessed a pretty good parade going by. It had floats and horses and marching bands. Then, suddenly, a whole bunch of leprechauns all dressed in traditional leprechaun cloths came marching down the street. The only thing odd about these leprechauns was that they were all pretty tall. Gerrard and I decided to go for the biggest one since we figured we’d get the biggest reward with his capture.
Mike came down from Traverse City and picked Gerrard and I up at the county building. There weren’t any charges filed against us but, we each got a pair of black eye shiners. The sheriff’s deputy explained that the guy we tried to capture was a national Golden Gloves champion and we were lucky he didn’t kill both of us with his bare hands. Mike took us back to our rooms at the hotel in Mt. Pleasant.
I think it is going to be a while before I go on another road trip. I’m not yet convinced that Mike’s girlfriend is a vampire but, she does have lots of money. That Jaguar Mike drives is a really nice car. I wonder if Mike’s vampire girlfriend has a rich vampire sister. Even if vampires bite, it is still better than getting beaten to death by the bare knuckle fists of a leprechaun.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
THE POTTED MEAT BYPRODUCTS COMPANY
By Mike Colin
A while back I happened to be downtown when I ran into a friend of mine called Mr. Giltman. He and I were roomies back when I was homeless and had to live under a bridge. He taught me a lot about survival when you fall on hard times. It seems Mr. Giltman had fallen on hard times after he had gotten out of the army way back in the 1960’s. He said he had seen some really bad stuff in some war. I think it was the Vermont War or some war that begins with the letter “V”. My history teacher in high school had to skip over the 1960’s period because it was too controversial. All I was taught in school about history is that we had a war against the communists and we won and now we are at war with terrorist because they do not like us because of our superior way of life.
When I ran into my friend Mr. Giltman he said he was still living under a bridge but, he was no longer feeling very well. He told me he did not have money for a funeral but, he had found out that he could have his body picked up and disposed of for free. He then asked me to do something really weird. He said that he would be going down to the “Habitat for the Hopeless”. That is a place homeless people go to, in Mr. Giltman’s words, “cash in their last sack of cans”. Mr. Giltman said that after he had passed, if I followed his remains I would find out something really interesting. Mr. Giltman said that because I was a legitimate investigative reporter I could get a really be scoop. I did not ask what the “scoop” was made of; I just hoped it did not rhyme with “scoop” and begin with the letter “P”.
A week went by before I got a call from the home where Mr. Giltman went to pass over into the next world or into some alternative dimension like Goth World or Toronto. I rushed over to the home but, Mr. Giltman had already cashed in his last sack of cans and received his bottle deposit slip which, they tied to his big toe.
I waited around for a while then, two men dressed in dark coveralls showed up and took Mr. Giltman out to a large dump truck. The men placed Mr. Giltman in a bucket which was attached to a hydraulic lift at the back of the truck. The lift raised the bucket up and then dumped Mr. Giltman into the back of the truck. It was like watching a garbage truck dump a dumpster.
The two men dressed in dark coveralls climbed into their truck and sped off with me close behind them. They had driven about ten miles out of town when they suddenly turned into a factory. There was a sign in front of the factory which read “The Potted Meat Byproducts Corporation”. The men backed their truck up to a large shoot and dumped the contents. They pulled their truck out away from the shoot and then parked it in front of the factory. I parked my car and got out. I was about ready to go into the back of the building to follow the path of the shoot when suddenly one of the men shouted “Hey fella! Are you following us?”
“Yeah, I guess you caught me,” I replied.
Then the one guy said “We noticed you following us a ways back. You know it’s close to lunch time so why don’t you come inside and try out our commissary. The food is free to employees and visitors.”
I decided that since I had been caught I had better comply with these guys. I figured that getting a free meal was better than being arrested for trespassing. I also figured that at least I’d get inside the factory and that I still had a chance to find out what Mr. Giltman wanted me to know.
The two guys waited for me to catch up with them so we all walked inside the building together. We crossed a large reception area and entered what appeared to be a large cafeteria. I followed my two new acquaintances up to a long food bar. We each grabbed a tray and some silverware then, we walked along the food bar picking up whatever we wanted to eat. There were rice dishes, tacos, pizza and macaroni items all made using potted meat products made right there at the factory. There were so many dishes that I commented that it would take a week to sample everything. One of the guys said” Don’t worry; you can come back here any time to eat. The reputation of our products is based largely on word of mouth so; just say good things about us. That’s all that we ask.”
These were really great guys. In addition, the food was really great too. I guess that what Mr. Giltman wanted me to find out was that The Meat Byproducts Company produced some really outstanding food. Of course not only is the food really good but, The Meat Byproducts Company practices good citizenship by volunteering to dispose of the bodies of people who can’t afford the expense of either burial or cremation. I was also informed that on the other side of the building The Meat Byproducts Company also disposed of road kill found along area roadways thus, helping to keep Northern Michigan looking beautiful for visitors and locals alike.
A while back I happened to be downtown when I ran into a friend of mine called Mr. Giltman. He and I were roomies back when I was homeless and had to live under a bridge. He taught me a lot about survival when you fall on hard times. It seems Mr. Giltman had fallen on hard times after he had gotten out of the army way back in the 1960’s. He said he had seen some really bad stuff in some war. I think it was the Vermont War or some war that begins with the letter “V”. My history teacher in high school had to skip over the 1960’s period because it was too controversial. All I was taught in school about history is that we had a war against the communists and we won and now we are at war with terrorist because they do not like us because of our superior way of life.
When I ran into my friend Mr. Giltman he said he was still living under a bridge but, he was no longer feeling very well. He told me he did not have money for a funeral but, he had found out that he could have his body picked up and disposed of for free. He then asked me to do something really weird. He said that he would be going down to the “Habitat for the Hopeless”. That is a place homeless people go to, in Mr. Giltman’s words, “cash in their last sack of cans”. Mr. Giltman said that after he had passed, if I followed his remains I would find out something really interesting. Mr. Giltman said that because I was a legitimate investigative reporter I could get a really be scoop. I did not ask what the “scoop” was made of; I just hoped it did not rhyme with “scoop” and begin with the letter “P”.
A week went by before I got a call from the home where Mr. Giltman went to pass over into the next world or into some alternative dimension like Goth World or Toronto. I rushed over to the home but, Mr. Giltman had already cashed in his last sack of cans and received his bottle deposit slip which, they tied to his big toe.
I waited around for a while then, two men dressed in dark coveralls showed up and took Mr. Giltman out to a large dump truck. The men placed Mr. Giltman in a bucket which was attached to a hydraulic lift at the back of the truck. The lift raised the bucket up and then dumped Mr. Giltman into the back of the truck. It was like watching a garbage truck dump a dumpster.
The two men dressed in dark coveralls climbed into their truck and sped off with me close behind them. They had driven about ten miles out of town when they suddenly turned into a factory. There was a sign in front of the factory which read “The Potted Meat Byproducts Corporation”. The men backed their truck up to a large shoot and dumped the contents. They pulled their truck out away from the shoot and then parked it in front of the factory. I parked my car and got out. I was about ready to go into the back of the building to follow the path of the shoot when suddenly one of the men shouted “Hey fella! Are you following us?”
“Yeah, I guess you caught me,” I replied.
Then the one guy said “We noticed you following us a ways back. You know it’s close to lunch time so why don’t you come inside and try out our commissary. The food is free to employees and visitors.”
I decided that since I had been caught I had better comply with these guys. I figured that getting a free meal was better than being arrested for trespassing. I also figured that at least I’d get inside the factory and that I still had a chance to find out what Mr. Giltman wanted me to know.
The two guys waited for me to catch up with them so we all walked inside the building together. We crossed a large reception area and entered what appeared to be a large cafeteria. I followed my two new acquaintances up to a long food bar. We each grabbed a tray and some silverware then, we walked along the food bar picking up whatever we wanted to eat. There were rice dishes, tacos, pizza and macaroni items all made using potted meat products made right there at the factory. There were so many dishes that I commented that it would take a week to sample everything. One of the guys said” Don’t worry; you can come back here any time to eat. The reputation of our products is based largely on word of mouth so; just say good things about us. That’s all that we ask.”
These were really great guys. In addition, the food was really great too. I guess that what Mr. Giltman wanted me to find out was that The Meat Byproducts Company produced some really outstanding food. Of course not only is the food really good but, The Meat Byproducts Company practices good citizenship by volunteering to dispose of the bodies of people who can’t afford the expense of either burial or cremation. I was also informed that on the other side of the building The Meat Byproducts Company also disposed of road kill found along area roadways thus, helping to keep Northern Michigan looking beautiful for visitors and locals alike.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
NORTHERN MICHIGAN INTERNATIONAL CRICKET CHAMPIONSHIP
By Ted Colin
Each year the Northern Michigan International Cricket Championship draws people from all over the world. We have people come from places as far away as Grawn, Fife Lake and, Mancelona. Many of the people who show up each year speak different languages and have very different customs. For instance, many people who attend these games can’t understand why we have pay toilets when the competition takes place in the woods. Personally, I really can’t understand the pay toilet deal myself. Especially, since the pay toilets only take $5.00 bills. I put in a $10.00 bill and I didn’t get any change back. I guess I won’t be buying any more pop from the concessions stands since it costs more for the pop going out than going in.
Well, although there are many differences between the teams and spectators at this year’s cricket event there is one overriding factor that brings everyone together: we all love watching those little critters duke it out in the ring. The main ring this year is an old hula hoop I found out behind one of the pay toilets. It looks like a car ran over it but, it is still holding together well enough to be used as the main ring. The other rings are just drawn in the sand.
Now before you can compete in a cricket match you have to find a cricket. The best way to find a cricket is to leave your front door wide open for a couple of days. Sooner or later out of all of the bugs, animals or looters that comes into your house there is bound to be at least one cricket. Of course getting a cricket into your house is just the first step in catching one.
In order to catch a cricket you have to stay up real late and get really, really tired. Then, when you turn off the lights and try to go to bed the cricket will start chirping so loud that you will rise up like a zombie from the dead but, instead of yearning to eat brains like a zombie the only thing you will yearn to do is get a hold of that cricket. Of course the cricket creature itself has the ability of a ventriloquist in that it can throw its voice to any place in the entire house. It is almost like the cricket just sits and watches you as you look all around under furniture and in closets, in the close hamper and behind the washer and dryer. Sometimes you just want to yank out the gas stove even though it has a gas line hooked to it. You are so tired and desperate for sleep you just don’t care anymore. After a while you can almost hear him laughing when he sees you about to find his hiding spot and then the cricket suddenly stops chirping. Then, you just stand there waiting for the creature to start chirping again hoping beyond all hope that you can find the little monster and get him to stop his hideous sounds so you can finally get some sleep. Of course he doesn’t start up again until you’ve turned off the lights and climbed back into bed.
Eventually, the cricket will make a mistake and you will catch him mulling around in the shower or just outside of the refrigerator. Now although the temptation to get revenge upon the cricket for keeping you up all night is strong, it is important that you keep a cool head about you and try to capture the little beast without harming it. After all, a squished bug is not going to win the cricket boxing tournament for you. And, if you accidentally rip off its forearms then he will be disqualified because the bug will no longer be able to wear the tiny boxing gloves that are mandatory in the sport of competitive cricket.
Now, once you have your cricket you have to put him through a vigorous training program which includes getting your bug to bulk up. Lots of sugar water is a good start to any weight gaining strategy whether it is for humans or bugs. Most people train their crickets to box by at first placing a tiny little mirror in front of the bug in order to get his competitive juices flowing. Then, placing live crickets with your potential champion in a confined area like a shoe box will be all you need to do to hone those talents that are the stuff that all champion bugs have pent up deep within their souls. By the time of the big match-up your bug will be in complete harmony with the universe and he will have the loving spirit of a dolly lamb. At that moment your cricket will be able to rip the exoskeleton off his competition.
This years champion was named “Killer Bug”. Now Killer B. was not the actual last bug left with its insides in tacked. The last bug left was Spider Snyder but Spider S. was disqualified when the officials realized the he really was a spider and therefore was not really eligible to compete against crickets. The rules might have been bent a little if Spider Snyder happened to be a grasshopper or even a fly but, spiders are not even insects; they are arachnids. The officials just decided that an arachnid fighting an insect just was not a fair fight so Killer B. won this years championship posthumously since Spider Snyder had already devoured Killer B. Hopefully next year the officials will be more on the ball and disqualify non-species entries before they are allowed to compete in the cricket matches.
At the end of the competition everyone gets to go to the root beer tent and enjoy batter dipped and fried crickets. To my knowledge cricket fighting is still legal in Michigan but then again, my brother Tim got two years probation when he was a kid for squeezing a grasshopper until it spit up tobacco juice.
Each year the Northern Michigan International Cricket Championship draws people from all over the world. We have people come from places as far away as Grawn, Fife Lake and, Mancelona. Many of the people who show up each year speak different languages and have very different customs. For instance, many people who attend these games can’t understand why we have pay toilets when the competition takes place in the woods. Personally, I really can’t understand the pay toilet deal myself. Especially, since the pay toilets only take $5.00 bills. I put in a $10.00 bill and I didn’t get any change back. I guess I won’t be buying any more pop from the concessions stands since it costs more for the pop going out than going in.
Well, although there are many differences between the teams and spectators at this year’s cricket event there is one overriding factor that brings everyone together: we all love watching those little critters duke it out in the ring. The main ring this year is an old hula hoop I found out behind one of the pay toilets. It looks like a car ran over it but, it is still holding together well enough to be used as the main ring. The other rings are just drawn in the sand.
Now before you can compete in a cricket match you have to find a cricket. The best way to find a cricket is to leave your front door wide open for a couple of days. Sooner or later out of all of the bugs, animals or looters that comes into your house there is bound to be at least one cricket. Of course getting a cricket into your house is just the first step in catching one.
In order to catch a cricket you have to stay up real late and get really, really tired. Then, when you turn off the lights and try to go to bed the cricket will start chirping so loud that you will rise up like a zombie from the dead but, instead of yearning to eat brains like a zombie the only thing you will yearn to do is get a hold of that cricket. Of course the cricket creature itself has the ability of a ventriloquist in that it can throw its voice to any place in the entire house. It is almost like the cricket just sits and watches you as you look all around under furniture and in closets, in the close hamper and behind the washer and dryer. Sometimes you just want to yank out the gas stove even though it has a gas line hooked to it. You are so tired and desperate for sleep you just don’t care anymore. After a while you can almost hear him laughing when he sees you about to find his hiding spot and then the cricket suddenly stops chirping. Then, you just stand there waiting for the creature to start chirping again hoping beyond all hope that you can find the little monster and get him to stop his hideous sounds so you can finally get some sleep. Of course he doesn’t start up again until you’ve turned off the lights and climbed back into bed.
Eventually, the cricket will make a mistake and you will catch him mulling around in the shower or just outside of the refrigerator. Now although the temptation to get revenge upon the cricket for keeping you up all night is strong, it is important that you keep a cool head about you and try to capture the little beast without harming it. After all, a squished bug is not going to win the cricket boxing tournament for you. And, if you accidentally rip off its forearms then he will be disqualified because the bug will no longer be able to wear the tiny boxing gloves that are mandatory in the sport of competitive cricket.
Now, once you have your cricket you have to put him through a vigorous training program which includes getting your bug to bulk up. Lots of sugar water is a good start to any weight gaining strategy whether it is for humans or bugs. Most people train their crickets to box by at first placing a tiny little mirror in front of the bug in order to get his competitive juices flowing. Then, placing live crickets with your potential champion in a confined area like a shoe box will be all you need to do to hone those talents that are the stuff that all champion bugs have pent up deep within their souls. By the time of the big match-up your bug will be in complete harmony with the universe and he will have the loving spirit of a dolly lamb. At that moment your cricket will be able to rip the exoskeleton off his competition.
This years champion was named “Killer Bug”. Now Killer B. was not the actual last bug left with its insides in tacked. The last bug left was Spider Snyder but Spider S. was disqualified when the officials realized the he really was a spider and therefore was not really eligible to compete against crickets. The rules might have been bent a little if Spider Snyder happened to be a grasshopper or even a fly but, spiders are not even insects; they are arachnids. The officials just decided that an arachnid fighting an insect just was not a fair fight so Killer B. won this years championship posthumously since Spider Snyder had already devoured Killer B. Hopefully next year the officials will be more on the ball and disqualify non-species entries before they are allowed to compete in the cricket matches.
At the end of the competition everyone gets to go to the root beer tent and enjoy batter dipped and fried crickets. To my knowledge cricket fighting is still legal in Michigan but then again, my brother Tim got two years probation when he was a kid for squeezing a grasshopper until it spit up tobacco juice.
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