The Maple Street Chowder and Interplanetary Rocket Society
The Maple Street Chowder and Interplanetary Rocket Society by Louis Cannon
[Dear reader. If you lose track here and there, don’t worry about it. I lost track quite a bit while writing this. Typing with one hand gets iffy, sometimes. Just go with the flow and maybe it will seep in.]
“This meeting of the Maple Street Chowder and Interplanetary Rocket Society will now come to order,” I intoned from my lofty position as High Chief Muckitey-Muck, Lord of All He Surveys.
“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it” murmured my worshipful sycophants.
“Is there any old business?”
“Sure as hell is”, exclaimed Old Jeb. All of us were pretty damned old, but Jeb had us by a week or two.
“Are you still bitching about that stupid bet, Jeb?”
“Sure am. Jim Bob said if he couldn’t answer my riddle then he would send Becky over to give me the best blow job I ever had. He failed miserably to answer correctly and my knob still needs a good polishing.”
Jim Bob jumped up and told us that he didn’t say he would send Becky. He just said he would ask her to do it. “She’s pretty damned busy with cheerleading practice and all that other stuff. Besides, the team keeps her pretty busy.”
Jeb wasn’t going to take this lying down. “I played football, too.”
“Not since Red Grange was coaching”, I offered.
“Aw fuck you, Jake. You been pretty damned high and mighty ever since you got to be HCMMLAHS”. (see above)
“At least I ain’t bitching and moaning about a hummer that ain’t never gonna happen. Offer to swap with something you might actually get, like a week with his old lady.”
“I done tried that. He said it had to be at least three weeks and I don’t think I can go without that long, while I know he’s home thumping Becky and I’m listening to the 10,000 reasons why his old lady needs to keep her knees together.”
“Ok, ok. Let’s get on to other business. Any progress on the interplanetary rocket ship project, Jim?”
“Well, we did add a paragraph or two to the spec. Volume 93, Section 18, paragraph 13.04.92.233 was a bit ambiguous, so we expanded it by 97 pages.”
“What did he say?”
“Aw, come on, Art. Just record it as no progress and let’s get to the good parts. Any more new business? No, well, where’s the chowder?”
“Wait a minute, Jake. Not so fast. I’ve got new business”.
“Well, Bill. Come out with it. We don’t have all night. All right, maybe we do, but that chowder ain’t gonna eat itself.”
Billy offered, “That’s what your wife always says.”
“No she don’t.”
“I didn’t say she said it to you.”
“Everybody shut up. It looks like Bill’s new business is a DVD. Is this one you made yourself, Bill”
“What do you mean, sort of? Did you or didn’t you?”
“I did leave the spy cam in Jim Bob’s bedroom the last time I went over to provide a little comfort to his old lady, but I wasn’t there when these scenes were recorded.”
“Whoooeee! Looks like Little Jimmy ain’t as little as you thought. Look at the log on that sucker. You sure he is any relation to you, Jim Bob?”
“Ain’t no way to tell. Are you certain about any of yours?”
“Probably not, but look at the bright side. It ain’t really incest if you ain’t the daddy, is it?”
“You got a point there. Course it might be if you are visiting the neighbors.”
As the glorious leader of this mongrel pack it was my duty to keep us aligned toward specific goals. “Anybody get any strange this week?”
“The closest I come to strange was Frank’s wife wanting it in the front. She’s usually bending over the table holding a can of Crisco when I walk in the back door.”
“Is that why she calls you her back door man?”
“That’s part of it.”
“Any new blood?”
Nobody could think of any, but one of the guys mentioned that there was a new math teacher at the high school who looked pretty sharp. He said she was the Homecoming Queen at the U of F the previous year and she was just getting started.
“Ok, let’s see a show of hands for those willing to interview her for the perennially open position of Club Doxy.”
“What the hell is a doxy, Jake?”
“If you can’t figure it out, then you don’t get any, George. Look it up.”
“Is that it? Ok, let’s eat. Bring out the serving wenches.”
“Hollleee sheeit, Ben. Is that your youngest, carrying those twelve big beer steins like an Oktoberfest Fraulein? Shit! She’s about to pop out of that Oktoberfest dress she’s wearing. Oh, damn, now the beer slopping over the rim is making her blouse wet. Oh, sweet Gracie! Now she did pop out and her hands are too full for her to be able to pop them back in.”
As fearless leader, I asked for a show of hands of those willing to help the poor child recover her dignity.
“Ok, ok. My, don’t we have a room full of selfless volunteers who are willing to give up their time to help that poor child. Perhaps we should hold an auction?”
“I’ll give everything I own and everything I’m likely to make, borrow, steal or smuggle for the rest of my life”, shouted Fritz. He always was pretty excitable. Perhaps it was the combination of his German blood and the Oktoberfest theme of the event?
Big Joe stood up and offered to double up Fritz’s offer.
“How in the hell can you do that?”, everybody wanted to know.
“Simple. I’ll just renege on it like he would have. Now be respectful and turn your heads while I help this child out of an embarrassing situation. Here, Darling. Let me help you. I’ll just drink these twelve beers you are holding against your fine chest. Then you will be able to put the empty steins down and reorganize your fine assets.”
“There ain’t no beer in them things you’re sucking on, Big Joe. You won’t never finish if you keep that up.”
“You mind your own damn bizness. I know what I’m doing.”
In order to restore dignity to the proceedings, I pounded my gavel. No, not that one, the wooden one. “Let’s get this show back on the road. Big Joe, you take Miss Munich to the back of the room while you complete your selfless community service. Does anyone else have anything to offer?”
“I’ll offer a hundred bucks to the first one who calls Big Joe’s wife and has her tell him to come home.”
“Sit down, Dennis. Kevin already thought of that and it looks like she is coming to get him, instead.”
“Oh, hi Gloria. Nice to see you. We don’t get many visiting ladies at our men-only society meetings. What can we do for you?”
“Men only, my ass. Any fool can see all those half dressed floozies serving chowder and beer.”
“I’m sorry. Did I forget to say we don’t see many women visitors? Our serving wenches do not violate the spirit of our men-only members rules.”
“If they can be here, then I don’t see why I can’t be here.”
“You are more than welcome to stay--as a serving wench. Otherwise, I must ask you once more to please leave.”
“Ok. I’ll be a serving wench. I want to see what is so damned interesting here that my husband would rather be here than be at home taking care of his assigned tasks. Give me one of those stupid bosom-holder dresses.”
“Sorry, Gloria. First time serving wenches don’t get bosom-holder dresses. You have to buy them using tip money. By the way, they are called dirndls.”
“Then what do I wear while I’m getting tips?”
“We will advance you the apron. You can buy the rest as soon as you have earned enough tips.”
“Then what is under the apron?”
“I said Gloria.”
“Gloria, what? Sometimes you men really piss me off.”
“You asked me what you would wear under the apron and I told you. You will wear Gloria under the apron.”
“Do you want the job?”
“Ok, ok. You win. I really want to see what goes on here that is so damned captivating to all of you guys. Where do I change?”
“One of the names we give this room is The Great Hall. At other times it is called The Dressing Room.”
“You want me to simply strip off in front of all those nasty old men while they look up my ass and imagine all the perverted things they would like to do with my innocent young body?”
“Great minds think alike.”
“Oh, what the fuck. Here, you hold this and don’t get it wrinkled or dirty. You over there, unclasp this for me and your leering buddy can pull these down.”
“I must say that you are demonstrating an excellent attitude, Gloria.”
“In for a penny. Now, where is my apron?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you that we have to order them? It will be a couple of weeks before we can get another one.”
“What am I supposed to do, just wiggle my ass around and rub up to all these old perverts?”
“It would be a good way to get a head start on your tip money.”
“Ok. Listen up, Big Joe. I wouldn’t be here if you had stayed at home, taking care of your chores, so don’t ever let me hear anything about what I do here. Anybody want a lap dance?”
I had to pound my gavel for a long time to get the uproar down to a roar. “All you guys put your tip in the jar and line up against the wall. No pushing and no shoving. Anybody who can’t be polite gets kicked out with no refund. Got it?”
Nobody complained, but that tip jar was going to buy a lot of dirndls if we didn’t increase the commission fee right away.
“Does anybody want to make a motion to increase commission fees to 99% for new wenches? Commission fees will be used to buy more beer.”
Well, that took care of that.
“The chair recognizes the Exalted Grand Turtle.”
“You bet your sweet ass you do. I move that we allow the current serving wenches the opportunity to demonstrate proper apron etiquette to the new wench. This will reduce the potential for fatigue on the new wench and allow the others to catch up a bit on their rent payments.”
“Show of hands? Resolution passed. Bring out the other wenches. If there are no other motions, I declare this meeting of the Maple Street Chowder and Interplanetary Rocket Society to be adjourned, for a meet and greet.”