Ray's Thought for the Day - Ray and Olwen 8
Ray’s excited state maintained itself throughout the evening and the wee hours and the passing later hours that herald the dawn. Ray slept, but fitfully, and Ray would arise once in a while to fiddle with this or fuss with that. But time carries us all along until she drops us and so it was with Ray. And at last, finally, Ray decided the time was right to array himself for his trip to Cousin Kinglet George’s Palace. “I shall appear really cool, top to bottom.”, thought Ray, and he began to work on the top first. Ray applied a liberal coating of a pink gooey substance to his head hair so that this same head hair that he had upon his head at that time would assume a perfect flat top on the top, but the sides, Ray swept into ducktails. “Too cool thought Ray,” satisfied. Then Ray picked out a white T-shirt, white undears and white poly-cotton socks and put those on. Then he carefully inspected himself in the mirror, for if any of these garments had visible holes, Ray intended switching out to another similar garment, but they all appeared Okie Dokie for visible holes. Then Ray carefully rolled up the arm containers on his T-shirt a couple of notches so that any who wished might better inspect his arm muscles. Next, Ray pulled on some Levis and rolled the leg containers on those up a couple of notches so that anyone who wished might espy his white socks. Next, Ray got out his black penny loafers, spit shined those and inserted his feet therein. “Too cool,” thought Ray. Then for his last garment which might or might not be required, but which could be efficaciously transported when not in use, Ray picked out a Levi jean jacket that perfectly matched his britches and put that on. “Perfect,” thought Ray.
Next Ray rounded up all the stuff that went in his pockets normally. Some of these items had specific pockets and some others, like spare change, could go anywhere. The most troublesome of these items, and the ones that engendered some minor cognitive dissonance in Ray, were the switchblade comb and the switchblade knife. Ray always made sure he kept the former in his left hip pocket with his wallet, and the latter in his right hip pocket with his bandana.
Ray’s comb and knife were a matched pair and the handles were ivory. The comb had this nature, that all Ray had to do was wave it in the general vicinity of his noggin and Ray’s hair would wax, perfect. The knife was so keen that Ray would toss a sewing needle in the air and slice the sewing needle length wise with that knife. Also, that knife, tossed, would always hit on its point and never miss its target.
Thus accoutered, Ray tossed a bunch of other white socks, T-shirts, undears , jeans, hair wax and toothpaste into his suitcase and headed out. First stop, was the breakfast nook where Ray found a sack on the table. The sack spelled, Ray. Inside the sack, was a can of RC, a twin pack of vaguely flavored Lemon Hostess Cupcakes, and a cellophane tube of Lance Peanuts. Furthermore a note was in the sack with instructions, to whit, “Ray, when you finish the RC and the cupcakes and the peanuts, put the can and the wrapper and the cellophane tube back into the sack and next time you get hungry those items will be restored and ready for you to consume, again. “ Cool,” thought Ray, for these very three food items were his favorites and he now had an endless supply.
Next stop was the garage area. “Whoa!” Ray could not believe his eyes. Conspicuously parked in the garage area was a ‘56 Crown Vic; customized, raked, glass packed, steering knob with matching shifter knob, baby moons, white sidewalls turned around, cream white exterior with a black roof to show off the crown, cream white rolled and pleated leather interior, and the engine, hood popped, gleamed with chrome. This particular Crown Vic had it all plus a sign affixed on the windshield spelled, Ray, and the instructions read, “All ye got to do is drive, drive, drive.” And as Ray was to discover anon, all he had to do was think where he wanted to go, and the Crown Vic took Ray, there too.
Next Ray rounded up all the stuff that went in his pockets normally. Some of these items had specific pockets and some others, like spare change, could go anywhere. The most troublesome of these items, and the ones that engendered some minor cognitive dissonance in Ray, were the switchblade comb and the switchblade knife. Ray always made sure he kept the former in his left hip pocket with his wallet, and the latter in his right hip pocket with his bandana.
Ray’s comb and knife were a matched pair and the handles were ivory. The comb had this nature, that all Ray had to do was wave it in the general vicinity of his noggin and Ray’s hair would wax, perfect. The knife was so keen that Ray would toss a sewing needle in the air and slice the sewing needle length wise with that knife. Also, that knife, tossed, would always hit on its point and never miss its target.
Thus accoutered, Ray tossed a bunch of other white socks, T-shirts, undears , jeans, hair wax and toothpaste into his suitcase and headed out. First stop, was the breakfast nook where Ray found a sack on the table. The sack spelled, Ray. Inside the sack, was a can of RC, a twin pack of vaguely flavored Lemon Hostess Cupcakes, and a cellophane tube of Lance Peanuts. Furthermore a note was in the sack with instructions, to whit, “Ray, when you finish the RC and the cupcakes and the peanuts, put the can and the wrapper and the cellophane tube back into the sack and next time you get hungry those items will be restored and ready for you to consume, again. “ Cool,” thought Ray, for these very three food items were his favorites and he now had an endless supply.
Next stop was the garage area. “Whoa!” Ray could not believe his eyes. Conspicuously parked in the garage area was a ‘56 Crown Vic; customized, raked, glass packed, steering knob with matching shifter knob, baby moons, white sidewalls turned around, cream white exterior with a black roof to show off the crown, cream white rolled and pleated leather interior, and the engine, hood popped, gleamed with chrome. This particular Crown Vic had it all plus a sign affixed on the windshield spelled, Ray, and the instructions read, “All ye got to do is drive, drive, drive.” And as Ray was to discover anon, all he had to do was think where he wanted to go, and the Crown Vic took Ray, there too.
posted by ray pistrum at Thursday, March 23, 2006
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