Is Joe still with us? What's the news?
By now, Joe must be washing ashore on Isla Mujes. He is to be the guest of honor at a sacred ceremonial Last Supper tonight. I assume they will be serving giant shrimp, the Zthatzne national dish. I do hope Joe likes shrimp. The least he deserves is a good last meal.
I feel awful, abandoning Joe in his hour of need. I really should be there.
>wringing hands again<
But you know Joe. He was determined to go it alone.
I hope he's not allergic to shellfish. It will make the execution that much more uncomfortable.
Reyn wrote:I hope he's not allergic to shellfish. It will make the execution that much more uncomfortable.
I hope they swab the giant spear with alcohol... infection and all ya know
It has been charged that I am indiffrent to Joe's fate. Not so. I am offering him a new pair of argyle sox to reconsider before it's too late.
<SIGH>
It is now midnight, Isla Mujes time, so I suppose it is time we face facts.
<SIGH>
I've been sitting here on the south slope of this hill for the past 16 hours. It was the tallest hill around here I could find. I knew I couldn't actually see Isla Mujes from here, but...well, it's just that I so desperately wanted to. I brought a couple of bottles of wine (hic) and my cell phone, knowing that Joe has my number. I've been hoping against hope that he would call to let me know he'd somehow been granted a reprieve. (hic) But....no. No call.
<SIGH>
As I was finishing the second bottle of wine, oh about 8 o'clock or so, I happened to notice how bright the moon was shining tonight. (hic) I remembered how much Joe loved to watch a moonrise. <sob> He would have loved this one.
Was it my imagination, or did a large dark spot cross the moon as I watched? (hic) I'd like to believe it was Joe, on his way to the Sun...or wherever it is that giant shrimp and men go when they're flung. Just as it reached the far edge of the moon, I could have sworn the dark spot flashed.
I think it was Joe, saying one last goodbye.
(breaking down into huge, racking sobs)
Okay, farmerman. I guess it's time for that eulogy. (hic)
I bet Joe's home right now eating popcorn and watching a movie.
How can you say that, Reyn!!!!
Joe was a decent human being. An honorable man. A man of his word. A bit idealistic, sure, but that was what made him special. Joe was the sort of man who deeply cared about fledgling falcons. Who helped old ladies choose the right kind of spackling paste. Who always knew the right words to comfort someone in their hour of need.
Joe wouldn't even let me go with him when he really needed me because he knew it would ruin my birthday. (It's Tuesday, btw.) He even took time out from settling his affairs and saying his final goodbyes to send me a birthday card. (It's true.)
How dare you say something like that!
Joe was a saint, I tell you. A goddamn saint. And I shall never forget him.
<SOB>
I had stopped by yesterday to say my good-byes. Too late. Now too late for sure.
For some strange reason, I'm reminded of that delightful ditty from that delightful musical Oklahoma!--"Poor Judd Is Dead." Substitute Joe for Judd and voila. A paean to a great guy.
So sad.
Oh, Roberta. You're right. It would make a perfect tribute. Especially since Joe spent most of his adult life in Oklahoma.
How fittin'.
All together now.......(lalalalala)
Eva:
Pore Joe is daid,
Pore Joe Nation is daid,
All gather 'round his avatar and cry
He had a heart of gold
And he wasn't very old
Oh why did such a feller have to die?
Pore Joe is daid
Pore Joe Nation is daid,
He's lookin' oh so peaceful and serene
Joe:
And serene!
Reyn:
He's all laid out to rest
With his hands acrost his chest
His fingernails have never been so clean!
Then the preacher'd get up and he'd say:
farmerman:
Folks, we are gathered here to moan and groan over our brother Joe Nation, who flung hisself up over the moon like a giant shrimp, or better yet a cow, like in that nurs'ry rhyme, but there ain't gonna be no little cat fiddlin' hereabouts today...
Reyn:
Then there'd be weepin' and wailin'... from some of those women. Then he'd say:
DrewDad:
Joe was the most misunderstood man in this here territory. People used to think he was a mean, ugly feller and they called him a dirty skunk and an ornery pig stealer...
All:
But the folks that really knowed him....
Knowed that beneath them plaid shirts he always wore...
There beat a heart as big as all outdoors...
Joe:
As big as all outdoors.
Stray Cat:
Joe Nation loved his feller man.
Joe:
He loved his feller man.
edgarblythe:
He loved the falcons of the air and the mares of the field. He loved the mice and the vermin in the subways, and he treated the rats like equals, which was right. And he loved little children. He loved everybody and everything in the whole world! Only he never let on, so nobody ever knowed it.
All:
Pore Joe is daid
Pore Joe Nation is daid
His friends'll weep and wail for miles around...
Joe:
Miles around!
Bi-Polar Bear:
The daisies in the dell
will give out a different smell
Because Pore Joe is underneath the ground.
Joe:
Pore Joe is daid
A Candle lights his haid
He's layin' in a canoe made of wood
Kickycan:
Wood...
Joe:
And folks are feelin' sad
Cause they useter treat him bad
But now they know their friend is gone for good
Roberta:
Good..
All:
Pore Joe is daid. A candle lights his haid!
Eva:
He's lookin' oh so purty and so nice
He looks like he's asleep
It's a shame that he won't keep
But it's summer and we're running out of ice.
All:
Pore Joe, Pore Joe.
(With apologies to Rodgers & Hammerstein)
Joe werent no trouble, even when he got all likkered up. And thats all I gotta say about that.
Eva, I'm impressed as hell--and moved to tears. I'll be humming all day.
Poor Joe is daid.
I didn't know him well, but he seemed like an ok-enough kind of guy. But, I'm getting carried away.
So sad.
So, Joe, how's it going, eh?
What part of "hes dead" dont you get?
You wanna have a seance?
hehe, Joe's been fine and been watching TV the whole time. He has an active imagination, I grant you.
Pore Joe is daid, Reyn.
<sniff>
When does the wake start? Joe was proud of his Irish heritage, you know. He would have wanted us to hold a wake. I'll buy the first round.
[Reyn walks off, shaking his head]
Poor deluded buggers.
When I was a youth of fourteen, there was a family with lots of kids living next door. In the midst of excited playing, I often heard them say, standing over the prostrate form of the smallest boy, "Veally's dead. (singing) Silent night, Holy night . . . " It would be very sombre for a moment or two. Then Veally would get up and the games carry on.
So, in Joe's honor, SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT . . .
poor Reyn, wont face the truth. We should start a memorial fund to somethng, but what?
