A locus for eccentrics (hopefully)

Sunday, October 01, 2006

How Guy Tarkington?

People have been stopping me on the street lately, asking, "Guy Tarkington?" It's a strange question really, because its status as a query is perilously assigned to the asker's inflection. But it deserves some attention.

Let me start by saying that, no, Guy has not been made redundant. In fact, we at "Le Lemur" have recently reached out to G.T. to offer a substantial compensation package.

Alas, our requests have obviously rung hollow. Our staff has recently offered that perhaps Guy, under the cover of night, has sullied off into a witness protection program somewhere in Kansas. Likely, this all stems from his participation in the infamous "Polka on the Pier" and the unwanted resultant attention received from the longshoremen there. Understandably, one would lay low after something like this.

However, others have wondered if, indeed, Guy's disappearance is not actually "foul play." Reports of the curious "Badminton Bandit," whose exploits have struck as far north as the Sawtooth Mountain range and as far south as El Paso, Texas, may have had a hand in this. Evidently, "B.B." is known to frequent local Piggly-Wigglys, wielding a wooden racquet and a forlorn countenance. On happening upon unsuspecting victims, who are usually in the Hostess section of said grocer and carrying a full-stop chilli dog and a 32 oz. Mr. Pibb, the Bandit asks if they've seen a shuttlecock lying about. Confused, the victims either look around or continue rummaging through the twinkies, looking for the one with the most recent Born-On date. It is then when the Badminton Bandit strikes, his blows raining down upon the victims shoulders like a Philistine cyclone. Few have rustled up the gumption to tell the tale of these brutal attacks. Piggly-Wigglys everywhere have included "No Racket" to the requisite "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service" stickers adorning the sliding doors.

Let us all pray that Guy is alive and well.

*above image related to, but not directly taken from, here. Gotta love the South.


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