DOUBLE WIDE

by Jim Parnell

I'm in the Mood
for Love
Ok. Now what.

As the seasons change and the thoughts of young people turn to love, (well, maybe not love, but it's as good a word as any) a certain scent is in the air. Fair breezes waft the petals from the trees in a gentle snowfall of silken white and pink. A hazy sheen hides the bulbous pistils and shuddering stamens, blushing delicately behind the heavy musk of raw, unbridled vegetable passion!
Hey, this isn't the April issue of Horticulture Fantasy! Oops. Wrong column. Heh-heh. Let me see here:
Flora Tattler ...
Cucumber Digest ...
Tales from the Pumpkin Patch ...

Aha! Aphelion! Yes, yes, OH YES!
Here we go.

The Five Senses -- Senses, ah the senses! It is time for your French lesson...

The scent of the day is, "Chartreuse"

"Mmmm, cheri, your feet smell so, je nes se quoix, Chartreuse,non?"

The color of the day is, "Sandpapier"

"Dahling, my <your_body_part_here> is so red, as if chafed by Sandpapier"

The sound of the day is, "Le gasse du marshe"

"Sacre bleu! You make the noise like Le gasse du marshe!"

The sight of the day is, "Boullabaise"

"Garcon! Get a bucket, sil vous plait. I'm going to Boullabaise"

The feel of the day is, "Champagne"

"More Champagne for mademoiselle? She is yet too sober for ze love-making, eh messeur?"
And now for your Italian lesson:

The word-a for this-a day is, "Chollo mollo", capische?

Rollo follo
Bollo hollo
Gollo pollo
Chollo mollo

Worf's Review -- Consider if you will, just how delicate a task Jean-Luc Picard has doing Worf's review:

Picard: Ah, come in, Mr. Worf. Please have a seat.

Worf: I prefer to stand, sir.

Picard: Very well, Worf. Hmmm. You know, it's not standard procedure to arrive at your performance review in full Klingon armor and carrying your battleth. Why, it's dripping blood all over the ready room!

Worf: I know, sir.   However, I have heard rumors that Starfleet is giving very small raises this year, so I decided it would be better for all concerned if I worked off my frustrations in the holodeck before coming here. I also need the practice. (looks directly at Picard) Just in case...

Picard: Right. (looks with alarm at the review on his palm computer, noting the paltry number on the bottom line)

Worf: (significantly) I got lots of practice...

Picard: I see. Well, Mr. Worf, I ... GOOD LORD!

Worf (bellows) : PTAHKK !!!
(swings the battleth over his head and embeds the point in Picard's mahogany desk)
Get ON with it, Captain! My hot Klingon blood is like, all aboil with the battle-lust - Arrrr!

Picard: Qu-quite right, Mr. Worf. Um, where was I, oh yes, right here. (deftly punches the delete key on the review) Damn! I seem to have deleted it; you'll have to come back later when I've had a chance to reconstruct it. (smiles genially at Worf)

Worf: (roars an unintelligible stream of Klingon curses, but then, all Klingon sounds like curses) I will return, Captain. You can find me in the holodeck, knee-deep in the blood of my enemies, beheading admirals and disemboweling captains, SIR!
(yanks the battleth up in a spray of splinters and stalks off)

Picard: (hits comm-badge) Transporter room.

Jordy: Yes, captain?

Picard: Deep Space Six, Jordy. Mr. Worf.

Jordy: Another one? (sighs) To hear is to obey, sir. One Deep Six Special coming up. (beams Worf into space without a pressure suit)

Picard: (mutters to himself) Damn, I'm glad Jordy's last on my list.
NEXT!!!

Ah, well. TNG never did have quite the same comic potential as the original recipe (sigh).

Dandelion Day -- A Lawn Maintenance Epic. (Guess who wrote this one)

Alas, the grass - so green
Awash in pollenous spray
Weedy disarray
Unmowed for quite a while -
Hath growed the extra mile
The still morning air
Rent asunder - was that thunder?
Nay, a garage door opener
Releasing fetid breath
Of gas, oil, and chunder.
The war declared, the battle joined
Weeds to be hacked !
Chemically attacked !
The warrior doth scratch his loins.
And mounteth hard the tractor seat
Creaks and groans and creaks
Some more --
Mechanistic squeals of agony.
With a flourish, a gesture grand
Reacheth he for the tractor key
And shuts his eyes to better see
In his mind's eye,
The Dandelion's Final Stand.
The turn, the click,
Re-turn, re-click
(the sigh)
The tear that rolleth from the warrior's eye
Quickly dries, as meaning flies
To his thick and dimwitted head:
"Hey! I can go fishin' instead!"

Always time for fishin'. If not, your life sucks worse than mine!

Jim Parnell eats bugs for a living -- the ones that infest your computer. Not having had proper discipline as a young child, he sees nothing wrong with raising Bubba up as a role model, nay, a cult anti-hero, for the adoring hordes of young whippersnappers who sneak off into the attic to read faded printouts of Double Wide.

You can e-mail Jim Parnell at bubba@recomnet.net

Picard:	Ah, come in, Mr. Worf. Please have a seat.
Worf:	I prefer to stand, sir.
Picard:	Very well, Worf. Hmmm. You know, it's not standard procedure to arrive at your performance review in full Klingon armor and carrying your battleth. Why, it's dripping blood all over the ready room!
Worf:	I know, sir. However, I have heard rumors that Starfleet is giving very small raises this year, so I decided it would be better for all concerned if I worked off my frustrations in the holodeck before coming here. I also need the practice. (looks directly at Picard) Just in case...
Picard:	Right. (looks with alarm at the review on his palm computer, noting the paltry number on the bottom line)
Worf:	(significantly) I got lots of practice...
Picard:	I see. Well, Mr. Worf, I ... GOOD LORD!
Worf (bellows) :	PTAHKK !!! (swings the battleth over his head and embeds the point in Picard's mahogany desk) Get ON with it, Captain! My hot Klingon blood is like, all aboil with the battle-lust - Arrrr!
Picard:	Qu-quite right, Mr. Worf. Um, where was I, oh yes, right here. (deftly punches the delete key on the review) Damn! I seem to have deleted it; you'll have to come back later when I've had a chance to reconstruct it. (smiles genially at Worf)
Worf:	(roars an unintelligible stream of Klingon curses, but then, all Klingon sounds like curses) I will return, Captain. You can find me in the holodeck, knee-deep in the blood of my enemies, beheading admirals and disemboweling captains, SIR! (yanks the battleth up in a spray of splinters and stalks off)
Picard:	(hits comm-badge) Transporter room.
Jordy:	Yes, captain?
Picard:	Deep Space Six, Jordy. Mr. Worf.
Jordy:	Another one? (sighs) To hear is to obey, sir. One Deep Six Special coming up. (beams Worf into space without a pressure suit)
Picard:	(mutters to himself) Damn, I'm glad Jordy's last on my list. NEXT!!!