"So how are they tracking you?" I asked the old motorcycle early one evening before everything was starting up and most of the guests had yet to arrive.
"They're not tracking me," the motorcycle replied, "they're tracking you."
"What do you mean, tracking me, why? How?
"I don't know how but they're tracking you because now that you have me they think you'll lead them to Veggie."
"But Veggie is dead."
"You and I know Veggie is dead but Veggie's body was never found and nobody scares Wackemall Inc more than Veggie Head Stalker."
"Wait a minute," I asked, "how am I to know that Wackemall Inc didn't arrange for me to find you at Salvage America? How am I to know you're not working with them? You said you could sense them. Is that because their lab guys have actually developed some electronic gizmo that can't be detected?"
"Well actually there's no way you could know any of those things, is there? But do you think that if the people who run Wackemall Inc actually had the one and only Wackemall 750, Veggie Head Stalker's most prized possession and the only thing they were never able to take away from him that they would risk letting it out of their sight even if I were bugged?"
"I don't know," I grumbled, "would they?"
"And risk the chance that you might return me to Veggie?"
"But Veggie's dead!" I shouted. "I saw them chop his body up and pitch him in the compost pile!" The painful memories I had long kept buried were rushing back to the top and I was beginning to go over the edge. Here I was arguing with a motorcycle and the motorcycle was beginning to make sense.
"But it was Monsanto who killed Veggie. Monsanto and Wackemall Inc were never close, they hated each other. Remember all the hostile takeovers Monsanto kept attempting when they wanted Wackemall Inc? Wackemall management still believes Veggie's death was some kind of trick on the part of Monsanto to get them out in the open and seize control of the majority of Wackemall shares."
"Makes sense," Steve said walking in the door. "Besides, you're not hard to track. For the last few weeks you've spent almost all your waking hours and all your sleeping hours right here in the shop. Anybody could find you."
"Did you get 'em?" I asked?
"Sure did," Steve replied, "Twenty gallons, hot and ready to eat."
Steve and I walked out to unload the groceries from the truck. For the last few weeks we'd been serving lots of free food to anyone who wanted to come by the shop and eat. Sometimes it was burgers and hot dogs, other times, barbeque, chili or beans but tonight it was something special, something most of our guests had never before tried-- chitlins.
Of course, being that most of our guests were going to be white folks like ourselves we knew most of them would never eat chitlins even though most had never tried them so we lied and said we were serving a rare Asian sausage that Steve had learned to cook while serving in the Army. They wouldn't know any better and our black guests had all been told in advance not to give the secret away. Even Donny and Wooley didn't know. Funny thing about us white folks, we'll eat all kinds of nasty things from all over the world but we won't eat the soul foods our black neighbors survived on for centuries.
"So," Steve asked, "how are you going to get a title for this talking motorcycle?"
"That's easy," the motorcycle said, "Billy's already my legal owner."
"I am?"
"Sure, Veggie left me to you in his will. All you have to do is go see his old lawyer."
"You think Burnup and Singed Attorneys At Law are still in business?" I asked.
"Are you serving a rare Asian sausage tonight?"
Continue to Rare Asian Sausage.
"They're not tracking me," the motorcycle replied, "they're tracking you."
"What do you mean, tracking me, why? How?
"I don't know how but they're tracking you because now that you have me they think you'll lead them to Veggie."
"But Veggie is dead."
"You and I know Veggie is dead but Veggie's body was never found and nobody scares Wackemall Inc more than Veggie Head Stalker."
"Wait a minute," I asked, "how am I to know that Wackemall Inc didn't arrange for me to find you at Salvage America? How am I to know you're not working with them? You said you could sense them. Is that because their lab guys have actually developed some electronic gizmo that can't be detected?"
"Well actually there's no way you could know any of those things, is there? But do you think that if the people who run Wackemall Inc actually had the one and only Wackemall 750, Veggie Head Stalker's most prized possession and the only thing they were never able to take away from him that they would risk letting it out of their sight even if I were bugged?"
"I don't know," I grumbled, "would they?"
"And risk the chance that you might return me to Veggie?"
"But Veggie's dead!" I shouted. "I saw them chop his body up and pitch him in the compost pile!" The painful memories I had long kept buried were rushing back to the top and I was beginning to go over the edge. Here I was arguing with a motorcycle and the motorcycle was beginning to make sense.
"But it was Monsanto who killed Veggie. Monsanto and Wackemall Inc were never close, they hated each other. Remember all the hostile takeovers Monsanto kept attempting when they wanted Wackemall Inc? Wackemall management still believes Veggie's death was some kind of trick on the part of Monsanto to get them out in the open and seize control of the majority of Wackemall shares."
"Makes sense," Steve said walking in the door. "Besides, you're not hard to track. For the last few weeks you've spent almost all your waking hours and all your sleeping hours right here in the shop. Anybody could find you."
"Did you get 'em?" I asked?
"Sure did," Steve replied, "Twenty gallons, hot and ready to eat."
Steve and I walked out to unload the groceries from the truck. For the last few weeks we'd been serving lots of free food to anyone who wanted to come by the shop and eat. Sometimes it was burgers and hot dogs, other times, barbeque, chili or beans but tonight it was something special, something most of our guests had never before tried-- chitlins.
Of course, being that most of our guests were going to be white folks like ourselves we knew most of them would never eat chitlins even though most had never tried them so we lied and said we were serving a rare Asian sausage that Steve had learned to cook while serving in the Army. They wouldn't know any better and our black guests had all been told in advance not to give the secret away. Even Donny and Wooley didn't know. Funny thing about us white folks, we'll eat all kinds of nasty things from all over the world but we won't eat the soul foods our black neighbors survived on for centuries.
"So," Steve asked, "how are you going to get a title for this talking motorcycle?"
"That's easy," the motorcycle said, "Billy's already my legal owner."
"I am?"
"Sure, Veggie left me to you in his will. All you have to do is go see his old lawyer."
"You think Burnup and Singed Attorneys At Law are still in business?" I asked.
"Are you serving a rare Asian sausage tonight?"
Continue to Rare Asian Sausage.
