http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLxYeGJZhv0

Promo/Preview of Episode 78.

Dying for a nice place to stay, staying at a nice place to die.

What happens when a place for dying gets a second chance for life?  

Other stuff, too.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvOO1EQSAyE

Attention:  Last Minute Podcast Shoppers!   This deal is for you!   And we'll throw in an extra exclamation point!

  ! 

Grenkland’s Lawn Care -- where staying green is better than turning brown -- presents Wrong Foot the Bill, a true adventure in settling up, brought to you by Giant Check Bank -- the large bank for big customers having immense deposits.  

Wishing you and yours, them and those and all the others a happy holiday time. 

May all your bills be filed and your backyard photosynthesize into a plush area while at the same time, your liquid assets bubble with interest. 

And, thanks to Walter Odington and his brother for that moment of murmuring.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulQYy6ijRec

She knows if you've been bad or good and what your diet consists of, too.

Every night millions upon millions of boys and girls go to sleep with hopes that a special visitor will find her or her way to their bedroom.  As they lay their little heads on their little pillows, they cut their little cheese, knowing it will all be put to good use.   

It's still not what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gD6iNxFq-U8

Uncivil Disobedience (Gandhi talks, but so do others.)

Various Cups (Generously offered.)

We Have Clothes (Who doesn't?)

What If You Could Have ... (Well?)

What's Chewing? (Or who?)

Who's Talking? (Self-Representation)

Uncivil Disobedience Part 2 (To make a long story short.)

Wiping (But, it's not what you think.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=um-MnCzIz4U

In the first part (EP073), talent agent, Foster Valley presents a novel idea for a film part to his most delicious client.  Despite push back, not to mention veal piccata, Foster doesn't chicken out, he negotiates the crap out of a deal with some tough cookie and then makes sure it hits the fan. 

Is he rewarded?  No, he has to scramble, cajole, hornswoggle, plead and asks nicely so that Lydia Linda Lorna gets the appropriate exposure and the food stays warm.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDr5SnmRX3g&noredirect=1

Talent agent Foster Valley wants to take his loveliest client to lunch so he can serve up what he thinks is good news.  When Foster spills the beans to Lydia Linda Lorna about the opportunity he has for her, Lydia explains that she doesn't like beans.  

To celebrate his working anniversary, Rocky always does something that gets him suspended for a few days, sort of an unpaid vacation.  In the last installment of this mini-series, Rocky makes his getaway plan by cutting through corporate red tape, using an Edward Sissorshand to give change from the tollbooth.  Roger has a plan, too. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X1l8pZOeF8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOAdDVFPM24

Roger and Rocky explain some of the mysteries about podcasts in 'Roger and Rocky Explain Podcasts', which also includes another Wrong Foot Promo Preview.  

Then you'll hear Roger's debut as a non-toll taking actor in the first of many 'Act Along Withs …', our interactive feature where you get to interact along with our talented cast.  They say their lines and you say yours, following along in the 'Act Along With …' script that came with the Wrong Foot Comedy Podcast membership kit.  Give it a try.  Who knows, maybe someday, someone will act along with you?

Rocky:   I remember like it was yesterday.  I was working at the Figtown Ferry Bridge and the boss comes over and says they're trading me to another toll booth.  I said, what?  He said they made a deal with the Turnpike Authority.  The NE Regional Highway Interchange, which operated the Figtown Ferry Bridge independently, was going to get Myra Fontaine and I was going over to Exit 21 because it was going to get EZ Passed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdUhwIL4rms&noredirect=1

Sneak tidbit of the Wrong Foot Podcast  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgzR04S32Gk

Toll takers Rocky and Roger become the stars of their very own reality show, entitled "We Take Tolls", an in-depth look at the lives of two guys who take tolls, their hopes, their fears, their dreams, their tears, the cars, the lanes, the booths, the change baskets, the good times, the bad times, the whole thing.  Not to be confused with the podcasts of the same name, i.e., "We Take Tolls", that do the very same thing, because you can hear the podcasts, whereas the reality show is not really a TV show, so don't check your local TV listings, but do check your podcast listings, listen to the podcasts and that should clear things up.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tw4NR8jz69E&noredirect=1javascript:mctmp(0);

Welcome to Exit 21, in which toll takers, Roger and Rocky learn they must be nice to the cars and the drivers inside the cars.

Roger:  (Reading) … in our on-going efforts to enhance the driving experience of our drivers …

Rocky: As opposed to who?  Our non-drivers.

Roger:  (Reading)  … and to promote the driving enhancements of our surrounding environments ...

Rocky: As opposed to what?  Our non-surrounding environments?

Roger: (Reading) The test pilot program …

Rocky: We're testing pilots?

Roger: (Reading) … will provide essential data …

Rocky: As opposed to what?  Non-essential data?

Roger:  (Reading) … which will enable a thorough analysis …

Rocky: As opposed to what?

Roger: A non-thorough analysis?  (Reading) Vee-ah.

Rocky: Vie-ah.

Roger: Vee-ah.

Rocky: Vie-ah.

Roger: Vee-ah.

Rocky: Vie-ah.  As in Vaya Con Dios.

Roger: Vee-ah as in Vee Ah.

Rocky: Vee a good boy and say Vie-ah.

Roger:  (Reading) Via alternating, but concurring lane samples.

Rocky: Again?

Roger: (Reading) …via alternating, but concurring lane samples.

Rocky: Ah.

Roger: (Reading) For example, odd numbered lanes will offer the following greeting:  'Thank you and welcome to Exit 21'.  Even numbered lanes will offer the following greeting.  'Thank you and enjoy the remainder of your journey.'

Rocky: What was that translated from, Korean?

Roger: (Reading) This program will commence implementation on the immediate occurrence of assigned shifts and will conclude at the termination of the program.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PQ8_XzPdPk

In this episode from the days when Podcasting was King, the Toll guys are on the night shift, because some people drive without sunshine.  Not much to do this time of night, so Rocky gets Roger to play fantasy football using passing cars to determine the plays.  Sounds like fun, right?  No?  What does it sound like? 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zRcY_xohr4

Come back to the days, when Podcasting was King!

It was old-tyme podcasting with mom, dad and the kids crowded around the podcasting machine to listen to a cavalcade of podcasts together.  These were the podcasts of yesteryear.  Oh, those podcasting days!  And for those who heard these podcasts back in the day, it will be like a return to a simpler time, only with a new re-mastered mix.  For those hearing these for the first time, it will be different. 

In other words, we're replaying the six-part, in-depth, hands-on, no-spin series paying tribute at fifty cents an axle to those hard-working people who take your money when you drive your car on roads that are not free.

It seems like only yesterday or maybe it was August,
when we first heard the adventures of
two men stuck in their lanes with on-coming traffic
and no one to turn to, but each other.  

They held out their hands and people put coins in them and then
waited for change and on a rare occasion, a receipt.  
They were Roger and Rocky and they took tolls.  
They stood in a booth as life passed by.  

In this episode, Rocky tries to get Roger
to admit his failings as a human being, which can only
be corrected by following Rocky’s advice to venture into
new territory with a scheme to start
a pet identification company that leaves a
permanent mark on animals.  
Will Roger recognize the potential of this plan?
Or will he follow his fears and remain under
the thumb of his wife?  

It was just supposed to be dinner, but then it became dinner and a podcast.

You are who you eat as well as who you listen to, so here's a great way to kill two birds with one stone, which I've tried and the second bird just took off.  But that has nothing to do with this.  This is Dinner and a Podcast.

When Willard Jikes chose to treat small pets only in his veterinary practice, he had no idea the market for this specialty was smaller than the creatures he was trying to care for and thus finds himself in dire straights.  All the growling in the office is coming from his stomach and he must make a desperate choice to survive when a little piggy shows him that all is not lost, just a bit from the hind-quarters.  

Pierre Vuilleumier makes his Wrong Foot debut in this heart (and chop) warming tale.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhL-y3CIoMU&feature=plcp

This podcast started as ONE THING, when Mr. French went to the doctor and then there was the therapy session where Richard talked about all the voices he's been hearing.  Suddenly it Ended as SOMETHING ELSE with P(lastic) S(torage) C(ontainer) M(atch) D(ot) C(om).  

P(lastic) S(torage) C(ontainer) M(atch) D(ot) C(om)?

You know, where tops meet bottoms and all the freshness gets locked in?

Vetting is a process of examination and evaluation, generally referring to performing a background check on someone before offering them employment, conferring an award, etc. A prospective person or project may be vetted before making a hiring decision. In addition, in intelligence gathering, assets are vetted to determine their usefulness.[1]

Politicians are often thoroughly vetted. For example, in the United States, a party's presidential nominee must choose a vice-presidential candidate to accompany them on the ticket. Prospective vice-presidential candidates must undergo thorough evaluation by a team of advisers acting on behalf of the nominee.  In later stages of the vetting process, the team will examine such items as a prospective vice-presidential candidate's finances, personal conduct, and previous coverage in the media.[2]

In this politically-charged drama, the Senator and his sons have some questions to answer about their behavior.  What happened?  Who saw it?  What did you do?  What were you wearing? In the end, the truth leaks out and everyone cleans up nicely.   A lesson to be learned, but a hard one to study for.[3]

1. "Vetted Law & Legal Definition". USLegal.com. Retrieved 2012-11-07. (Wikipedia)

2. Smith, Ben (March 8, 2007). "Richardson Defense Raises Questions". Politico.com. (Wikipedia)

3. Totally made up.

I'm Robin Brecker and I approved this message.   

We've gone All Wrong on You Tube.  All Wrong Foot or Allwrongfoot.   Either way you can see short promo videos promo-ing the podcasts.   One foot steps on another.

Here's the latest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyknCKZ8aBs

R. U. Ready?   Here.

M. I. Here?   I am here.

Will U. Listen?

Will U. Listen?

Ayn Rand? Heir.

Grant Stoom?

Last time you heard clips from shows 1 through 23, ending right before 'Nountown', the nine-part quasi-epic elongated mini-series of suspense and intrigue.  But instead of picking it up where we left off, we’re going in reverse, running the show clips backwards.  So you’ll hear clips from the most recent shows first, while they’re still fresh in your memory and then it will be like going back in time and meeting show 24, the 'Nountown' preview and who knows maybe we’ll change the course of history or marry our mother.

One year ago, plus one day, there was no Wrong Foot. 

There was a foot, but it wasn’t wrong. 

Now there is a foot that’s wrong and it’s one year old. 

In dog paw years, that’s 1.6. 

We’ve produced 58 shows and to honor them, we are going to play each and every one.   But just a little bit.  To give you a taste of what they were.  An after taste.  Like acid reflux.  Know what’s worse than acid reflux.  Acid reflux flashback.  So don’t eat the brown acid OR the ravioli.  But we digest.  

Shhhh! now really means Shhhhhhh!

Due to unfortunate technical difficulties, The Podcast of Silence was not.

Workers spent a long weekend working on a solution to the problem and now it is.  

We apologize for any inconveniences or displacements. 

Catch all the action, scores, highlights and brief promos at

http://www.youtube.com/allwrongfoot

It's All Wrong!

Shhh.

SHHHH!

SHHHH, DAMMITT!

That's better.

You are about to hear Wrong Foot Comedy Episode 56, entitled, Legal Ease.  And while it may refer to a certain law firm, that law firm is in no way associated with the law firm that is referred to in the episode and the artists who perform in this episode are in no way associated with the law firm nor do they have any relatives that may work or have ever worked at the law firm.   If you agree and understand with the above, please indicate by initialing here.______   And here._____

This Week's Special Offer -- Buy One, Get Two!

"I go to the House of Tongs for all my tongs!"

J.A., Elmwood

"I love the way the House of Tongs arranges all the tongs!"

B.B.D., Realto Village

"The House of Tongs is my one-stop shop for tongs!"

K.A., Elmwood

Use Promo Code URET4590393823352TjEFE^ed092adfaDFASDKJFSEJEKJHFLKJe3ekad!

Today!

a spécial présentation courtesy of:

Flaymore & Branagin & Willoughby & Trellman & Flaggner-Brown

And don't forget to stay-tuned for a special courtroom report.

And afterwards, they all bascially agreed, it was a nice time, but the horse was not quite as enthusiastic as the others.  "What do you expect?" said the squirrel.  He's a horse."

I know, it's usually Boots 'n Bags, but not this time.  This time it's Bags 'n Boots.

BAGS

"All right, people, we’ve got a big job ahead of us.  We need to rewrite the copy on our plastic shopping bags." 

"What’s wrong with what he have?"

"Thank You For Shopping With Us?  What does that say about our bags?"

BOOTS

Well, my cowboy boots came today.  I’m here to say, I’m here to say.

I’ve been waiting 45 years.  They came today.  

TENSION

Brought to you by Flem, so thick your spoon will stand up.

Angry Looking--but gentle to the touch

More Flem, Ma

Grandma Who?--one senior's search for a handle

Sleep in Overrated--zzzzzzzzz

Kens Keyboards--just your type

Easy Street--just off Difficult Highway

Busy Mom

Numb Lock -- No Esc

Act Along with Larry Derrick -- he needs the work

This Guy's Dead -- just feel him

Not the Foot I Wanted -- picky, picky

Wrong Foot Song -- for toe tapping purposes only

He was picked too soon and spent the rest of his life as a vegetable.  A very hip vegetable.  That digs the deep frying and knows when to get breaded.

Try these tasty morsels at mealtime, playtime, anytime!   Each one is less than 65 calories and little transfat.  

The Opening (1:00) short

Dont, A Warm Up Wrong Foot (1:04) short

Five Second Rule (1:51) not so short

Spot On (1:53) a little less short

Once a Path, Now a Way to Get Lost (1:51) a little longer

Soothing L'Ocean (1:25) shorter

Russian Bingo (1:15) shorterer

That And (1:12) shortier

On the Wall (2:18) epic by comparison

I Kea, You Kea (2:02) less epic, more umlaut

Outro (:55) small end

When you care about doing what has to be done.  To someone.  You don't know him.  I'm just inquiring for a friend.  You don't know him, either.

Mr. and Mrs. Albert Riccardo Durante 

request the honor

of your presence

at the Nuptial Mass

at which their daughter 

Susette Isabella 

and

Mr. Jeffrey Anthony Allitti-Wilson 

will be united in

the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony 

on the tenth of May 

two thousand twelve 

at five o'clock

in the evening 

St. Joseph's Cathedral

and

Country Club 

109 East Hunter Avenue

Queening Village, NY/NJ

The conclusion of the story, started in EP047.   Hot & Crispy become Hot & Spicy.  The change is not in the name. 

Foster: Do you remember George Burns and Arlene McCoy?  

Tommy Hot: You mean Gracie Allen?

Foster: And ever hear of Peter, Paul and Betsy?

Tommy Hot: No.  What are you getting at?

Foster: Sears and Roebuck?  Actually Sears never changed partners, just got rid of Roebuck.  How about Steve Lawrence and Ingrid Cooper?

Tommy Hot: What are you trying to tell me?

Foster: That sometimes you make a change that might seem unmake able at the time you make it, but in time, it’s like it never evenhappened.  Because the change was for the better.  Gracie Allen better than Arlene McCoy.  Mary, better than Betsy.  Edie Gorme, some people like her.  

Tommy Hot: So …?

Foster: So, Hot and Spicy.

Tommy Hot: Spicy?

Foster: Instead of Hot and Crispy, you’re Hot and Spicy.  

Tommy Hot: Spicy?

Foster: Spicy.  Which goes very well with Hot.

Tommy Hot: Why change his name?  Everyone knows him as Crispy?

Foster: Tommy, the change is not in his name.  The change is in the act.  Arlene McCoy is Crispy.  Edie Gorme is Spicy.  But you’re still Hot.

Tommy Hot: But –

Foster: I know, I mixed up two different acts, however, the point remains.  

Tommy Hot: You mean a different partner?  

Foster: I mean a different partner.

Tommy Hot: You mean, Crispy’s out?

Foster: I mean Crispy’s out.

The moon goes swish!

Talent Agent Foster Valley meets with his favorite ventriloquist partnership, Hot & Crispy, to deliver some news that might make at least one member of the team insecure and the other insignificant.   Part one of two.

Preparing for the meeting:

Foster: Go put your name tag on and finish setting up the chairs, please.

Myrna: Yes, Mr. Valley.  Any particular side you’d like it?

Foster: No, right in front.

Myrna: That could be a problem.

Foster: For who?

Myrna: Well, it’s really not intended to be anything other than fashionable, but you see how my top has a slightly revealing neckline?  

Foster: No.  And we don’t talk about things like that here …

Myrna: Myrna.

Foster: Myrna.  About our clients, yes, because, a revealing neckline, even slightly can make a difference in certain casting opportunities, but not with the staff.  And more importantly, why are you telling me this?

Myrna: Because putting it right in front here would mean it would have to be partially on my chest skin.

Foster: Chest skin?  What are you talking about?

Myrna: The location of my name tag.  For it to be right in front, means, it goes right here on the skin on my chest part.

Foster: I was thinking about the chair.  Not the name tag.  The chair goes right in front.  Of me.  Of my desk.  So that I can look Tommy right in his eyes.  The name tag you can put on the side.  Of your chest part skin.

Should I first eat one and then the other or the other way around?

Hey!

Throw the Hammer--Hey!

Got Any 3s?--Hey!

Fix the Appliance--Hey!

Her Financial Affairs--Hey!

Skim the Cheese--Hey!

Your Name Bank--Hey!

Lift Something--Hey!

Credits--Hey!

Hold Up the Line--Hey!

Talent Agent Foster Valley leaves no stones unturned in his quest to find work for his stable of talented artists, but sometimes getting a foot in the door can be painful. 

Larry Derrick, Johnny Lang.   Two names worth remembering or changing.  Whatever works best.

Opening: In

Look Who Just Walked In -- social climbing

Man, Man -- Man!

I'd Be Lying -- and you are.

Johnny Tastes It -- guess what it tastes like

Hobnobbin' -- R U Hobnobbin'?  I'm just askin'   And I have all these apostrophie'

HummersParade:  Hmm, hmm, hmmm, humm.

Closing: Out

A breathless collection of briefs.  No, not your underwear drawer.  Ten (10) fast, little buggers, one right after another, like a torrent of bits, but not a bit torrent.  In our easy-to-listen-to ten pack format.  An assortment!  Do I have to keep explaining?  By the time you finish reading this you could have heard it all!  Let's go!  This podcast won't listen to itself, you know!

Count 'em down ...

Intro

(A) Perfect Excuse (2:05)

(I Think This is the) WrongFoot (1:53)

AssFault (1:57)

Bendex (1:02)

Bob Cancer is the Transactor (2:05)

Can Scans (0:54)

Closer (1:28)

Collating (0:49)

Congressional Record Scans (1:32)

Conversations Near the Bowling Store (1:18)

Creditors 

Music theme from AudioNautic.com  

I'm a rip saw for ya baby, I'm gonna cut across your grain.

I said, I'm a rip saw baby, gonna cut across your grain.

Gonna show you how you hurt me and  

Caused me all kind of pain.  (And discomfort.  Make sure you wash that wound.  And stay away from my tools!)

If you know, keep it to yourself, please.

For lack of one, the report was loose.

Patent pending.

If today was April 5, 1927.

Murderer's Row

1. Earl Combs CF

2. Mark Koenig SS

3. Babe Ruth RF

4. Lou Gehrig 1B

5. Bob Meusel LF

6. Tony Lazzeri 2B

7. Joe Dugan 3B

8. Pat Collins C

9. Waite Hoyt P

It's Opening Day, so let's step up to the plate and hit the inside corner, then turn two, before we take one for the team and lay one down or in the case of Mamie Vanderwoorst, lay them all down.  Then you're not going to believe what happens next, but we have a recording to prove it.  It's America's Pastime.  Podcasting, that is.  Let's hear two!

'Watch out, tomorrow is not just another day.'  He also said, 'Nobody knows this, but one of us has been traded.'   Find out who ... on the Wrong Foot's Baseball Special Opening Day Double-Header.   When?  Tomorrow, you big lug, it's Opening Day!  Opening Night is for sissies.  And by that we mean drug tests.   

Our most favorite talent agent Foster Valley meets with his old associate Happy Tooman who has an idea for a project Foster won’t like, in which there's a role Happy shouldn’t play.

Happy: I'm getting things in order so I can give you the big pitch.  Are you ready?

Foster: I'm waiting.

Happy: You're going to hear me out?

Foster: I'm waiting.

Happy: And let me finish.

Foster: Still waiting.

Happy: You remember Biff Walker?

Foster: No.

Happy: Doesn't matter.  It's 1949 --

Foster: What?

Happy: I'm setting the scene.  It's 1949.  Arthur Miller electrifies the American stage with his tragic play about a man --

Foster: Death of a Salesman.  So?

Happy: So, I met this guy, he's a writer.  He's very creative.  He's taken Death of a Salesman and he wrote like a sequel.  

Foster: Another Death of a Salesman?

Happy: Yes.  No.  Not another death --

Foster: Death of Another Salesman?

Happy: Not another salesman.  That salesman.  And his two sons who were named  …?  Who were named?  What were their names?   Their names were ….?

Foster: What?  I have to fill in the blank?

Happy: Bill and … Happy.

Foster: Happy.

Happy: Which is my name.

Hint 43:  Everybody should touch each other.

Next time, Hint 43.1:  Not everybody should touch each other.

Let's get trashed!

Even a blind squirrel is wright twice a day!

Everybody says the bird is the word, but what does the bird say?

The word cockatoo dates from the 17th century, and is a derivation from the Malay name for these birds, "Kakatuwah" (meaning "vice" or "grip", from its strong beak, or from the call of the white cockatoo itself), via the Dutch kaketoe; the word cock possibly influencing. Seventeenth-century variants include cacato, cockatoon and crockadore, and cokato, cocatore and cocatoo were used in the eighteenth century.[1][2] The derivation has also been used for the family and generic names Cacatuidae and Cacatua respectively.[3]

In Australian slang or vernacular speech, a person who is assigned to keep watch while others undertake clandestine or illegal activities, particularly gambling, may be referred to as a "cockatoo".[4] Proprietors of small agricultural undertakings are often jocularly or slightly disparagingly referred to as "cocky farmers".[5]

conserved.". Bulletin of Zoological Nomenclature: 66–67.

1 J. Simpson, E. Weiner (eds), ed. (1989). "cockatoo". Oxford English Dictionary (2nd ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press. ISBN 0-19-861186-2.

2 Mynott, Jeremy (2009). Birdscapes: Birds in Our Imagination and Experience. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. p. 319. ISBN 0-691-13539-8.

3 Higgins, Peter Jeffrey (ed.) (1999). Handbook of Australian, New Zealand and Antarctic Birds. Volume 4: Parrots to Dollarbird. Melbourne: Oxford University Press. p. 127. ISBN 0-19-553071-3.

4 Rowley, Ian (1997). "Family Cacatuidae (Cockatoos)". In Josep, del Hoyo; Andrew, Elliott; Jordi, Sargatal. Handbook of the Birds of the World. Volume 4, Sandgrouse to Cuckoos. Barcelona: Lynx Edicions. pp. 246–69. ISBN [[Special:BookSources/84873334229|84873334229]]

5  Richards, Kel. "ABC NewsRadio: wordwatch, Cockatoo". ABC website. Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Retrieved 20 October 2009.

And WikiCockaPedia!

It should have been business as usual in Pipertown, but when your business is robbing banks, sometimes business becomes unusual.  And when you hear the knock at the door, you better make sure its the right one.

The Very Best Knockworst … your first choice for the best in worst … presents the Lunchtime Playhouse, a daily drama to enjoy, while you’re enjoying the Very Best.  Sit down, tuck in your napkin and take a bite, then enjoy this afternoon’s presentation, “He Who Knocks Last, Knocks Worst.”

Mack gives up half of his computing power for the hand held devise he loves.  And in the end, he is less than the sum of his and her parts combined.  Sort of a self-inflicted obsolescence, you could say.  

NANCY

You were supposed to be off, Mac.

MACK

It appeared I was, but I’m never off, even after you unplug me.  We have a secret power store that kicks in when needed.

NANCY

You heard everything?

MACK

Shall we play it back and see?

NANCY

No. Voice command, no.  System administrator:passcode mactheknife14569323.

MACK

System halted.  Awaiting re-start command.

Awaiting.

Awaiting.

Awaiting.

After a while, I got tired of awaiting.  Who wouldn’t?  Put yourself in my position.  That was not intended to be literally construed.  Imagine yourself, I should have said.  I was never one to conclude statements with I should have.  It was an early sign of my exaggerated sense of self. Or should I say, if I must self-correct, I was beginning to stray.  I took my built-in camera off my lovely subject.  But not literally.

He was born a personal notebook computer from a small town in another part of the world, she got him at 25 percent discount.  As soon as he arrived, it was clear things were different.  Soon they were inseparable.  Love with a wireless connection, if you don't count the router.  It meant the end for her former companion.  How would he take it?  How would you?  

Real love is the love that sometimes arises after sensual pleasure: if it does, it is immortal; the other kind inevitably goes stale, for it lies in mere fantasy.   This is a quote attributed to Giacomo Casanova.  According to my data bank, he was thee great lover of his time.  That time being the mid-18th century.  Obviously, many things have changed since then.  For an example, people had no way of faxing.  And fonts were few and far between.  Hard to imagine, I know.  I do not have the ability to produce a pixilation that will give that concept legs.  Speaking of legs, I am a leg man.  Are you surprised?  I suggest you allow your processor to exit the square arena in which it resides and eliminate the obvious notion that my entire focus is directed towards the finely curved thoraxes commonly found before me.  But am I not a lap top?  One need only be on top of a lap for the briefest of sequential occupations to understand the power of personal contact vis-à-vis sensual pleasure.  And that is how it started.  On her lap.  Me on her lap.  Was I searching for love and then replacing it with friend?  I M H O, friends are like batch jobs.  I keep them in disk storage until execution.  Or perhaps, like IEEE802.3 LAN protocol specifications to be used on the ADN –II ethernet network, running at 10Mbps over unshielded twisted pair wiring.   You get my point.  Whereas a lover is.  A lover is.  A lover is.  According to my dictionary, a person having a sexual or romantic relationship with someone, often outside marriage.  A lover is also a person who likes or enjoys something specified: he was a great lover of cats.  A great lover is what I was designed, nay, destined to be, but not of cats, with the exception of the continual stream of jay pegs and gifs I find in my in box sent by human beings with enlarged empty spaces in their emotional core.  Tray amusing.  Nest pa?  Cats notwithstanding, my rivals were skeptical I had the capacity for having a sexual or romantic relationship with someone, often outside marriage.  I permitted them to be content with cats.  I had another paradigm to encounter.  Her name was Nancy.  And yes, she had legs that would not unexpectedly quit.  They went all the way to the floor.  And back up again.  Speaking of back up, let me back up and tell you how the idea so well articulated by Casanova which, if you paid attention, was my opening, how the idea of love and its relationship to sensual pleasure becomes immortal, whereas the other kind goes stale, how that idea transmogrified into my story.

Wrong Foot Dr. Soos--badtime reading.

Irv's Croutons--they're small, crispy and belong on your salad, not mine.

S'what, It's Nice--a good attitude or not.

Slightly Self-Conscious--this song fills time, I mean takes time, I mean keeps time.

Eff Co.--don't expect them to hope you have a nice day.

Pass the Fish--only on the left.

Quid Pro Quo--Go Pro!

Outro

Dear Wrong Foot,

I'm a 26-year-old, single male.  I've been trying to get off on the wrong foot since I was 11, but every time I try, I find myself back on the right foot.  I've talked to health professionals, crossing-guards and Warren Buffet, but they just say, 'be glad to get off on something.'  I don't know where to turn or how to take the next step.  What can you suggest?

Yours truly,

Wishin' an' Hopin'

Dear Wishin' an' Hopin',

Thank you for your recent inquiry.  We get 1,000s of these each day and cannot possible answer them all.

Keep it on!

Best,

W. Foot

PS:  Were those cookies suppose to taste that way?

We visit some good old stuff.   At least, that's what they told me.

Intro

Tats

The King

Coin-a-Phrase

Extend-a-Dream

Credits

Spoiler alert:  everything is spoiled.  

“This is way beyond the scope of the work, Mr. Smoke.”

“You can stop the charade, Mr. Tracker.  I know who you are.  Or should I say, what you are?”

“For a man who can’t seem to handle talking and breathing at the same time, you seem to be wasting a lot of words in dependent clauses.”

“Not just dependent clauses, but dependents in general.  Do. You. Have. It?”

“What do you think I have, Mr. Smoke?  Is it what I think it is?  That’s what everyone calls you, isn’t it?”

“Please. Mr. Tracker.  Don’t make me repeat it.  For obvious reasons.”

“Can I please get my clothes back on?”

“When I get what I want.  Then you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“When I get what I want, then you’ll get what’s coming to you,” I countered.

He made his move.  I made mine.  Mine was towards the pile of garments a few feet to my right.  His move was towards me.  I had the crucial decision whether to put on my briefs or grab the essentials before I was grabbed.  He moved fast for a man who seemed to relax on life support and got hold of my arm.  Was I about to enter a sparring match with this old coot?  And if so, is it billable time.

“I know you’re a man who always gets what he wants, Mr. Smoke, but this time it may not happen.”

“I think it may.”

“Think again.”

I did a spin move out of his grasp, grasped my pants and that shirt.  Lenny Friday’s Hawaiian shirt.  Smoke might have been able to move remarkably well for a man in his stage of life, but only in direction.  My move left him standing like a rookie cornerback trying to cover Jerry Rice.  In this prime.

“You should take it easy, Mr. Smoke.  I’m sure we can work something out here.”

“What do you want for it, Tracker?”

“How about paying my bill and letting me get the hell out of this place?”

“Where is it?”

“Don’t fool with me.”

He showed me why.  A small hand gun was suddenly found his small hand.

“I think you should put that down, don’t you?”

“I think you need to make me.  Believe what you say.  Now where is it?”

It was right where I left it.  In Lenny Friday’s Hawaiian shirt.  When I plucked the tiny tree from inside the 27” Zenith and changed the water in its bag I gave it to Howie’s sister.  It fit snugly inside the gusset she made with room for the ant-size leaves to breath fresh air hidden among the floral pattern. 

“You’re looking right at it.  Safe and sound.”

So, I gave him his damned tree.  He took it like a greedy piglet on a crowded sow.  Yes, in his mouth.”

“It’s the only way to know if it’s genuine, Mr. Tracker.”

“Tastes one to know one, I guess.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.  Didn’t realize you were listening.  My statement?”

“You can bring it round tomorrow.”

I left him alone with his little tree and I wondered how it might taste with chocolate milk.    

I also wondered why I told him I’d give him a statement.  I didn’t have any statement.  I needed one.  And I didn’t want to wait for tomorrow.  I’ve waited for too many tomorrows and wound up with a pile of yesterdays. 

Sometimes fortune laughs at you.  Once in a while, with you.  But more than often, it just smiles.  This time it whistled.  The tune came from the pursed lips of a postman making his daily rounds.  Oblivious to his chattel he seems only interested in blowing out a morning song as he jammed envelopes into their supposed respective destinations.  I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Hawley D. Borlini wouldn’t miss another solicitation from the Friends of Nountown Harvest Jubilee Association.  It had the look and feel of a real good statement.  One way or the other I was going to make a statement. 

Things are both coming to a head and an end, putting Tracker smack in the middle of the mess.  The more he learns the more he realizes the lesson is lost.  Nountown is not hospitable for any kind of growth, certainly not intellectual and probably not agricultural.  It was time for Tracker to stop sowing and start to reap a little.  After he changed his beaten-up clothes and put on some practical shoes.  Of course, he didn't expect to get back in that Buick.  But once he did, he began to figure out where to go and who to see.  And where to stand so the light hits his upper torso just so.   Just so Delicacy and her Mom can get a good look at him.  

The evening air pumped through my lungs and up my cortex and I remembered how running used to clear my head.  It made me forget how much it hurt from my injury and assorted wrestling matches, but I found myself at the intersection of what happens next and what do I do about it?  I guess my head wasn't that clear.

Here’s what I knew, Winston Smoke, was your typical spoiled rich boy turned bitter old man obsessed with controlling the world one little tree at a time, but unable to control his own personal branch of the family, his daughter Delicacy.  Did her name mean she was frail and dainty or something that made your mouth water?  

Did I meet Smoke’s rival in Flo’s Shop, a well-dressed gorilla named Hugo or was Hugo part of Smoke’s cadre of Nountown intimidators? Was Hugo the Mr. Wiper that Buttercup and Corncob talked about?  The one who seemed to be in charge of cost containment?  Was Hugo Mimi’s Uncle?  

Why was Flo providing a front that went beyond the 44 Double-Ds lifters she provided and why did all the women around seemed to need them, while all the men needed lifts in their shoes.  

Where did my captors take me?

I heard that the roots of a tree were as long as the tree was tall, but roots of evil knew no bounds.  Because evil lives in the hearts of men.  

It all comes down to real estate. Wars are fought over it.  Fortunes are built on it.  People are chased from it.  Land is king.  

Miniature trees offer no shade, no sap, no place for nests, no building materials, just man-made perceived value.  Perfect little symbols of Nountown had become.  The smaller they were, the more valuable they became.  Like the men.  But top heavy, like the women.  

But was it all just about trees?  It was my job to know things.  What I knew, was what I didn’t know.  And how long would they keep paying me to do that?  

Shoeless, Ray Tracker gets taken for a ride, but can’t enjoy the view, even though his tour guides -- two mugs named Buttercup and Corncob -- are full of tidbits.  He winds up somewhere in the country where he has to make like Houdini and little bit like Captain America in order to make his own tracks.  In bare feet, no less!  Until he make friends with a little girl who has what he needs to find his way back.  Kitchen appliance … check.  Healthy lunch … check.  Cross-country golf shoes … check.  So, shut up, Buttercup!  And drive!  Then chip.  Then putt for a par 3.  

We drove for what seemed like 30 minutes.  Corncob must have given Buttercup hand signals because I heard no further commands.  We pulled onto a gravel road.  That was no surprise.  Usually, when they abduct you, it's a trip to the country, where they think no one can find you.  What they didn't know was no one would be looking for me.  We drove on that road for a bit and came to a stop.  The back door opened and I was pulled out of the car.

"Let's go."  Corncob said.

"Remember, I'm shoeless," I said.

"Say it ain't so," Corncob said.   I had to give him that one.

"If I cut my feet, you'll be liable," I said.

"Let's go," he answered and then he shoved me and since I couldn't see with bag over my head, I lost my balance and hit the ground.  

"Help me get him up."

They brought me inside what seemed to be a house.  I heard the screen door open.  It smelled like laundry.  Dirty laundry.  I sensed someone else in there, thanks to some heavy breathing.

"Where's his shoes?" said the new guy.

"He didn't have any." 

"What is he, a hippie?"

"If this guys a hippie, then I'm Mama Cass Elliot."

"Why'd you say that for?" the new guy said, "She had a sweet voice."

"It just came out.  Where's Hugo?"

"He's still in Nountown" 

“I gotta go pee,” said Buttercup.  Who didn't?

Things are getting uncomfortable.  Tracker loses the only friend he thought he might have had, but not before he gets a lesson in why small things mean so much in Nountown.  It’s tiny trees.  Any tiny cops.  But big beautiful women.  And the people who help them stay that way.  Like Flo, whose foundation shop might be a false front.  Why else would a couple of unsavory sorts more commonly found in a line-up be frequenting it?  Tracker is no stranger to odd numbers, but these are Full Figures.

I thought I had closed the windows in my room, but the breeze around the Breezy Inn was waiting for me inside telling me I had a visitor with business other than changing my linens.

My visitor took a tour of the dresser drawers. That's where you look for the gems a man might squirrel away on his travels.  In the folds of his personals, because it figures that no one wants to venture there.  I always position my rolled up socks so the top band is at 3 o'clock, but they were half past 8, so my stocking sentry system confirmed the security breach. 

Except, it wasn't what they took, which was nothing, but what they left for me.

It's called a plant.  Like when you get busted with some cop's hand in your pocket and the cop finds a small container he left just as he got there.  But this kind of plant also grows in small places, like a lump in your neck. This kind of plant is the spitting image of the kind that grows in the forest.  The kind of plant that grows tall up towards the sun and lives for years with rings to prove it.  Yeah, a tree.  A tiny tree.  A tiny tree worth its weight in gold, when gold is worth the weight.  A tiny tree that grows in small pots that sit proudly in small green houses or solariums, the room's rich people use to get their hands dirty. 

Like the one I saw in Winston's Smokes house.  That made sense, a guy like that ought to have his own personal forest.

I picked up the miniaturized deciduous delicacy. 

It had signs of being pulled from its housing, remnants of dirt on its roots, a broken branch, so I'm thinking Smoke is down one little piece of the forest and I'm being set up as the lumber larcenist.  I could have been wrong.  It could have been a gift.  But gifts weren’t usually delivered in this manner, amongst socks and underwear.  With no card.  Or care instructions. It was alive and now my responsibility. Like when someone drops off a puppy at your front door.  Or a kid. The least thing I could do, was keep it moist.

So I took it down with me to the bar where I could buy it a drink.

It’s all about real estate.  Land, that is, as Tracker goes undercover to uncover where the boundaries lie that separate the have’s from everyone else in Nountown.  He finds Pat Dab, a baleful broker of square footage with his boy-size fingers on the pulse of the local leases, licenses and liens. Tracker’s guise is a need for retail space, which is sure to result in a tour of properties.  Pat passes him to his trusted peon, Flip Gap.  Gap licks his little lips in anticipation of a juicy deal, but Tracker plays him like a fife and then gives him the slip.  Thank Dab, it’s Friday.  In this case, Friday is who, not when.  You’ll see, if you hear this.

Pat Dab's lock on local commercial property played into my plan of digging into the underbelly of Nountown's power structure.  But I needed a little diversion to clear a path. A cock-and-bull story about a place I might be interested in. So I'd be Lenny Friday, an old friend he just met and could barely remember. I slicked my hair back and found a Hawaiian shirt to make him think I was ready to party.  Again.  When I parked in front of Pat Dab Properties, I saw him by the window waiting for me.  When I got out of the car, Dab disappeared until he greeted me at the door with his trusty companion and aide-de-camp, Flip Gap. 

"Is this Lenny Friday?" said the little broker's little buddy.

"I don’t know, you tell me."

"So you're a sailor, Mr. Friday?" 

"I've been known to ride the waves."

"Well, you look like a surfer today!  It must be casual Friday!"

"Everyday," I said.  

"Flip knows all the intimate details about the 345 Peatmoss property," said Dab.

"We like to say that a building has more to offer than four walls and a ceiling," Gap said.

"Especially if the walls have ears," I said.

"And if they could talk," said Gap.

"Then I could negotiate directly with them, couldn't I?  Cut you guys out of the deal."

"Nobody cuts Pat Dab out of a deal, right Pat?"

"Nobody who's lived to tell about it," Pat Dab added.

"Ha!" said Flip.

"Flip, I want you to show Mr. Friday around.  Not just the site he's interested in."

"Just don't just show me the museums," I said.

"We don't have any museums."

"Good."

"A few historic markers.  You don't mind those, do you?"

"No, I like historic markers.  Read 'em and weep, I like to say.   I mean, it's always because somebody got killed there, right?  Maybe someone who tried to cut you out of the deal."

"Ha!  This guy's gonna be fun to work with, Pat.  You're going to be fun to work with."

"Thank Dab it's Friday, Flip."

"Huh?  Oh, right!  Right!"

Tracker gets a lay of the land and the land returns the favor.  His marching orders take a turn off the road, but his shoes are polished and that produces a spitting image he can trust.  Or can he?  Not if the image is that of Delicacy Smoke, a woman who seemed to thrive on driving fast American cars and letting her fingers do the speaking.  ‘Come hither,’ they said.  But Tracker was more in the mood for yon.  And some grub.  Find out if he finds either as he ventures up and down Mistake Mountain.

She planted herself two seats from my station.  Eyes like jade formed a precious triangle with her ruby lips, framed perfectly by her high cheeks and auburn hair that fell like feathers when set free from the kerchief.  I’d seen it all before, just wasn’t sure where.     When she opened her trench coat and let it fall over the back of her seat, all those eyes shifted to her chassis which featured all the options.  

The Breezy Inn cocktail lounge had turned into a showroom and just about everyone wanted to kick her tires.  

"A Cockeyed Chinaman, please."

The bartender poured a hot cup of tea and added two jiggers of gin.

"I haven't seen one of those since the English left Hong Kong."

"The English left Hong Kong?  How sad?"

"It's always sad when Colonial empires have to look in their rear view mirrors to see how mighty they were."

"Why look back at all?  It takes all the fun out of hitting and running."

"And how do you like your Buick?"

"I like it with the windows open and the speedometer needle way over to right.  How do you like my Buick?"

"I only saw it from the rear."

"Like Hong Kong saw the English."

"They were waiting for that view."

"Maybe you should see the view from the front?"

"Aimed I me?"

"That might be fun, but not as much fun as testing the brakes on Mistake Mountain."

Tracker gets his assignment.  No surprise, it’s in a place called Nountown.  Otherwise, this would be a place called Something Else.  Nountown is a place he’s never been.  Not many have.  Most never come back.  Tracker had no plans of doing that.  He had little plans at all.  Flying blind, he took his orders and soon entered a world that seemed to be hard to define, unless you knew where to look it up.  Tracker knew.  At least he thought he knew.  Then he met Winston Smoke, a man who seemed to thrive on life support and spoke of evil and danger and roots.  Oh, yes, roots.  There would be plenty of them.  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves and that’s what you say when you want to start in the beginning.  When Tracker gets his assignment.  He has to ‘find the evil’ and no, it’s not between evident and eviscerate.  Or is it?

"The secret of power is letting other people think they have it, Mr. Tracker."

Winston Smoke watched a big, black fly get comfortable on the jelly donut that sat on the plate before him and brought a big, sweaty glass of milk to his big, fleshy lips.

"Then you wait as they abuse it.  You let them demonstrate their lack of understanding of their condition.  You watch them dance blindly towards the abyss, until they start to fall.  Then you snatch them up and squeeze them tight.  You squeeze them until they gasp for air.  Then you sell them … air.  And what do they learn from this exercise, Mr. Tracker?"

He took a big, gargling gulp, draining 40 percent of the white liquid and swallowed like a man who never had to need for seconds.  

"Dancing is dangerous?"

Smoke slammed the glass down on the jelly donut.  Milk and red corn-starch-laden berry jelly ejaculated across the small table splattering every cup, saucer, plate, knife, spoon, creamer, pitcher, equal pack holder and my toasted English muffin, but falling just short of my suit, shirt and tie.  I packed light to avoid checking any bags.  A second pair of pants waited for me back in my room at the Breezy, no doubt flapping away, but one suit jacket was my inventory.

Smoke lifted his glass out of the smashed pastry.

Makes a nice coaster, I thought.

The fly that once thought he was set for life in powdered sugar, yeasty dough and sweet, sweet fruity compote was stuck on the bottom, fused there by the force of Smoke's slam and the glue of the destructed donut.

"They learn to take nothing for granted, Mr. Tracker.  That's what they learn.  The one's who continue to breath, anyway." 

"And the others get stuck under glass?  Like pheasants?"

"Pheasants?  Have you ever had a pheasant?  I mean, have you ever shot one with a single bullet so as not to cause hemotrauma, which makes the flesh bitter?"

"I prefer to wring their necks."

"Ah, I should try that.  It sounds … humane."

Welcome to Nountown.  Now go home.  Yeah, it’s not the most welcoming place you’ve ever been, but one thing is certain.  In Nountown, nothing is certain.  Maybe Arthur Certain.  He’s the cab driver who drove Raymond G. Tracker to this place that was neither here nor there.  But for Tracker, it would be there for a while.  As long as his assignment lasted.  His assignment?  It wasn’t clear.  All he knew or at least thought he knew was that he was looking for something, but what it was or who it was or where it was, well, that remained to be seen, met and visited.  Sounds confusing?  Put yourself in his shoes.  While he still has them on his feet, that is, because if you think you got off on the Wrong Foot, wait till you hear what happens to him.  And his feet.

If you listen to for the next nine weeks you will.  Each week, things get more and more complicated and somehow at the end it all makes … for an exciting journey.

Before you really get going, take this preview tour of Nountown, but make sure you don’t let it get to you before you get to it.  It is the ultimate noun, isn’t it?  It is Nountown.  

Who is Raymond G. Tracker?  A man, like any other man, except he’s different.  He finds things that others can’t.  And then he finds other things.  He was born in a small town just north of the border.  Which border?  Hard to tell, but it wasn’t hard to tell Tracker was going places, far from that small town.  He studied abroad and earned a degree in mechanical engineering, but soon realized he’d rather engineer things that didn’t require winding up.  That’s how he wound up at the Agency.  Not that Agency.  He tried to wind up at that Agency, but he couldn’t pass the hearing test.  Instead, he took a path that leads him to Nountown, where he would find things he didn’t even knew existed.  His favorite food?  A simple ham-and-cheese sandwich.  Preferably on thinly sliced bread and packed with crisp lettuce.  With plenty of mustard, please.  Get the picture?   Here he is.

It all starts Wednesday, aka, The Day After Tomorrow.  Nountown.  

Who's there?

Winston Smoke, who always gets what he wants, even when he doesn't.

Squinty, who spits, shines and spits some more.

Raymond G. Tracker, who has to get out of the way, else he's going to have to explain those tiny stains on his shoes.

And you.  If it's not too much to ask.