LAUGH...SCREAM...CRY...LAUGH

Tonight as I write, from my cozy Minnesota condo, it is currently -50 Fahrenheit outside.  All schools have been canceled and the mail delivery has been suspended. Currently it is colder here then it is at the South Pole.  I fear how many people will be found frozen to death by morning. For seldom does such a cold snap not leave casualties in its wake.  Which reminds me of a particular tragedy that took place, when I was a young boy, in my rural home town of Somerset Wisconsin.
 
Somerset Wisconsin was a small village located about 40 miles east of Minneapolis Minnesota. Today, the burbs have overtaken it, consequently Somerset is much larger then it was when I was young.  It sits right near the beautiful St. Croix River that borders Wisconsin from Minnesota.  To find Somerset’s exact location on a state map of the United States is quite easy.  The shape of Wisconsin makes the task simple.  The western border is marked in the perfect profile of a Native American chief.  Somerset is located right where his lips intersect. Legend has it, that Somerset was located there because all the hard drinking lumberjacks needed a place to ‘wet their lips.’
 
Indeed Somerset, which has the small Apple River running through it, before merging with the mighty St. Croix, was a party town famous for river tubing tourists, who loved to drink and raise a little Hell.   But the citizens of Somerset were quite the opposite.  Conservative and very religious, they fell into two distinct ethnic groups; French Canadian Roman Catholics and Scandinavian Lutherans.  I was a member of the latter.  
 
Despite these differences, all were a part of a single tight knit community.  There was little or no segregation or discrimination between the two groups except in one area; dating between members of the different religious sects was strictly frowned upon at the point of being prohibited.  
 
But the late 60’s and 70’s brought great change to Somerset as it had to all of the United States.  Traditions and conventions were being questioned and challenged which is why that it was no one’s surprise that the nicest Lutheran boy, and the sweetest Catholic girl, became high school sweethearts.  Because they were both such good kids, their parents, despite some reservations, gave them permission to make a date for the Winter Carnival dance.  
 
As fate would have it, the night of the dance, was one of the coldest on record.  But the folks from Somerset were a hardy lot, and a little inclement weather wasn’t going to stop them.  The dance went off wonderfully, all attendees had a great time culminating with the mixed religion sweetheart couple being crowned king and queen of the carnival.  Everyone remembers them kissing right after the coronation.  Soon they vanished from the happy scene.  It was the last time alive they’d ever be seen.  

For after the dance, the young couple scored a six-pack of Hamm’s beer and went parking.  That’s when it all went wrong.  Looking back, I blame it on the Hamm’s beer.
 
Both sets of parents notified authorities when they realized their children were late getting home. A search was immediately organized but they couldn’t be found.  Rumors that the young lovers had eloped had already begun, but the gossip was dashed when about noon the next day, they were found on a secluded farm lane.  In the seat of the young man’s old Chevy pickup they were discovered frozen solid in each other’s arms.  It was evident, that whilst making love, they had succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning and froze after the idling pickup ran out of gas.  
 
After the Somerset Volunteer Fire Department removed the frozen couple from the pickup, they were taken to the township’s heated garage and placed on a large oak table to thaw out.  Nude, and in loving embrace, one of the fireman commented on how their glistening frozen bodies reminded him a beautiful marble renaissance statue.  Yet, for decency sake, they were covered with a blanket.

Soon both pairs of parents arrived.  Already notified of their passing, all four were inconsolable. Father Rivard was present for emotional support and said a brief prayer before the shrouded couple but was muffled by the wail of lamentations.
 
Suddenly the mother of the girl demanded hysterically to see her daughter. “I want to see my baby, now!”
 
“I’d strongly advice against it,” the fire chief warned.
 
“NO” she screamed!  “I want to see her now!”  
 
So, the county corner relented, grabbing the blanket by a corner, with one tug the naked couple was exposed in the position of coitus.  
 
“Damn your son,” the girl’s mother shrieked at the boy’s parents. “Look at what he’s doing to my daughter!”
 
“And your little Miss Perfect isn’t doing anything to him,” the son’s mother shouted back?  
 
“Separate them now” the girl’s mother ordered.  “I don’t want her in his arms a second longer.”
 
“Well Mam, that isn’t going to be easy considering their both frozen solid together,” the fire chief warned.
 
“I don’t care, release her from that animal’s grip, immediately,” she demanded!  Suddenly a shouting match ensued between the deceased teens’ parents.  
 
Sensing that things were getting out of control the fire chief ordered two of his men to take pry bars and try and separate the young lovers.  The firemen mounted the oak table and were able to place their heavy tools between the young lovers.  As they began pulling in opposite directions, a loud sound like peeling adhesive became audible, silencing arguing parents.  They became, like everyone else in the garage, transfixed by the process.
 
Realizing that they were becoming separated, both firemen paused to take a deep breath.  Then with a heavy heave, each simultaneously excreted a tremendous effort and pulled on their pry bars.
 
“CRACK!”  The sound signaled the separation of the lovers’ bodies.  All was quiet for a second till, “clink, clunk, clunk, and crack.   The young man’s broken penis had broken off, rolled across the table and on to the floor.  All was completely silent as the audience stared at the young man’s rather large broken member, till his father proudly spoke up.
 
“That’s my boy, a chip off the old block!”

 
At a barbeque last summer, Bill, my thick-as-a-brick next-door neighbour was boring me mindless with his medical problems. We were both the worse for the drink, he much more so than me.
  ‘My haemorrhoids itch like crazy’ he said, ‘they drive me mad at times.’ He then started clawing vigourously at his backside, quite putting me off my burger. ‘Ah’ I quipped, laying aside my now unwanted food, ‘I have a great remedy for that, works every time.’  
 Of course, Bill wanted to know so I told him ‘Take two scotch bonnet chillies and crush them to a paste, stir in two tablespoonsful of tabasco sauce and a tablespoon of salt. Apply this paste liberally to the affected area, you won’t feel an itch for a long while after that.’  
  I thought no more about my little joke thinking it lost on Bill until, half an hour after the barbeque had ended, I heard hideous, agonised shrieks coming from Bill’s back garden. I looked out to see him running around in circles and jumping up and down. He was dressed only in his T-shirt. His fat arse was bare and his wedding tackle flapping like a fish on a river bank. Both his hands were clutching wildly at his buttocks as he ran blindly into a patch of stinging nettles that grew from his compost heap and fell headlong into it. His short fat legs thrashed the air as his screeching grew even louder.  
  I couldn’t see too clearly after that for the tears streaming from my eyes. He then leapt up and dived arse first into his birdbath. There he sat scouring water into his buttock cleavage like a man possessed whilst howling for help. He must have accidentally pushed some of the paste inside himself for his screams went up an octave.  
   I staggered out to help him, my drunken head bemused as to what I could do to relieve his plight.  
  ‘Oh, Jaysus, it’s inside me’ he screamed, now convulsing on the lawn ‘fer Christ’s sake, somebody shoot me.’  
   An idea dawned. I grabbed his garden hose, and, turning it on, rolled him over. His head and knees were now on the grass, his arse sticking high in the air.  
  As I inserted the hosepipe to flush him out, another scream came from behind me. I turned to see my wife Mabel staring aghast, her hands clasped to the sides of her head, her mouth agape in horror. She had come out to see what all the noise was about only to find me working a garden hose up Bill’s backside and him shouting ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, don’t stop, please don’t stop.’  
  Poor Mabel let out a long despairing wail and fainted, flopping backwards into our fish pond. I left Bill to go and rescue Mabel but tripped over the damned hose and landed on top of her, cracking my head on an ornamental stone frog.  We were rescued by two policemen who appeared around the side of the house to investigate reports of a murder taking place that another neighbour had reported. They found me and Mabel unconscious, face down in the pond and Bill ramming the hose up his jacksie crying ‘yes, oh yes’ with great passion.
It took some explaining I can tell you. The coppers were roaring with laughter and it took them fifty minutes to complete their statement. They got through a whole box of tissues wiping their eyes.  
  Bill’s haemorrhoids haven’t itched once since that day but he’s still not talking to me, the ungrateful bastard.
 
 

i was lost and not found
in the streets i was around
walking like no one sorrounds me

i cried and no one hears me
tears dropped like shattered glass
hoping this pains would end at last