| From the Files of Richard and Tinkerbell |
| (As told by "The Brick") |
| It was a dark and stormy evening in Brooklyn, NY. *snap...snap* Tinkerbell, the male cow, was sitting in his office watching the cold rain pour down the window. He had been told that he would be receiving a phone call any minute. You see, Tink was a private eye. He knew his way around the ol' business well. As he sat thinking about his busy day, the phone rang. He quickly picked up the receiver and answered... "Yeah?" "Alfonzo's Pizza here. Now, did ya want thick or thin crust wit' that?" Now, Tink, (being the simple man - err...cow that he was), requested that his pizza crust be thin. "All right. I'll be there in ten minutes." ~~~~~~~~ As it happened, the ten minutes came and went, but with no pizza arrival, and ten minutes soon turned into twenty. Just as Tink was ready to call Alfonzo's Pizza about his no-show, thin-crust pizza, - *Rap, tap, tap* - a knock came at his office door. Ahh, that certainly must be my pizza, he predicted. To his suprise, Tink was mistaken. The shady character, presently standing in his office doorway, looked more like gangster, than your standard pizza delivery-boy. "Tinkerbell Cow, I presume?" Tink remained momentarily dumb-founded. "Err, well...yes, this is Tinkerbell." He calmly extented his hoof, regaining his composure. "I've come here strictly on business matters, Mr. Cow," replied the caller, as he failed to shake Tink's hoof. "Oh," Tink motioned to his guest that he could now come into his office and take a seat. "I've been sent to foretell of a plot to end your life, as well as the lives of all cows...everywhere." He took the seat, opposite the one behind Tink's desk. In all Tink's years as a private eye, never had he heard such an outrageous threat. "Surely, you can't be serious." "Oh, I'm quite serious, Mr. Cow, I assure you - and don't call me 'Shirley'." "What is your name, then?" Tink had grown slightly frustrated. "I'm afraid, that for my safety, as well as for yours, I must remain anonymous, but that's enough small talk. I've been sent to make you aware of the existence of an adbominable snowman who has been living at large under the alias of 'Froggy the Bowman'. He presently resides somewhere in the northern realms of the Appalachians. You see, Mr.Cow, Froggy is severly allergic to milk. Every form of dairy product wreaks havack on his digestive system. His condition has worsened as he's grown in age. Now, Froggy has come to loath anything that has even a small part in processing or distributing dairy products. Of late, he's become infatuated with his idea for a complete cow massacre." Tink was shocked by this rather disturbing news. A cow massacre? Why, he had never in his wildest dreams heard such a frightening statement. The mysterious character continued... "As I mentioned, Froggy hates milk, but he's a big fan of pork and beef products. Some claim to have seen him stocking up on hotdog and hamburger patties at a local grocery store. In fact, there are rumors that the cow massacre is masked under a big cookout." Tink was shaken by this news, but he didn't dare express his feelings outwardly. He took a long breath and looked out the window. His trance was broken by the same, now quite familiar, voice. "That's about all the information that I can give you, but I'll be keeping in touch." He began walking toward the door. Just as he was turning the knob, Tinkerbell inquired, "What's your name? Or, if you won't tell me your name, at least give me something to refer to you by." The room was filled with a temporary silence. "Some call me...Tim." "Ok then, Tim. Thanks for the info. I'll get right to work." Tim nodded, tipped his hat, and quickly slipped out of Tink's office. Tink had a long night ahead of him, and to make matters worse, his pizza never came. |
| Forward |
| This tale grew in the telling, until it became a history of the Great War of the Cows. The Brick, otherwise known as the author credited to writing this story, is in truth, no one person at all. The Brick is a blissful state of mind that exists to remind us of the outright humor and situational irony found in everyday life, which often contains little or no real logic, deep meaning, or purpose. |
| The Visitor |