10/24/1998 g.g.Ashbrook
Cathleen Sibberfitz walked in the door acting like she was looking in a shopping bag, with the bag now down she revealed a tongue many feet long and looped like sausage at the bottom of the shopping bag. She squinted and grinned and squealed and squatted and hoped when she saw Betty Bellaflatso and ran to her and they hugged and then ran an index finger a foot or so down one-another’s tongue (a common greeting gesture I’m told). Marvin was standing in the back corner near a cactus planted in a bush of copper and oxide red leaves. He was constantly looking as if he were peeking over his shoulder, where really his tongue hung down his back. And anyway he was standing in front of a wall. Quayleen Dogsbray was wrapping a live goose around the neck with her tongue and when she had got a good knot tied everyone around her backed away and she spun in a circle with the kicking flapping goose at the other end of tongue tie line. She clapped her hands as she went, above and below her tongue alternately. She tilted back and let the weight of the big duck keep her from falling backwards. The people all around her clapped and cheered and did this thing where they leapt up into the air and down again whipping their tongues up and down to hit the ceiling and the floor. Men were launching bowling balls by having another man stand on their tongue six feet away, or so, and having yet another pull back the tongue and fit a ball to it. They would launch balls clear across the room, farther than any a man could even throw one of those darnedly heavy old things. On the other side of the room there was arranged a turning wheel like a mill and eight kite-weaving machines. The finest woolen kites in the world I hear. The men would launch the ball through the air and into a scoop on a wing of the mill and that would turn it and it would spin the machines and the ball rolled back to the men and the women were spinning patterns on the kites and forever new kite designs. Little Johnny ran in the room with squirrels hanging from steel loops in his tongue as he had just come back from hunting with his Uncle. And Myrtle was sitting in a chair by the punch bowl looking around and wandering what the hell was going on. She’d told the night clerk she’d be a little late, but she didn’t know how much longer this could possibly go on for. She looked at her watch and saw at first only in the corner of her eye a man walk in front of the doorway which lead back out into the hall. He was holding an hors d'oeuvre tray and sported an airport baggage loader jacket and green pants striped with silver sequin stripes. He had on white gloves and had a pale tie-dyed tuxedo shirt on with a black and red bow tie. His shoes were big enough for an elephant.
She looked at him and then thought he was just another of life’s freak shows. She was about to turn away to tilt up her nose when she realized he was looking at her. Not just in her general direction but definitely right at her. He didn’t have much expression but a thin half grin and laughing eyes. But he was laughing at her. She sat up straighter and twisted her face all up. Her tongue still hanging down her side. Outside the apartment building an old man danced with a golden cane placing his glimmering third heel down to the whim of his song, pulling it up he took another step, stepped clear over city hall. Next time the cane came down it was clear in the suburbs. He tilted his hat to a sister in Wyoming’s got sisters and a clam milkshake that’ll have you doing a Marange’ on crutches. He started to keep going passed the door with a patient shell-of-a look, but she got up and walked over to the door and flipped her tongue over she shoulder when she got up behind him. "Excuse me," she said. He didn’t turn around. "What are you doing?" she asked. He stopped and spun around on his heels and faced her letting his hors d'oeuvre tray fly into a gym mat storage room. "Oh did you want one?" he shouted over to her, though she was scarcely five feet away.
They both stuck their heads in black paper bags and walked on down the hall.
A beaver somewhere was swimming underwater back to his house. Pumping his little arms and legs, propelling himself through the water. All dark below, the sky a pale blue with the stars peeping out on the squirmy top surface of the water. But the beaver stopped swimming then, and got up onto the water like a stage, pulled the microphone close to him, and began to sing, in a deep low voice, "How do you tell me, Baaayeebeee eee eee eee." And then he stopped singing and started talking. "The other night when I came home, I went to the fridge, and grabbed a glass thing of chocolate milk, and I stood by the window by the fridge which looks out onto the sidewalk at Tenth and Hootgate. And do you know what I began to think of? Do you boys and Girls?" and he held out the microphone and cupped his webbed hand behind his ear. And out of the water poked a thousand tiny heads who all yelled up high pitched unintelligibles. And then they all turned, one thousand and one, and looked into the sky as a low cigar shaped fuzzy velure object sailed through the air and landed in mid air right before them. A panel opened and a walkway telescoped out. Out of the space ship Dale and Myrtle walked right out of the ship and down and onto the water and took the bags from their heads and looked at the Badger and all the little fish and critters, and the badge’n-frish’n-kit looked back at them. And they stared, and Myrtle looked at her watch, and shook her head and squinted with aggravation looking back at the choir. Dale held up another tray of hors d'oeuvres which he’d found in the ship, and looked through the crowd of critters to see if there was anyone he knew. She turned and knocked most of the crab’n-pops off the tray with a swing of her tongue and the water broke through and they all got sucked down and the water was sarcastic and cold and tiny white torpedoes began to zoom by and they all sneezed a really big sneeze at the same time and when wokcrackatup.