The Nossiter Net
The net that shall enmesh them all
Edited, Written, and Published by J.C. Nossiter
The Morning Mendacity
Tuesday, November 9th, 2004
The Nossiter Net is cast  to snare some of  the riper rascalities of the day.  Comments?
Some time from now, in a place far away, two faded men wearing rumpled suits and dingy linen sit on an uncomfortable rock by a sulphurous pool.  A blighted valley lies before them, hemmed in by dark and ominous cliffs.  The younger and slimmer of the two seems in fine spirits, despite the dreary surroundings.  The other, bald, fat, and bespectacled, gloomily contemplates the hissing pool.  Both are sweating heavily, as though in a sauna.

“Yessir” said the younger one with a cheerful twang, “If I had my chainsaw, why I’d make quick work of all those thorn bushes on yonder hill side.  Rrrr, zmmm, wzzz, I’d clear that slope faster than a dude with a hot foot heading for a pond.”

His companion extended his foot, eyed the steam coming from his scuffed wing-tip, and winced.  “Must you?” he grumbled.  But the younger man was oblivious.  “Why, I know we got to climb over those bushes to get back up the hill, but all I’m sayin’ is, if I had my chainsaw, the trip’d be a whole lot easier on our suits, to say nothing of your heart, ha, ha, ha.”

The older man, whose name was Dick, eyed the younger, whose name was George, with distaste.  Another faded man appeared, tall and stooped, his spectacles steamed-up from the tremendous heat.

“Why, there’s my boy, long Don Rummy!  How they hangin’, Don boy?  Ha, ha, ha.  Shee – it, been a while, ain’t it?”  Given the mephitic vapor assaulting their senses, George’s choice of exclamations was perhaps injudicious.  The new arrival cringed.  “Must you?” he muttered.

“Don boy, you look a just a tad bit warm, am I right, ha, ha, ha” said the irrepressible George.  The newcomer, dripping sweat, merely scowled and joined them on the rock.  Another shortish, fattish man stepped out of the steamy gloom, his unnaturally gray appearance failing to mask the bristling, aggressive intelligence radiating from his damp spectacles.

“Karrrrllll” shouted George.  “Hot diggity dog, the gang’s all here.”  Karl slumped wearily on the rock, shaking his head.  “Wait just a minute” continued George.  “We’re missing somebody important, part of the team, our mascot, kind of, know what I mean, ha, ha, ha?”

Just then a woman appeared, her eyes wide, her raven hair immaculate.  She was dressed in a crisp suit.  Alone of the group, she wasn't wilted by the heat.  “Condo-gal!” shouted George.  “I was just talkin’ ‘bout you, wishin’ you was here, and whaddya know, my wish is granted” he chortled.  “Thanks.  A lot”  said the woman shortly, and sagged on to the rock.

“This is getting mighty homey” George burbled, slapping his thighs.  “Why, we might as well be back on Pennsylvania Avenue, ain’t that right?”  His companions, all wearing pained expressions, looked in different directions.  Just then the mists parted, and a very tall, bearded man, wearing a white gown, stumbled into their midst as though propelled by hot pitchforks.

“Goddam” said George.  “Goddam, that’s, that’s, hot damn, that’s big O.  You goddam evil-doer you, you dam’ evil-doer, you’re big O, don’t lie, ain’t ya?”

The newcomer, who had cringed with each repetition of the word “damned”, staggered to the swampy ground and lay prone.

“Goddam” said George.  “Who’d a thunk it?  We’re all down here together.  Ain’t that somethin’?  Shee—it, I mean, hell, it ain’t so bad now, is it?”

All the others eyed George with revulsion.  “Speak” they chimed in unison, “for yourself.”

©J.C. Nossiter, 2004
Last Words
Faith Based
A Thing of Beauty
Snake Oil, Swallowed
Who's Conservative?
Stop the Merry-Go-Round
The Gift That Keeps On Giving
A Bad Old Boy
Lie Fatigue