by
Dean Burkey
By the time I reached Urquhart Castle,
tourists crowded along the shoreline.
I climbed Grant Tower to gaze upon
the dark and eerie waters of Urquhart Bay
in the mysterious Loch Ness.
No sign of Nessie anywhere.
Not a ripple.
Either the Loch Ness Monster was mad;
or she was too shy to show up
and risk being seen by so many picture-happy people.
Worn out from shoveling intensely
for 182 laborious hours of the past 13 days,
I figured I’d drive to the nearest pub
to enjoy a pint or two, while I waited
for the crowd of cameras to disperse.
I wanted at least a pint,
but Coleen Campbell, my cordial server
at the Loch and Key House of Hops, said,
“Look lad, we’re a pub, not an ice cream shoppe.
We don’t carry Rocky Road.”
“That’s your loss.”
I smiled.
She smiled back.
I have that effect on women.
Or I had something silly stuck in my teeth.
Either way, I made a hottie smile!
I meet gorgeous women all the time,
so I can easily ignore when a gorgeous woman
tries to talk me into something.
Or I can avoid being conned by a smiling woman too.
Unless a gorgeous woman smiles at me,
‘cause no matter what she says, I’ll agree.
Which readily explains why I bought
all those auto parts.
For the wrong year, make, and model of car.
So Coleen smiled and recommended
a hearty helping of haggis with a half a hunk of hummus.
Which wouldn’t’ve been so bad,
but no one said the hummus contained alfalfa sprouts.
Without going into the gory details,
I’ll just say that halfway through my meal,
I ran to the W.C. (a.k.a. restroom);
and thereafter, the Scots branded me:
Mack Pooper.
Some seedy-looking lad leered at me menacingly.
I wondered if he was Coleen’s brother or ex.
He signaled to his mates and said, “That’s the one.”
So maybe he tried to use the facilities
and found himself unable to do so due to the stench.
If Bigfoot got wind of this,
Biggie would never let me live it down.
Coleen must’ve felt bad.
Or she was flattered because I grossly
miscalculated the gratuity in her favor.
Or, as I’d like to think,
we had such an endearing bond.
Anyway,
she asked if I fancied a swim after her shift,
so I said yes and then ran back to the W.C.
(a.k.a. oval office).
Fortunately, my intestinal turmoil ceased
about the same time as her shift ended.
We met by Urquhart Castle.
Finally, with the sun set, the tourists had left.
I rushed into a garden shack out back
to change into my swimsuit.
When I came out, Coleen was gone!
How long was I in there?
Okay, Coleen was gone,
but her clothes weren’t.
I found them flung upon the ground
heading toward the water.
After finding her unmentionables,
which, ironically, I just mentioned,
I heard giggling from the loch.
Giggling with an adorable Scottish accent!
I raced toward the water, but stopped cold.
Literally.
The water felt frigid.
But I peered as best I could.
Now I know why people hate the murkiness
of the waters of Loch Ness.
Coleen called out, urging me into the water.
Now, normally, the trifecta I can’t refuse
is a gorgeous, smiling, undressed woman!
Which is, of course,
what got mankind in trouble in the first place,
when Eve said,
“Hey Adam, how about a piece of apple pie?”
But one of my Kryptonites,
besides alfalfa sprouts is water.
Especially cold water.
“I’m sorry Coleen.
You’re a mighty lovely lass and all.
But I come from a latitude much farther south than here.
The water may feel brisk to you,
but to me it’s frigid.”
Coleen swam toward shore wearing only
the murky waters of Loch Ness.
Just then I glimpsed a distant ripple zooming closer.
Could that be Nessie?
I wasn’t sure what Nessie or Coleen expected
from our time together,
but to make sure Nessie didn’t get jealous,
I hollered, “I’m with a friend!”
Coleen asked,
“Who are you talking to?”
“Myself.
Or the ghost of my dead uncle.
Which sounds less crazy to you?”
I couldn’t admit I called out to Nessie.
“That’s right,” she laughed.
“You’re a writer. Right? A comedy writer.
You’re supposed to be funny.”
I blushed.
“Sometimes.
There are different kinds of comedy.
Some where you get lots of laughs per minute;
others where you -- Yikes!”
I dove in as my skinny dipping date
suddenly plunged below the surface.
I swam around, searching in vain,
unable to peer into the dark waters of the Loch.
“Coleen! Coleen?!”
Coleen resurfaced and giggled
in her super sexy Scottish accent.
“That’s not funny.”
Coleen ducked under again.
“I just said ‘That’s not funny.’”
She never resurfaced.
Why can’t hotties live forever?
I wept.
I shivered.
I soiled my swimsuit.
“Nessie? She just invited me to go swimming.
I didn’t know she was going to be
altogether in the altogether.
The water’s so murky; I didn’t see a thing.
Except when she bobbed in the water.
Um, never mind.
Nessie? I’m sorry I was late.
I got on the wrong boat.
Nessie?! What have you done?!”
Nessie never replied.
The ripple ceased.
I was all alone.
Weeping.
Shivering.
Desperately in need of antacid
and a clean pair of undershorts.
I felt much worse than
when I ate alfalfa sprouts.
Not knowing what else to do,
I drove to the local authorities.
I hated to think Nessie could be a killer.
A thriller diller, but not a killer diller.
I came to meet a friend.
Met someone new who died horribly.
And then had to turn around to hunt down
the friend I came to meet.
TO BE CONTINUED …
Ripples of Regret
All the Best,
Rodney Dangerfield:
It’s tough to stay married.
My wife kisses the dog on the lips,
yet she won’t drink from my glass!
Dean Burkey:
I’m learning how to be happy.
Which is just a fancy way of saying eating chocolate.
Phyllis Diller:
I’ve turned many a head in my day.
And a few stomachs.
Rita Rudner:
After you’ve dated someone,
it should be legal to stamp them with what’s wrong with them
so the next person doesn’t have to start from scratch.
Steven Wright:
My girlfriend asked me
how long I was going to be gone on this tour.
I said “the whole time”.
Dean Burkey
By the time I reached Urquhart Castle,
tourists crowded along the shoreline.
I climbed Grant Tower to gaze upon
the dark and eerie waters of Urquhart Bay
in the mysterious Loch Ness.
No sign of Nessie anywhere.
Not a ripple.
Either the Loch Ness Monster was mad;
or she was too shy to show up
and risk being seen by so many picture-happy people.
Worn out from shoveling intensely
for 182 laborious hours of the past 13 days,
I figured I’d drive to the nearest pub
to enjoy a pint or two, while I waited
for the crowd of cameras to disperse.
I wanted at least a pint,
but Coleen Campbell, my cordial server
at the Loch and Key House of Hops, said,
“Look lad, we’re a pub, not an ice cream shoppe.
We don’t carry Rocky Road.”
“That’s your loss.”
I smiled.
She smiled back.
I have that effect on women.
Or I had something silly stuck in my teeth.
Either way, I made a hottie smile!
I meet gorgeous women all the time,
so I can easily ignore when a gorgeous woman
tries to talk me into something.
Or I can avoid being conned by a smiling woman too.
Unless a gorgeous woman smiles at me,
‘cause no matter what she says, I’ll agree.
Which readily explains why I bought
all those auto parts.
For the wrong year, make, and model of car.
So Coleen smiled and recommended
a hearty helping of haggis with a half a hunk of hummus.
Which wouldn’t’ve been so bad,
but no one said the hummus contained alfalfa sprouts.
Without going into the gory details,
I’ll just say that halfway through my meal,
I ran to the W.C. (a.k.a. restroom);
and thereafter, the Scots branded me:
Mack Pooper.
Some seedy-looking lad leered at me menacingly.
I wondered if he was Coleen’s brother or ex.
He signaled to his mates and said, “That’s the one.”
So maybe he tried to use the facilities
and found himself unable to do so due to the stench.
If Bigfoot got wind of this,
Biggie would never let me live it down.
Coleen must’ve felt bad.
Or she was flattered because I grossly
miscalculated the gratuity in her favor.
Or, as I’d like to think,
we had such an endearing bond.
Anyway,
she asked if I fancied a swim after her shift,
so I said yes and then ran back to the W.C.
(a.k.a. oval office).
Fortunately, my intestinal turmoil ceased
about the same time as her shift ended.
We met by Urquhart Castle.
Finally, with the sun set, the tourists had left.
I rushed into a garden shack out back
to change into my swimsuit.
When I came out, Coleen was gone!
How long was I in there?
Okay, Coleen was gone,
but her clothes weren’t.
I found them flung upon the ground
heading toward the water.
After finding her unmentionables,
which, ironically, I just mentioned,
I heard giggling from the loch.
Giggling with an adorable Scottish accent!
I raced toward the water, but stopped cold.
Literally.
The water felt frigid.
But I peered as best I could.
Now I know why people hate the murkiness
of the waters of Loch Ness.
Coleen called out, urging me into the water.
Now, normally, the trifecta I can’t refuse
is a gorgeous, smiling, undressed woman!
Which is, of course,
what got mankind in trouble in the first place,
when Eve said,
“Hey Adam, how about a piece of apple pie?”
But one of my Kryptonites,
besides alfalfa sprouts is water.
Especially cold water.
“I’m sorry Coleen.
You’re a mighty lovely lass and all.
But I come from a latitude much farther south than here.
The water may feel brisk to you,
but to me it’s frigid.”
Coleen swam toward shore wearing only
the murky waters of Loch Ness.
Just then I glimpsed a distant ripple zooming closer.
Could that be Nessie?
I wasn’t sure what Nessie or Coleen expected
from our time together,
but to make sure Nessie didn’t get jealous,
I hollered, “I’m with a friend!”
Coleen asked,
“Who are you talking to?”
“Myself.
Or the ghost of my dead uncle.
Which sounds less crazy to you?”
I couldn’t admit I called out to Nessie.
“That’s right,” she laughed.
“You’re a writer. Right? A comedy writer.
You’re supposed to be funny.”
I blushed.
“Sometimes.
There are different kinds of comedy.
Some where you get lots of laughs per minute;
others where you -- Yikes!”
I dove in as my skinny dipping date
suddenly plunged below the surface.
I swam around, searching in vain,
unable to peer into the dark waters of the Loch.
“Coleen! Coleen?!”
Coleen resurfaced and giggled
in her super sexy Scottish accent.
“That’s not funny.”
Coleen ducked under again.
“I just said ‘That’s not funny.’”
She never resurfaced.
Why can’t hotties live forever?
I wept.
I shivered.
I soiled my swimsuit.
“Nessie? She just invited me to go swimming.
I didn’t know she was going to be
altogether in the altogether.
The water’s so murky; I didn’t see a thing.
Except when she bobbed in the water.
Um, never mind.
Nessie? I’m sorry I was late.
I got on the wrong boat.
Nessie?! What have you done?!”
Nessie never replied.
The ripple ceased.
I was all alone.
Weeping.
Shivering.
Desperately in need of antacid
and a clean pair of undershorts.
I felt much worse than
when I ate alfalfa sprouts.
Not knowing what else to do,
I drove to the local authorities.
I hated to think Nessie could be a killer.
A thriller diller, but not a killer diller.
I came to meet a friend.
Met someone new who died horribly.
And then had to turn around to hunt down
the friend I came to meet.
TO BE CONTINUED …
Ripples of Regret
Rodney Dangerfield:
It’s tough to stay married.
My wife kisses the dog on the lips,
yet she won’t drink from my glass!
Dean Burkey:
I’m learning how to be happy.
Which is just a fancy way of saying eating chocolate.
Phyllis Diller:
I’ve turned many a head in my day.
And a few stomachs.
Rita Rudner:
After you’ve dated someone,
it should be legal to stamp them with what’s wrong with them
so the next person doesn’t have to start from scratch.
Steven Wright:
My girlfriend asked me
how long I was going to be gone on this tour.
I said “the whole time”.
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