Wednesday, 22 June 2011
F3 - Cycle 36 - THE BREAKOUT
This week, the F3 challenge is to write a 'buddy' story with those two sons of fun, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, as the lead characters.
I got to thinking about how those two teamed up in the first place....and (in the words of that comedic raconteur, Bob Newhart) perhaps it might have been.....'something like this....'
We were in this thing together, but my partner in crime was not coping well with the situation
“We, uh, we gotta get out of here. There must be a way..”
I watched as Jerry tried forcing his way out between the bars. First he slipped his ankle through then concentrated on squeezing up to his thigh but no matter how he wiggled he could only get as far as his butt.
I’d watched this performance for some time, backed up at my end of our cell, now and then taking a swig to satisfy my needs, letting the odd burp escape. Before I’d witnessed this ‘squeeze-and-squash’ attempt, there’d been the ‘throw-your-full-weight’ exercise and my personal favourite, the ‘my-head-must-fit-through-the-bars’ idea. I confess, that was the funniest, seeing Jerry’s frustration as his head had successfully made a bid for freedom only for the rest of his body to not comply.
Watching his facial contortions reflected in the mirror across the hall was entertaining enough, mainly assisted by the soporific properties afforded by the drink in my hand. When he’d finally managed to extricate himself, his head popping like a cork out of a bottle, he’d lain in a heap in the opposite corner with his almost rubber-like features going through their full repertoire as he recovered from his exertions.
I rolled over to him, to give my suggestions on his so-far unsuccessful attempts to escape our joint incarceration.
“You know, buddy, you’re going about this all the wrong way,” I said. A few slaps around the face were required to help him concentrate, then I continued.
“See, you need to get their attention.” Of course, I was referring to the people who run this joint; amongst us inmates we call them the 'nursemaids’.
“What? You mean like this…..” Jerry threw himself down on the ground and started pummelling the floor with his fists and drumming his feet up and down; a class ‘A’ temper tantrum.
I wiped my face in exasperation.
“No, I mean, you gotta use psychology, make them think they’re in charge. You use language they can understand, smile a bit, you know….like this.” I did my best angelic look and blinked a little.
“Oh, you mean …..like this….?” He fixed me with his google eyes and rattled his lips with one of his fingers making infantile noises.
I heaved a sigh of weariness and slapped him on the back, then pulling myself up to my full height I grabbed hold of the bars.
“Watch and learn, buddy boy; watch and learn.”
I took a last swig for courage and called out. The first attempt was unsuccessful, but after shushing Jerry away I tried again, this time crooning a bit of song to add to my salutations.
This prompted a reaction. Footsteps were quickly heard approaching and after a little more conversation I was released from the cell.
“There, there, shhhhhhh – good boy, Dino, who’s a sweetie then – oh, you finished your bottle, diddums? Let’s go get you another one.”
Her words were music to my ears and from my lofty vantage point, nestling my head on Nurse Sandra’s more than ample bosom, I looked down at the scowling visage of the still-confined Jerry in the nursery playpen and winked.