Dear PZ Labs

[seaside]

Dearest,

Silly me! I completely forgot that I met Mr. Roarke before I began work at the Cookie, thats what we called the Girl Scout Cookie Factory back in the day. Maybe that racous office party gave me temporary amnesia, but now that you've reminded me... let me explain.

Well before the cookie factory, Mr. Roarke hired me for a sales job at his Corduroy Laundering Upholstery Maintenance and Storage Yurts company (or CLUMSY as we called it - we were always tripping over the many chairs in for repairs). Those days of trudging door to door with my heavy corduroy cleaning products case left me with an aching back. Never mind the unending demoralization due to doors slammed in my face, or climbing the stairs of all those triple deckers only to have those stern faced Mr. Moms point to a "No Solicitors" sign. No, no, no the upholstery life was not the cushy ride Roarke had promised young seven years old Shirly. I gave Mr. Roarke my notice and we parted on the best of terms.

I then moved on to a job as a lumberjack at Bonsai Gardens Tree Farm. By the time I was ten I had worked my way up the ladder (home grown) to the manager of international sales. We had a successful sale to a New Zealand chap who was building a house boat and that cleared out our entire lot. Well with no product left to sell I was back on the street looking for a new after school job.

It turned out that CLUMSY was really a twelve step pyramid scheme. This looked like bad news for Mr. Roarke, but you know how charming and persuasive he can be. He managed to bargain his way out of trouble by closing shop and leasing the town the building now known as the police station/laundromat. Meanwhile I gave up looking for work and joined the Girl Scouts, but I was put into forced labor at the Cookie under the guidance and discipline of Ms. Dee and Mr. Roarke, and you know the rest of that story.

Well Con, I am concerned that Mr. Roarke has taken up his "CLUMSY" ways once again with whatever program in which he has you enrolled. I fear for you sweetie. Get out before it's too late! Please don't send the plane as Barney will think his water skiing trip is on and we haven't told him about the booking mix up.

If you do manage to escape to a nearby island stop at the market for tuna and ice cream cake and I'll be there on the next flight out.

Toodles,
S.

PS Please add Mother's Peanut Butter Gauchos cookies to the shopping list they are just as good as the Girl Scouts Do-Si-Dos

 

[kiwisally]

Delivered by slightly under loaded single seagull delivery service, 2.5% repeat customer discount applied regardless.


Hey Doll,

I’ve taken your advice, well before reaching step 2 of the 12 step program and left Fantasy Island life behind. The plane was otherwise engaged so I took a page from your book: Cookie Sales, Lumberjacking and Boat Building #2 - Memoirs From The Bonsai Gardens and built myself a wee raft craft (picture enclosed). A bit cramped, I will admit, so no pre-trip wetting of the whistle but afloat I am and not headed far this time. She’s named The P E II.
The always helpful and well-dressed Mr. R kindly set me up with not one but two fully automated factory machines. Manufactured by PZ Labs, what were the chances? Both second-hand of course so they came cheap, a mere $50K NZ, which was appropriated from the now defunct BFIF (Barney’s Fantasy Island Fund), tax exempt status application pending.
One is a cookie making machine from the old Cookie plant. Modified, at your request, by Tattoo to punch out at a reasonable rate a facsimile of your beloved Mother’s Peanut Butter Gaucho’s cookie. The name had to be changed to protect the innocent and to reflect the local tastes or lack thereof. They are now called Mum’s Marinate Cow Cockie biscuits. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue but hey when in Rome…….eat pasta.
The second is an ice cream machine. Flavour requests are being taken, care of: S & C, biggest shack on littlest island, Southern Seas, 44 16' 10S, 176 7' 44.93W. (picture enclosed) Barney will be happy to know that I was able to purchase the S & C love shack with the leftover dollars from the conversion of US to NZ funds from the BFIF. Obtaining insurance on our shack is proving somewhat more difficult. Projected sea level rise is neither encouraging nor helpful in this endeavour.
Well enough of this idle chit chat, I’ve got paddling to do as I am once again on the high seas, paddling to reach our beach where I will wait your arrival. Don’t trouble your sweat head, I’ve not forgot about the tuna and have brought trolling lures along and will make ever effort to land a bluefin or ten depending on raft speed and space available for storage in the ice cream machine.
Do keep my hopes alive and tell me you will join me ASAP.

Always Your,

Cow Cockie Con

PS: Bring rum, The Captain will do this time.
PSS: I may be forced to cut the tree to free up space, so don't become attached, I know how you are, I read the book.

 

[seaside]

delivered by a flight of misguided cliff swallows enroute to Capistrano

My One,

I had hoped to keep this secret for a while, but not less than a half hour ago I accidentally swallowed some truth serum (I thought it was Dramamine) so I must admit to you that I have a terrible fear of flying, alone. So I asked Barney to accompany me, and you should have seen his little tail wagging away. I guess that means all is forgiven concerning BFIF.

Unfortunately he is not a light traveler and upon hearing of the sea level thingy he became quite alarmed. He insisted on bringing along his life preserver and water wings along with 497 and a half feet of rope, where he gets these ideas I just don't know. He had so much paraphernalia packed in his suitcases that there was no room for his ventriloquism dummy (Babe Ruff - he looks a lot like the Taco Bell Chihuahua). It's a cute act, but when Barney tries the drinking water trick you can clearly see his lips move.

Anyway, I had to buy a third seat on the airplane for "the Babe" along with a child's car seat for the bus ride to the airport. And on the ride to the airport the two of them kept arguing about who would get the window seat. It got so bad that the bus driver threatened to turn the bus around and take us right back home. Well that quieted them down, but things got worse at the airport.

Barney made such a fuss at airport screening. He didn't want to take off his galoshes and I do understand why because we have such a time getting them on him, but rules are rules. After we finally got his galoshes off and back on again we hit an even bigger snag.

It turns out that "the Babe" is on the No Fly List. Apparently the dummy signed up for it thinking he could save some money by not buying Shell No Pest Strips. I told the TSA guy to just stuff him through the xray machine a few times if he was so scared. He did, and we were on our way.

I now sit in the lounge of the Decateur Georgia International Farmers Market and Airport awaiting the next direct flight to our Honeymoon Cottage and admiring the photograph of your PE II. What craftsmanship! Wherever did you get the design for the assemblage of so many exotic and functional thing-a-ma-bobs? And, this is the truth serum talking, is that thing safe?

I look forward to our days and nights together, our cookies and rum together, our pasta and rum together, our ice cream and rum together, our tuna and rum together, our rum and rum together. Got to go they're calling our flight.

Winging it,
S.

PS The tree stays, Barney needs a place to pee.
PSS Enclosed rum is for the birds.

 

[kiwisally]

delivered by peregrine falcon, airmail express, asap


Dear John….I mean Shirly,

Have halted paddling while I await clarification. Feet up.

VERY concerned you have misunderstood my intentions.

It is a LOVE SHACK not a “honeymoon cottage”.

Maybe not your One,
Con

 

[seaside]

 

[Zaphoon]

Dear S & Dear Con,

I have been deeply touched, having read your communiques to each other. May I interject this fine melody on your behalf?

Love story - Andy Williams - YouTube