He and She were on their way home from a local sport-motif eatery, where the food was good but the noise … well, let’s just say that they were grateful for a table on the lanai by the water.

He: “You do know what they call a TV that’s hooked to a really loud sound system, don’t you?”

She: “What?”

He: “Hi-Def.”

She: “What??“

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “Another hot day in Paradise!”

He: “Yeah. But don’t yell it out too loud, ok? People in hats and mittens might not take too kindly to it.”

She: “It’s a lot easier to get warm than it is to get cool.”

He: “It is. Assuming you can pay for the clothes or the heat. Still. The trade winds can come back any time now.”

She: “Pour you some ice water?”

He: “Yes please. The ultimate power beverage.”

She: “What?”

He: “Exactly.”

She: “What exactly?”

He: “Exactly right.”

She: “Will you tell me what you’re talking about?!?“

He: “Watt.”

She: “No fair. I asked you first.”

He: “You didn’t ask me anything. I was agreeing with you. Why are you hassling me?”

She: “So I can get an explanation. Before I pour this water down your neck.”

He: “I said, ‘the ultimate power beverage’. You said ‘watt’. I agreed with you. But it’s not just ‘watt’, it’s ‘watter‘. I told you, it’s really powerful stuff. Not to be spilt by pouring down people’s necks.”

She: “Why not? It would energize you. But I suppose, if it’s a power aid, that’s how come they sell it in the vending machines at $2 a pop.”

He: “Well, you’re correct, they do sell it alongside the soft drinks. But the stuff in the bottles is properly called ‘wattest‘. ‘Cause nothing’s more powerful than profits.”

She: “La la la, I can’t hear you …”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

He: “That bicycle* pedal doesn’t feel good.”

She: “Doesn’t sound good, either.”

He: “No, it doesn’t.”

She: “Sounds like a bearing to me.”

He: “‘Fraid you’re right. Looks like I’ll have to go fishing.”

She: “In the Bering Sea?”

He: “Yeah! How did you know?”

She: “Sweetheart, the story of human colonization of the Americas via the land bridge across the Bering Strait is an essential part of the 5th grade curriculum.”

He: “I see. Does that curriculum also discuss the role that the Bering Sea played in the inception of the Industrial Revolution?”

She “I don’t think so …”

He: “Or in the commercialization of striptease? After all, you were in Vegas …”

She: “Certainly not!“

* That bicycle, together with Your Friendly Neighborhood Amoeba, is, as of 0900 HST, 26 October 2009, officially living on borrowed time. Next post.

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “I’m fading. Can we call it a night?”

He: “What? No strawberries? Nights should come with strawberries. Especially yours. But they should also come with posts. I need a post for this weekend. Post haste.”

She: “Light post?”

He: “After yesterday’s, it probably should be. Hey, waitaminute …”

She: “Fence post?”

He: “That’s what I was afraid of. En garde!“

She: “Don’t you go postal on me!”

He: “How can I? I don’t have a post yet!”

She: “You don’t? What do you call this, then? Wrap it up and post it. It’s nighttime.”

He: “What? No strawberries?“

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “Please pass the salad dressing?”

He: “OK … Dang!“

She: “What dang?”

He: “Something else we can’t use because we have town water.”

She: “I like town water. Or do you really wish to go back to flushing the toilet with a bucket?”

He: “Not I. But it means we can’t use the salad dressing. Read.”

She: “‘Shake well.’”

He: “Exactly! We don’t have a well. And if you think I’m going to interrupt my dinner to track the Honolulu Water Department’s lines mauka five miles and up two thousand feet to shake their well, just so I can have a spot of sauce on my lettuce, you can think again.”

She: “I’m so glad I asked …”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

He and She were sitting in the beach park after dark, admiring the stars and watching an airplane circling overhead.

She: “Amazing. The clouds are almost invisible. The only way you know they’re there is when that airplane flies behind one.”

He: “Yeah. Its lights vanish, then just appear someplace else. Spooky.”

She: “I’m sure that’s how a lot of UFO stories get started.”

He: “Reckon you’re right. Most of ‘em get foreclosed, though.”

She: “Foreclosed?”

He: “Yeah. Unless they pay up.”

She: “Pay up what?“

He: “What U. F. owes, of course.”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “What’cha working on?”

He: “Sea lettuce.”

She: “Where? And what are you doing eating at your desk anyway? Don’t I feed you enough?”

He: “No, love, not ’see lettuce, bring your glasses’. ‘Sea lettuce, bring your bathing suit.’ It’s a kind of seaweed.”

“A nickel bag, dude? For us? Gnarl…“

“Dude! Shut up!!“

You jokers never learn, do you?

She: “Who are you talking to?!?”

He: “Me, myself, and I. If you’d been working on this sea lettuce report as long as I have, you’d probably be talking to yourself too.”

She: “No, there’s only one of me. If I desire conversation, I go looking for real people.”

He: “Oh, so you’d like to go fishing. Why didn’t you just say so?”

She: “Don’t make me regret reeling you in. You and your imaginary friends.”

He: “What imaginary friends?!?”

She: “The ones that pop up when you stay up all night writing reports and don’t get any sleep. What’s this all about?”

He: “You remember the Olympics in Beijing last year?”

She: “Wasn’t that when Michael Phelps was winning all those gold medals, swimming?”

“And smokin’ too, dude.”

That was later.

She: “What was later?”

He: “The cleanup. Actually, it was earlier, before the Olympics. Just hope Phelps knew how lucky he was, not having to swim outdoors.”

She: “Because why?”

He: “Because of the sea lettuce.”

She: “I sure hope he didn’t do any more than look at it. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to go into the water until at least half an hour after you eat!”

He: “Trust me, neither he nor anyone else wanted to see it, never mind eat it. All they wanted to do was get rid of it.”

She: “Ewww …”

“Ewww …”

“Ewww …”

She: “Echoes?”

He: “Yeah. ‘Cause it all happened again this summer. In France and in Seattle. Stuff piles up on the beaches and really makes a wrack of things.”

“Party down, dude! Hit the beach and get wracked!“

“Stop yelling, dude! You’ll make yourself hoarse.”

Yeah. A dead horse.

She: “Is it my turn yet?”

He: “They don’t eat sea lettuce.”

She: “Who don’t?”

He: “The terns, of course.”

She: “Well, I won’t be eating any, that’s for sure.”

He: “Why not?”

She: “You think I want a toxic waist? Leave that report and come to bed. If those imaginary friends of yours have any consideration, they’ll finish it for you while you’re asleep.”

“Finish the report, she says. How the hell’re we supposed to do that, dude?”

“I dunno, dude. Furniture polish?”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “Wow. It’s hot tonight!”

He: “It is that. But maybe it’d be better not to announce it quite so loud. Half the US Mainland’s under freeze warnings. And it’s snowing in Idaho. Sympathy might be in short supply.”

She: “I wish the heat was. And the thirst. Something to drink?”

He: “Yes, please.”

She: “Plain water?”

He: “Um, well, I don’t know …”

She: “What’s wrong with plain water?”

He: “Nothing, I guess … so long as it has nothing in common with airline food …”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “Well, we finally got the water back on in the house. What a relief it is!”

He: “I’ll flush to that.”

She: “Next time I complain about having to use the washing machine, remind me about this past week, will you?”

He: “Check. And next time we go camping, let’s try to make the destination a bit more exotic than our own house, eh? We need to teach the plumbing in this place some discipline.”

She: “Some … discipline …”

He: “Yeah! That pipe did not have permission to spring a leak.”

She: “Dare I ask why not?“

He: “We’re north of the Equator, correct?”

She: “Yeah …”

He: “It’s October!!“

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She was preparing a review for a book that she had read, as part of the research for her “Great American Novel” project …”

She: “I hate this kind of heroine!”

He: “Kind of a drug on the market, eh?”

She: “Say instead, like something the cat drug in. All oh woe is me, won’t some Prince Charming save me? How can anybody read this stuff?”

He [just at this moment, as if to prove that Divinity has a wry sense of humor, a truly torrential tropical downpour dumps on the house; He shouts over it]: “Well, the formula’s been around for a long time. I suppose it’s a form of addiction.”

She: “What did you say?”

He: “Addiction! Addiction!“

She: “Are you complaining about my diction?”

He: “Yeah. I can hardly understand a word you’re saying. You should use a dictionary.”

She: “Right. So my diction can err as badly as yours? And my choice of words? NOT!“

He: “I dibs my choice of knots!”

She: “And just what kind of knot would you choose?”

He: “A slip knot. One I can slip out of.”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

He: “Hey, this is good stuff. What is it?”

She: “It’s hummus.”

He: “No, love, speak boldly. I can’t understand you when you hum. What is this stuff?”

She: “I told you. Hummus!“

He: “Sweetheart, I’m overjoyed that you want to join me in the choir. But the rehearsal’s not ’til Saturday, and none of the music calls for humming. Which will disappoint you, on present evidence. And in the meantime, I’d really like to know what I’m eating here. Or are you trying to not tell me something?”

She: “I’m trying not to tell you that you’re eating mashed garbanzo beans!“

He: “Oh. A purée of the legume Cicer arietinum. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

She: “Why did I have to take up with a botanist?“

He: “To inspire you to write about strawberries, of course. But I gotta ask you.”

She: “What?”

He: “How come we’ve only ever heard of chickpeas? Aren’t there any dude peas?”

“Peace, dude. You called me?”

He [whispers]: “Pipe down, dude!”

“Gnarly, dude. Got a light?”

She: “La-la-la-la, I can’t hear you …!”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

He and She were eating dinner at their favorite burger shack, a place on the lagoon that is the central feature of the Hawai‘i Kai community. On the other side of the restaurant’s tiki torches, there was a dock with several small boats.

The name on one of the boats caught his attention, but he couldn’t read it from where he was sitting, so he asked her to read it for him.

She: “Submariner.”

He: “Hmph. Boat doesn’t look much like a submarine to me.”

She: “No it doesn’t. Of course, the owner could be a sandwich maker.”

He: “I suppose. But why would he, or she, wish to be?”

She: “Well, why not?“

He: “Have you ever tried to eat a submarine sandwich? Way soggy. Way too much salt. And you have to be real careful when you go to take a bite, or you’ll get way more than you bargained for.”

She: “Kinda limits your options when you chomp into a hot pepper, too, doesn’t it? Don’t breathe in …”

He: “Yeah. You go try eat a sub sandwich, you gotta be a real hero.”

She: “Oh, marvelous.”

He: “Are you accusing me of having pointy ears?”

She: “No. A pointy head.”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: “I’m going to have my hair cut off. It’s hot tonight! Too hot for long hair!”

He: “I understand, dear, but do be careful. I would hate for you to cut it too short and then have something bad happen to you.”

She: “Why would cutting my hair have anything to do with that?”

He: “Please, dear. We all know what you get when a wig gets named in a will.”

She: “What?”

He: “An inhairitance.”

She: “Right. Now I know for sure it’s too hot. Late, too. What time is it?”

He: “Variegated.”

She: “That’s it. I’m tired. You’re going to bed.”

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: Freud would love this one.

He: Oh?

She: I went to type “PayPerPost” on this blog entry I’m writing, and it came out “PayPerPest”.

“Hey!!“

“Whatsamatta, dude? Your ears burning?”

“She’s dissing my expertise, dude!”

“I grok the tease part, Mr. Payperblaug.com, that’s for sure. You ever get so much as a pizza out of all those posts?”

“Well, no …”

“Case closed, Sherlock.”

“Alright alright already. Maybe I’m cured, but She’s not. What the hell’s He gonna say, dude?”

He: I guess I’m glad not too many people take Freud seriously any more.

She: How come?

He: Well, you know how Freud always seemed to be carrying on about his mother?

She: Yeah? So?

He: Haven’t you ever wondered where he got all those slips? And when did he start using them for fortune-telling …?

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

She: I just saw something weird.

He: An honest politician running for city council?

She: No such luck. It was a fire truck going down the street.

He: That’s weird?

She: No – but the people running for their lives from it was.

He: I guess you haven’t heard then. They’re paying the price for professionalism.

She: Huh?

He: You remember – fire departments were all volunteer, once upon a time. All the firefighters were shopowners, or clerks, or whatnot, and they’d all be out of jobs if their places burned down, so they cooperated to fight fires. Then, later, they started hiring people to fight the fires for them. Professionals. With houses, kids, mortgages, insurance bills. Well, that was fine when the economy was. The economy ain’t fine no more, and the good citizens of the city can’t afford the professional firefighters no more. But they still have to support those houses and kids. So, they’ve subcontracted.

She: Subcontracted?

He: Yep. Now, for a fee, they’ll drive up to your house, surround the place so you can’t run away, get out their megaphones and yell YOU’RE FIRED! And if you get hot about it, they’ll turn the hoses on you.

She: So you can be home and hosed? Lovely. But I suppose that explains why all the women on the truck were wearing …

He: Pink slips?

She: Yeah. Those.

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.