Skiing Lake Loggerhead

When the sky would blacken with storm clouds and the sound of thunder shook the very ground we stood on, my father was fond of saying, “Looks like it’s fixin’ to come a turd-floater. You boys better get inside before you wash away.”

This only gave credence to the ugly rumor that my ancestors floated to the Ozark Hills from Indiana in one such rainstorm a hundred and seventy years ago. Good thing we’re a buoyant people.

If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the little mermaid who choreographs our synchronized writing program is Esther Williams Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.

copyright - Jennifer Pendergast
copyright – Jennifer Pendergast

“I thought you said you had a ski boat?”

“I do.”

“But that’s a canoe. You can’t pull a skier with that.”

“Sure you can. The rower just needs the right motivation.”

“And how do you accomplish that?”

“If my wife is paddling, I attach a couple of Cottonmouths to the stern on four-foot leashes. She’s been clocked at forty miles per hour.”

“What if she won’t go?”

“Then I fill Junior up on sweet potatoes, boiled eggs, and beans and have him push the boat. Ski to the left or right. You’ll want to stay clear of the exhaust.”

___________________________________________________

It’s been a while since I’ve given you a dose of good, juvenile humor. Read twice and comment in the morning.

 

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51 thoughts on “Skiing Lake Loggerhead

  1. Dear Charlie Weaver-Gayer,

    The Cottonmouths would certainly do it for me. I somehow picture Connie wrapping one of those little poisonous ropes around your neck when she catches you. (I’m in her cheering section). I’m not sure I even want to address fragrant Junior. I willing to bet you kept a whoopee cushion in your desk in grade school. You do make me laugh but I’ll pass on the skiing and stick to swimming.

    Shalom-glug,

    Esther WWF

    1. Dear Esther,
      While I did not have a whoopee cushion in school, my daughter did get me a remote control fart machine for my birthday a few years back. This wonderful device had a range of 20 feet and featured an adhesive back that would stick to the underside of most chairs. What fun I had with my co-workers! The expression on their faces was priceless–especially when I had a large crowd gathered for the occasion. And best of all–it was odor free. Those were the days . . .
      Want some beans?
      ~ Charlie

  2. Russell,

    There is nothing you can write about that is more descriptive than this piece. Poor Connie. And to think, she had a choice when marrying you, ha. (think she made a good choice). I really loved reading Rochelle’s and Bjorn’s comments. They just added to your story. Loved it.

    Mike

  3. Dear Cousin – there just can’t be two clans as alike as us and not be kinfolk somewhere in the backlog of our minds! I have laughed and laughed and I wouldn’t want to ski behind your boat ever! Mike read your story first and busted a gut laughing! Well, CUZ’ from the State of Kansas that has an AR in front of me but I was born there too!. Tell Connie Hi for us – thanks! Nan

  4. Half-hearted, as we say in Scotland.
    (Read it aloud with the appropriate accent.)
    Not sure what the question is, but the answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind…

  5. You’ve done it again, Russell. This piece was hilarious. I feel a little sorry for your wife though, but she must have a great sense of humor. Your daughter must share your sense of humor. She knew just what to get you as a present. 😀 — Suzanne

  6. You kill me, Russell! “Looks like it’s fixin’ to come a turd-floater?” Where do you come up with this stuff!

    Remind me not to go water skiing with your lot…

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