Sally and the VooDoo Girls

Sally Sloop has simple tastes and asks very little of life. She is happiest when she’s wearing purple and having a cup of tea with the girls from Woolworths at Cloverdale’s Voo Doo Doughnuts.

Last week I stopped by VooDoo’s for a chocolate sprinkle surprise and a chocolate milk. I found Sally and the Woolworths girls at their table engaged in lively conversation. Their contagious laughter could be heard outside, even with the shop’s door closed. Of course, being of a friendly nature and curious - always curious, I stopped and asked if I could briefly join them until I finished my sprinkle. I offered them each a chocolate surprise to sweeten the intrusion. They agreed. Sally introduced me to the girls. She remembered me from my regular visits to Woolworth’s for this and that and vouched for my integrity and kindness. She once slammed her finger in the cash register while making change for one of my purchases. I went to the lunch counter, asked the attendant to fill a plastic baggy with ice and offered it to Sally. They say no good deed is left unrewarded. They are right. That day I was offered a brief audience with the VooDoo Doughnut girls.
“How’s that finger?” I asked while adjusting my chair into a more suitable place at the table.
“Very well thank you,” Sally responded. “He’s the gent that fetched the ice. Remember me telling you about it?” she asked the others. They all nodded and smiled in my direction. The conversation went quiet. Several of the ladies filled the void by sipping their tea.
“I heard the laughter from the pavement. I said hoping to jump start a conversation.
“We were having a laugh at our Sally,” said the oldest at the table. Her cat eyed glasses gave away the decade of her youth. Her Woolworth’s badge had a thirty year pin attached. “She’s went and gotten herself a date for Friday. Their going to the pictures.”
“Good on you,” I said offering my hand in congratulations. She took it. I promptly turned her hand, brought it up to my lips and gave it a quick kiss. “The gentleman is lucky such a lady agreed to step out with him. After all, she has a reputation to uphold in the community. May I assume he is a visiting prince or perhaps a Duke of noble heritage?” The table broke out into laughter, startling two ladies and young boy who happened to be walking by the shop. They stopped for a moment, looked at us through the window and then continued down the street.
“He’s the head of Men’s Wear at the store.” Madge said. “He’s not much to look at mind you, but he is single, responsible, and they say has quite a tidy sum set aside.”
“Hardly ever visits the pubs,” Sally added. “They say he’s a regular at St. Bartholomew's.”
“That makes him a Catholic,” Nancy interjected.
“Do you think we’re daft Nancy?” Madge slapped Nancy’s hand. “He must be Catholic if he goes to St. Bartholomew’s.” Nancy held her hand up to her mouth and laughed. The table joined in, startling the young girl admiring the doughnuts in the shop window. She ran away.

The baker brought the chocolate sprinkles to the table. “Thanks Love,” the ladies said, nearly in unison.
“My pleasure,” I replied. “There’s more where that came so eat up.”
“Is he trying to get us drunk on doughnuts?” Sally asked the ladies. “Just what are your intentions may we ask?”
“My tastes are simple, a chocolate sprinkle and the company of beautiful women.” I sat back in my chair wiping a sprinkle from my upper lip. Once again laughter filled the shop.

We startled several pedestrians over the course of the next fifteen minutes. I made many new friends and learned more about my village on the border where nowhere and somewhere merge.

First Golden Ticket Found!

Brandon Cattell Ponders his Discovery

Today Wonka Tobacco Works proudly announced the winner of the first Golden Ticket. Brandon Cattell found the ticket yesterday in a package of Wonka Imperials, purchased at the Kicking Donkey pup in Cloverdale. Of course we all heard about it right after the ticket was discovered thanks to our village news network (the phone exchange and neighbor's back fences). I grabbed my pencil and pad and rushed out the door hoping to get the first exclusive interview for my kind readers. I found Brandon at the Kicking Donkey surrounded by well wishers. He was nursing his third pint and seemed three sheets to the wind. Complete sentences were a challenge but not unusual for Brandon. Mastering the English language wasn’t important. Slaughtering a side of beef was. Brandon is a butcher, working at the local Red Owl Grocery Store. His cuts are well known to locals. Announcing you were serving Cattell cuts at your dinner party was sure to produce applause.

When I arrived I found Brandon sitting at a table. The party had moved on to the bar, leaving Brandon to his thoughts. He was fixated on the television, suspended from the ceiling near the pub’s fireplace. He had his Imperials on the table. The Golden Ticket was off to one side. It was obvious he’d just gotten off work judging by his appearance. His hat was still attached to his head with bobby pins. His apron and T-shirt were bloody, giving the impression he had been recently shot in the chest.

“He looks that way all the time when he comes in here,” the Publican said as he sat my Diet Coke with lime down on the table. “First stop he makes when he gets off work. Comes in, orders a pack of Wonka Imperials and a pint, sits and stares at the TV. It don’t matter what’s on. He stares like that all the time. Right unnerving it is. I’ve asked him to wash up before coming in but he won’t hear of it. I Iet it go. We’re all use to it. Besides, he cuts the best steaks in town and sees to it that my orders are filled first.”

“Is that so?” I asked Brandon. He looked at me with a sense of curiosity then took another cigarette out of the package, lit up and inhaled - long and deliberate. He held the smoke for a second or two then exhaled a stream of white smoke toward the tele.
“What do you think about your Golden Ticket? You’re the first in the world to win.” I asked. He looked down at the ticket.
“Found it in my smokes,” he said. “Hell of a thing to find in your smokes.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was. What are you feeling?” I returned to my unanswered question. By then a few of the regulars had returned to the table to listen in on the interview.
“I’m feeling the need.” He slurred as he struggled to his feet. “Gotta Crap.” A path suddenly appeared through the crowd leading to the Pub’s toilets. He stumbled in their general direction. Half way across the room he cleared his throat with such a sound one thought he’d dislodged his windpipe. He stopped and looked around. He had something in his mouth, something rather large. The Publican quickly produced a spittoon. but too late. Brandon reached down, gathered the bottom of his apron into his hands, pulled his apron up to his mouth and made a large deposit.’ Dropping his apron, he continue toward the toilets.

I waited. I examined the Golden Ticket. I was glad the first was found in Coverdale. It seemed only fitting considering the Wonka Tobacco Works was located right outside of town.

Brandon didn’t return. The Publican found him passed out in one of the stalls. A few of the locals carried him home to his Mrs. I took the Ticket for safe keeping and left it with his wife. She wasn’t please and seemed prepared to rip the ticket in half. Apparently his smoking is a concern of hers. Anything that encouraged him to continue was seen by her to be a challenge to her nagging, threats and ultimatums. Just as she attempted to destroy the ticket someone wearing a black coat, black hat and cane stepped from the shadows and stopped her.
“Excuse me,” he said apologetically for stepping in front of me on the doorstep. “May we speak,” he asked Mrs. Cattell politely. “It is urgent.”
She stepped back with surprise, then consented. The door closed abruptly leaving me to my imaginings.

As of this writing I don’t know who that was or whether or not the ticket was destroyed or kept.

The sun rises and sets on our village of Cloverdale. Our people continue as they have done for hundreds of years. We work, we play, we pray and we dream of better days with lighter loads.

Goodnight.

Winston Wonka and the Golden Tickets

The Pinewood Forrest descends down from the Black Mountains like a colossal evergreen ribbon whose ends touch the outer roads ringing the village of Cloverdale in the Confederacy of Dunces. Deep in the Forrest, and out of sight from prying eyes, rises the buildings of the Wonka Tobacco Works. It’s proprietor, Winston Wonka, is the brother of Willy Wonka - the world renown confectioner. Willy grew up with an ambition to create fine candies and chocolates. Winston, on the other hand, took great delight in tobacco, which led to his ambition to create exquisite tobacco products from the finest tobacco gown in the world.

Winston rarely leaves his factory and, like his brother, finds solace in the company of his employees. He regards them as his kinsman. This close knit community is a village unto itself with its own stores, church, theater and parks. All Wonken (as the employees are referred to in official Wonka company documents) are allocated small apartments complete with gardens. This community becomes their world. It is where they live, are educated, grow up, marry, work, retire and die. The Wonken understand they are free to leave anytime. Winston Wonka reminds all who work in his Tobacco works that the factory gates will always open out but rarely open in. If a Wonken leaves, he leaves for life. Winston places great importance to a Wonken’s faithfulness to him, and the secrets of his unique tobacco blends used in his cigars, cigarettes and snuff.

Wonka Tobacco is imported to the Confederacy from all parts of the world by ship. A special rail line and train called Wonka Rail carries the precious commodity from Tamworth on Tide to the Wonka Works daily. The train is emptied and reloaded with finished tobacco products to be taken by Wonka Rail back to the Port for export. Tobacco for local consumption is carried by another Wonka train to Cloverdale and then on to Capital City for nationwide distribution.

Wonka Rail is also used by brother Willy to ship his confections from his factory in Capital City to Tamworth on Tide for export. The brothers share the expenses of running their own rail service. They would have it no other way.

There are rumors spoken in the pubs frequented by Wonka Rail Employees that Willy’s famous Golden Ticket scheme may be duplicated by brother Winston in an attempt to provide some transparency to the closed hermit like world which exists at the Wonka Tobacco Works. According to a not to be mention Wonka source, golden tickets will soon be placed in six Wonka Imperials Cigarette packages entitling the lucky winners to a vip tour of the Wonka Tobacco Works and lunch with Winston Wonka himself.

Our readers may sleep well knowing that news of such a scheme will be announced first over the Dunce News Service. Tobacco shops carrying the Wonka brand are already clearing extra shelf space as they anticipate an imminent announcement from Cloverdale.

Francis Fickle, Minister of Health and Asylums urges all parents within the Confederacy to talk to their children about the dangers of smoking. It is feared this possible Wonka scheme may encourage the weak minded and young to take up smoking.
“We most strongly urge parents to warn their children that smoking is hazardous to their health and may cause cancer and other deadly diseases.” Minister Francis Fickle stated in a recent interview for Coverdale Weekend Television. “Accordingly I’ve requested an audience with Winston Wonka to discuss this possible Golden Ticket scheme and to urge him, with great persuasion if necessary, to drop this promotion in favor of placing stronger warning labels on all Wonka products. Our calls have not been returned but we are hopeful.”

The Wonka Tobacco Works has scheduled a special announcement to be carried live by WonkaVision Tuesday next. It is anticipated the Golden Ticket Scheme will commence at that time.

Stay tuned for upcoming reports.

Dunce News Service

Young Boy takes his bible stories literally. Sent to hospital after exposure to tear gas. The police were not amused, especially when he produced a sling shot.