Episode I- Blanche and Skiperdoo vs. the Narwhal

Long ago, (probably sometime in the 1970’s) somewhere in Kansas, on an old contemporary farm, in a little old farmhouse lived an old widow of 13 years named Blanche. Her late husband had settled that land and built up their farm back in 1921. He asked her to marry him in 23 and the two lived a blissful marriage together until his death in 1964. Blanche had reserved herself to a life of solitude in mourning, with only her little dog Skipperdoo for company.

The fiery spunk and sense of adventure she once possessed in her youth had long dwindled, leaving nothing but fond memories of her younger years. You see she had been the stubborn one, her husband being quieter, gentile and reserved. She was the spitfire then, but time had made her more like him. Little did she know that the need for that sense of adventure would soon be rekindled once again.

 With the fire crackling, Blanche sat in the warm dim light, on her comfy 3-legged stool, with her head in a bucket of anchovies, (to reduce wrinkles) reading “The Hound of the Baskervilles” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The phone beeped, (Blanche had a chronic superstition of ringing, it signifying the end of cherry farmers everywhere.) she answered it. It was of course her cousin Fran, who was calling to announce she had just won the Glasgow gin rummy contest. Well of course Blanche was jealous, on account that Fran had won the Senior Citizen cricket tournament in Cambridge the week before.

Suddenly there was a scratch at the door, so Blanche hung up on her chattering relative, and opened the door… there was no one there… she looked around, but then looked down. There was Skiperdoo, her little dog (which by the way was a crossbreed of an Irish wolfhound and a teacup poodle) don’t ask what it looked like, it’s simply dreadful.) Skiperdoo was covered head to toe in slime. She had been playing in the bogs again, taunting the alligators. (Skiperdoo was good at that) “Oh! Skippy, dirty again are we?” so Blanche promptly threw Skiperdoo into a bucket of soapy water and thrashed her vigorously up and down the washboard. She then threw Skiperdoo into her old crank powered dryer.

All was going well, when suddenly the old appliance began to sputter and cough. Sparks flew everywhere and the old dryer exploded into a huge ball of fire that was visible from space. It consumed their little old house, and the entirety of the 40 acre farm on which Blanche’s late husband Herbert worked 43 years to complete, killing the chickens, frying the eggs, and killing Blanch’s three horses, Ned, Kilby and the third of which who’s name was never documented on record. (And if it was the record was burned up.)

Skiperdoo came out unscathed but a bit static.

Needless to say Blanche needed a new dryer. She decided to take in the warranty and retrieve a new solar powered portable dryer.

So to avoid expensive shipping costs, Blanche purchased two 350-dollar cruise tickets on the Queen Marry, to personally make the trip to Tasmania to pick up the new contraption. Her old sense of adventure and need for a challenge was beginning to come back. Youth was breathed into her again. Blanche was once a great fighter, trained by the masters, and felt her long dormant skills returning.

On the way she met Dracula on the ship and threw him overboard to the fishes. Thus Dracula suffered a very uneventful death at the hands of Blanche, after centuries of a reign of tyranny in Transylvania. But this event is not important in this period of history and is not pertinent to the story, thus we will speak no more of it.

Anyway She went to Tasmania, took some lovely pictures of the wildlife, such as kelp, sea cucumbers and the voracious wild mongoose. After picking up her dryer and having a run in with the Chinese mafia over a voided check, Blanche boarded the Ship for the journey home.

Unfortunately Blanche drifted into a deep sleep, and when she awoke she found that she had missed her stop, and had ended up somewhere on the southeast coast of the arctic wastes, or more so, south southwest, and somewhat north nearer Norway, or Dublin or someplace like that. And what’s worse, she noted that her dentures were missing.

She exited the ship, all other passengers having contracted the dreaded Scouitzkylumpingitis syndrome virus, highly contagious, with a tendency to be somewhat on the benign side of malignant.

She came to the conclusion that this arctic wasteland was completely devoid of life. So having found a suitable souvenir shop, she bought a small bag of dried peas for the road.

While walking along, and balancing on the edge of a cliff, she saw out of the corner of her eye, Skiperdoo vigorously chasing a lemming, which he chased right over the cliff. Skiperdoo stood suspended in air for a moment, then VOOSH! Fell like a rock as gravity took its course. Blanche watched in terror as Skiperdoo fell hundreds of feet into the icey cold water below. Determined to save her fuzzy little friend, Blanche dug her boney old, fingers, which were callused, worn, yet tough as nails from almost 60 years of playing the piano, into the side of the cliff and began the long descent to rescue her floating comrade.

Right as she reached the bottom of the cliff she stopped to admire some lovely purple daisy’s on the ground, having forgotten what she was doing, on account that she had suffered a minor stroke back in 71 and had Alzheimer’s. My, did they smell lovely, but suddenly she was roused from her never land like state by the yapping of her drowning dog. She turned to see a large horn ascending out of the deep blue abyss. Why it was a Giant Narwhal, Blanche remembered them from her high school wildlife Biology class. It had come to eat Skiperdoo.

This, now was the deciding moment, would Blanche Summon her inner crocodile hunter and defeat the Narwhal, or would she stand and watch in shock as her little pet was rent in twain and consumed by the assailing sea monster. She summoned the courage and just as the vicious creature was about to ingest the little dog, she exploded into the air with an ancient Scottish war cry and a double barrel roll, and began to beat the Narwhal with her purse filled with bricks. The Narwhal’s Long spear like horn broke off and with a stunning turn of the table and lightning reflexes, Blanche impaled the Beast with its own weapon. All was well; the Narwhal floated lifelessly in the biter cold water, now tainted red, and slowly sank to the bottom of the sea.

Blanche and Skiperdoo then caught the nearest bus home, but having no change, Blanche promised the bus driver ten percent of her second million. They returned to what was left of their little home, and Blanche and Skiperdoo together began the rebuilding process.