By on November 3, 2015

Trailer park experiment yields a sophisticated monster.

151104RedneckJackson, WY – At the trailer court they called me mad, insane, but tonight the years of work, of heartache and despair will pay off! In the spare bedroom of my singlewide the laboratory test tubes are bubbling, electric wires dangling, lightning flashing and thunder crashing. While enduring ridicule and condemnation from illiterates in singlewides I have pushed the limits of human evolution beyond what their simple minds can comprehend and tonight my creation will come to life.

I call Billy and invite him over. He doesn’t want to come as he’s in the middle of clicking through TV shows. So I sweetened the deal with a promise of bacon wrapped in bacon with bacon filling. I hear the roar of his one-ton truck as he starts it up and drives the 20 feet to my lot.

“Where’s the bacon?” he says as he walks in, sits down on the couch and begins clicking through TV shows.

“There is no bacon,” I say. The expression on his face changes from excited anticipation to tragic despair.

“But let me get you a beer.” I enter my laboratory and return with a bottle of my creation.

“What the hell is this?” he asks. “That’s not a Bud Lite.”

Quickly I activate the automatic restraints on the couch and Billy is strapped down.

“It’s my new creation,” I say with no small pride. “It’s called a micro-brew.”

I pour the beer down his throat and wait to see the results of my experiment.

He blinks his eyes, his life in a delicate balance between who he was and who he is to become.

“This one has a substantial yet a mild malt complexity, tropical, grapefruity with a Belgiany, aromatic, subtlety, effervescent carbonation, rich, full, yet light, with a warm finish,” he says. “It reminds me of the pumpkin ale I had at Otter Creek Brewing in Middlebury, yet more pungent and creamy but without the fruity aroma. You wouldn’t happen to have some pizza with Vermont goat cheese, artichoke spread, sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms and fresh basil would you?”

It worked! He evolved! And they called me mad!

“Let’s go out for sushi later tonight,” Billy says. “Then to the Wildlife Museum. “They’re giving a presentation on ocean sustainability.”

“The Broncos are playing on Monday Night Football,” I protest.

“Certainly we could spend a more sophisticated evening,” Billy answers. “Dine on small plate appetizers, maybe some mushrooms stuffed with prosciutto and cream cheese while splitting a bottle of wine, some soothing jazz tunes and friendly conversations rather than suffering large crowds, rowdy banter, nachos and chicken wings.”

What have I done? I’ve created a monster!

I run to the fridge, open a can of Bud Lite. Billy is bantering on about what constitutes real art and why western art is merely wallpaper for the rich bourgeois, unworthy of serious critique. I pour the Bud Lite down Billy’s throat. He blinks, burps, farts then says. “What about that bacon?”

Some things in nature are not meant to evolve. PJH

About Clyde Thornhill

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