Sir John Elwill, 1st Baronet
RSP Important Announcement • Travel Food • Square Shooter
One Minute Wit
RSP Important Announcement
As a senior member of The Royal Society Of Procrastinators, I would like to remind our junior members that, as usual, we will be putting off our monthly meeting until a later date.
I am an honorary member.
50-Word Story
Sir John Elwill, 1st Baronet
“I am ready to fulfill my duty to the Crown.”
“Relax, John. It’s just a title. There are no requirements.”
“It’s Sir John, if you please.”
“Alright, Sir John, if you insist. And now that I think of it, I do have a mission for you. My Bentley needs washing.”
This story is complete fiction based on a name I found by hitting the random button on Wikipedia. Sir John Elwill was actually an English aristocrat and politician who lived in the late 17th and early 18th centuries.
A Baronet is the lowest hereditary titled British order, with the status of a commoner, yet still able to use the prefix “Sir.”
I think Sir John Elwill is a cool name. He could have been in a song:
Who will save the day?
Sir John Elwill!
Who will bake us a cake?
Sir John Elwill!
Doodle
Travel Food
Fair food, Amusement Park food, Drive-in food, burgers, fries, tacos, pizza, corn dogs, cotton candy, popcorn, ice cream, elephant ears, corn on the cob, barbecue, shakes, root beer, candy, nachos, junk, junk, junk!
Vacation eating is the best! (And worst.)
My wife and I have a “rule” on vacation we call “no chains.” Which means we don’t eat at any chain restaurants. We try to eat only at local places. Which are usually far better than chain restaurants anyway.
Unusual Western
Square Shooter
It’s hard to find the time to watch all those great old vintage movies. And many are unavailable for viewing in current formats. But have no fear. I am here to give you a synopsis* of the story so you can join in on the discussion if the movie ever comes up in a conversation.
-1886-
It wasn’t a job he asked for. It wasn’t a job he particularly enjoyed. But it was a job that needed doin’, and he seemed to have a knack for it. Jeremiah McCallister never planned on becoming a hired gun, it just turned out he was a remarkable shooter. As a boy, he could shoot an apple off a tree by hitting its stem. As a man, his steely eyes could bore a hole through the nerve of the toughest desperado. The west called to him. He didn’t know why, but he answered.
Jeremiah got off the train in Santa Fe. Barely out of his teens, he was as green as they came. It was not likely he would have survived three months had it not been for the kindness of Mary Stapelton. Mary was tough as nails. She needed to be. She owned a ranch and had three young’uns to raise on her own. Her husband, Amos, got killed the year before while fixing a fence. Mary saw who killed him, but no one would believe her.
Many of the menfolk in town would have gladly married Mary. She was fairly young, attractive, and a landowner. But she wasn’t interested. Amos was the love of her life and it would be a long time before she would consider lovin’ another man.
When Mary saw Jeremiah get off the train all wide-eyed and looking like a lost puppy, she approached him.
“You new in town?” Mary said.
“Yes, ma’am. Came from out east. It’s my first day here,” Jeremiah replied.
“I figured. I seen the look before. You looking for work?”
“I surely am. You know of any?”
“I own a ranch. Run it by myself. I could use a strong young man who ain’t afraid of hard work and ain’t too proud to work for a woman.”
“You found him,” Jeremiah replied.
Mary laughed and said, “Well, come on then. Throw your bag in the back of the wagon.”
The next two years of Jeremiah’s life were some of his fondest. He learned how to be a cowboy and how to run a ranch thanks to the guidance of Mary. When Mary learned of his shootin’ skill, she was relieved. Jeremiah also learned the ways of the west. The ever-present danger of outlaws and wild animals. On more than one occasion, his skill with a pistol prevented disaster from prevailing upon the Stapelton family.
But nothing prepared him for that fateful day when they arrived. They simply appeared and silently approached the house. Jeremiah noticed them first and called to Mary. She came out of the house and terror filled her eyes.
“They’re back,” she said softly. “They killed Amos.”
“Get back in the house,” Jeremiah said.
Jeremiah started counting. There were five of them, all approaching slow and silent. He had never seen anything like it. Each of them was easily six foot tall and as they moved they crushed everything in their path. They were smooth as a gun barrel and had no seams. They appeared to have skin like a human, but they were completely square, with no discernible features like eyes, or arms, or legs. How they moved he couldn’t figure.
It didn’t matter. He opened fire. The first two instantly exploded. Their gooey remains quickly dissolved and disappeared, leaving no trace of their existence. The next three met the same fate.
Mary and Jeremiah rarely spoke of it afterward. They knew no one would believe it. Until one day, while buying supplies in town, Jeremiah overheard another rancher tell a tale of giant squares that crushed several of his cattle. Jeremiah finally knew what his calling was. He spent the rest of his days as a square shooter, clearing ranches of killer squares.
Most folks didn’t believe him when he told them what he did. But there ain’t no arguing with the results. The west ain’t seen a killer square since Jeremiah hunted the last of them down twenty years later, then hung up his gun for good.
*There is a chance I might have made up this movie synopsis. About a 100% chance, actually. Keep that in mind when discussing the film.
Happy Monday.
Mark
That western really took an unexpected turn there. Can’t wait to tell all my friends about it at a dinner party 🤣
>>My wife and I have a “rule” on vacation we call “no chains.” Which means we don’t eat at any chain restaurants. We try to eat only at local places. Which are usually far better than chain restaurants anyway.
Deb and I have the same rule (okay, more of a guideline, really) when just the two of us travel. When our 6-year-old grandniece is along, however, our goal shifts from "enjoyable meal" to "get the kid fed, dammit." So mealtime becomes a matter of "How about <chain name>? You like <chain name>, right?" The local places usually result in us buying more than we'll need, hoping she'll eat SOME of it, and throwing the rest away (no refrigeration for to-go boxes while traveling, alas).
Oh, and if a bathroom break is needed, we pull into whatever chain comes along at the next exit. And I'll buy a small soda while others are in the restroom.