Read Online The Kitchen Readings by Michael Cleverly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Cleverly
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Loren, and Missie were driving through a village, and one of them looked down an alley and noticed a garbage can with a human hand sticking out of it. Hunter insisted they stop. With Missie snapping pictures, the guys cautiously approached, as if the thing could become aware. There was a khaki sleeve on its arm. As they closed in on the gruesome tableau, they realized that the hand was a prosthetic. This was even better, and Hunter grabbed the prize. The thing wasnât just an inanimate lump of plastic; it was articulated. By manipulating the end where it would have attached to the stump, he could make the fingers move in an eerie, lifelike manner. Hunter couldnât believe his good fortune.
The next few days saw a lot of the kind of pranks that are really funny if theyâre not being played on you. Waiters and waitresses, bartenders, people driving cars with Hunter in the backseat, and random victims on the street all met âthe hand,â with its grasping, twitching fingers. Hunter created an elaborate mythology surrounding the discovery of the hand, which of course bore little or no relation to actual events. It became an instant legend among the press corps. Unlike its previous owner, Hunter and the hand were inseparable.
Hunter was determined to bring the thing back to the States with him. There was Woody Creek, and worlds far beyond Woody Creek, for him and the hand to conquer. Sadly for Hunter, there was a physician present during one of his performances. He took an immediate interest in the hand and explained how really sophisticated and expensive the thing was. In other words, it wasnât a toy. Says who? For Hunter this was a really crummy turn of events. The hand was the best toy heâd come upon in ages. The doctor was adamant, though. The thing had to belong to someone out there who, undoubtedly, would be missing itbadly once he sobered up. If not, someone else could make real use of it. Hunter was of the strong opinion that he was making real use of it, but it was hard not to listen to reason. With great reluctance, he relinquished his prize. What followed was a period of mourning for him, and perhaps to some degree for Missie and Loren as well. The rest of the island fell into two categories, past victims of the hand and future victims of the hand. Had they known about Hunterâs loss, I suspect they would have had different feelings on the matter.
The three thought that a trip into the mountains would cheer them up. There was a fine restaurant called Mamaâs that was reputed to serve an excellent conch soup. They set out in an open Jeep. About halfway to their destination, after several miles of rough roads and switchbacks, they came to a sudden halt. The road was blocked by U.S. troops. It was a checkpoint to keep the phantom Cuban army from sneaking around the island.
Deb Fuller and Bob at the Jenkins wedding.
Instead of being waved on through as they fully expected, the three were detained. The hood of the jeep was raised and a thorough inspection of the vehicle was begun. Loren Jenkins was displeased. He had endured this sort of thing in countless Third World war zones at the hands of petty military types, and he wasnât happy to have to take this sort of crap from our own guys. He and Hunter produced their press credentials, with little effect. Jesus Christ, this was the world-famous Hunter S. Thompson. This was Loren Jenkins. You know, with the Pulitzer Prize. This was a beautiful blonde who couldnât be more an American WASP and less a Cuban spy if she had USA tattooed on her forehead.
Loren Jenkins and Missie Thorneâs wedding. The beautiful Barbara Groh with Benton, Cleverly, and Braudis, who come in assorted sizes.
Lorenâs patience stretched and then snapped. He launched into a tirade. âWhat the hell are you people doing here, anyway?â He went on to suggest that our government would be better off minding its own business, and from there he
The next few days saw a lot of the kind of pranks that are really funny if theyâre not being played on you. Waiters and waitresses, bartenders, people driving cars with Hunter in the backseat, and random victims on the street all met âthe hand,â with its grasping, twitching fingers. Hunter created an elaborate mythology surrounding the discovery of the hand, which of course bore little or no relation to actual events. It became an instant legend among the press corps. Unlike its previous owner, Hunter and the hand were inseparable.
Hunter was determined to bring the thing back to the States with him. There was Woody Creek, and worlds far beyond Woody Creek, for him and the hand to conquer. Sadly for Hunter, there was a physician present during one of his performances. He took an immediate interest in the hand and explained how really sophisticated and expensive the thing was. In other words, it wasnât a toy. Says who? For Hunter this was a really crummy turn of events. The hand was the best toy heâd come upon in ages. The doctor was adamant, though. The thing had to belong to someone out there who, undoubtedly, would be missing itbadly once he sobered up. If not, someone else could make real use of it. Hunter was of the strong opinion that he was making real use of it, but it was hard not to listen to reason. With great reluctance, he relinquished his prize. What followed was a period of mourning for him, and perhaps to some degree for Missie and Loren as well. The rest of the island fell into two categories, past victims of the hand and future victims of the hand. Had they known about Hunterâs loss, I suspect they would have had different feelings on the matter.
The three thought that a trip into the mountains would cheer them up. There was a fine restaurant called Mamaâs that was reputed to serve an excellent conch soup. They set out in an open Jeep. About halfway to their destination, after several miles of rough roads and switchbacks, they came to a sudden halt. The road was blocked by U.S. troops. It was a checkpoint to keep the phantom Cuban army from sneaking around the island.
Deb Fuller and Bob at the Jenkins wedding.
Instead of being waved on through as they fully expected, the three were detained. The hood of the jeep was raised and a thorough inspection of the vehicle was begun. Loren Jenkins was displeased. He had endured this sort of thing in countless Third World war zones at the hands of petty military types, and he wasnât happy to have to take this sort of crap from our own guys. He and Hunter produced their press credentials, with little effect. Jesus Christ, this was the world-famous Hunter S. Thompson. This was Loren Jenkins. You know, with the Pulitzer Prize. This was a beautiful blonde who couldnât be more an American WASP and less a Cuban spy if she had USA tattooed on her forehead.
Loren Jenkins and Missie Thorneâs wedding. The beautiful Barbara Groh with Benton, Cleverly, and Braudis, who come in assorted sizes.
Lorenâs patience stretched and then snapped. He launched into a tirade. âWhat the hell are you people doing here, anyway?â He went on to suggest that our government would be better off minding its own business, and from there he
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