Aboard My Train Of Thought, Scott C. Endsley [reading comprehension books .TXT] 📗

he finally gave up trying to explain and offered a hand of tolerance, praying His Judgeship wouldn't kiss it.

"You Will Step Down, Mr. Kimble!!" Judge Thomas, whose face would have caused confusion on a busy interstate, being that it was as red and illuminating as a traffic light, couldn't believe all that was happening in his courtroom.
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(Episode 4)
"At this time, Your Honor, I'd like to call a surprise witness to the stand, a certain Miss Matilda Waudlebaum," my court-appointed counselor announced.

"Very well, let the record show that........A CAT IS GOING TO TESTIFY?!" Justice Administrator Thomas gasped. I started crying tears of joy as my beloved feline approached the bench. I was equally comforted by the judge's facial adoration for such furry cuteness. "Well, I guess I can confirm this morning that I haven't seen everything in these 30 years! You may proceed, Council."

"Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Waudlebaum. You're a cat. Would you say this is true?" my attorney asked.

"I would," she proudly affirmed, though slightly bewildered because the Judge, probably from being over-stressed, forgot to make her swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help her; Saint CATherine! Matilda was a devout CATholic--Never missed one day of CATechism! She always wanted to be a Nun, but she got kicked out of Parochial School for chasing a "Cardinal" up a tree....I know, enough already! Okay, back to the trial............

"And as a cat, you were pretty close to the defendant, were you not?"

"I object!" the DA shouted. "Council is putting words in the witness' mouth."

"Overruled!....Come on, let's hurry this thing through!.....You may answer the question, ma'am," the Judge's stomach spoke up on his behalf, more eager than ever to go to lunch.

"Yes, I know the defendant well... I know the way he thinks... How else could it be that he has yet to beat me in Ping-Pong?"

"I object!.... This is irrelevant to the case... I want to go to the meat of the matter! What about Exhibit H?" the DA huffed.

"Overruled!.. You'll get to cross examine... Now go ahead, precious little kitty you... I mean, please continue, ma'am," said the Judge.

"Thank you, Your Honor," she purred. "There's not a dishonest bone in his body. He's always been good to me. Never once as a kitten did he rub my nose in it when I messed on the carpet... he..."

"I object!. Your Honor, you're falling in love with that cat!"

"Shut up, Benson, or you'll be removed from this courtroom, even if I have to forcibly take you by the hand and lead you outta here myself!!!!!"

"Well ain't that just the cat's pajamas! I'm sure Mr. Kimble would really be fond of that!" the D.A. stomped. "Never in my..."

"Bailiff, take Benson out of here... This case is now dismissed! Now where were you, precious little fuzz ball, hmmmm?" The Judge, like a charmed adolescent school boy, melted as he gave ear in a mesmerized daze for at least 30 more minutes, before shyly begging Matilda to give him the liberty to take her out for lunch.

Once again my beloved cat had saved my life and we were at last reunited. I asked the bailiff if I could go back and say goodbye to Homer and was then led down to his cell.

My few hours of freedom made me take for granted the long black hall, cold and damp as it was, all the way back to the cell we shared. Homer just stood there clutching the bars as if he could inflict pain on them.

"Well, Homer, I don't know what they got you in here for, but when this is all over I'll come back for you," I promised, putting my hand on his shoulder.

He just looked down at his shoes and mumbled his ever familiar line: "Dawn Comes with Rosy Fingers."

I paused and sighed, ".... Yeah, I know,."
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(Episode 5)
After all the charges were dropped and my record once again spotless, Matilda and I headed west. After walking a mile or two, Sheriff Bonehead pulled alongside of us.

"You'n yer cat wanna ride, boy?" He asked.

All along the way to Los Banos, Matilda and the sheriff exchanged hidious Star Wars jokes.

"Now let's see if I can say this one right... Hee! Hee!.... Obi-wan Kanobi had a son that was born mute... What was his name?.. Obi Quiet!.. Get it?"

Then Matilda fired back, "What did Obi-wan Kanobi suggest when Luke Skywalker was trying, but failing, to perform the Jedi trick of manipulating a tasty morsel of hamburger with his mind, into his mouth?"

"Hee Hee! Heck, I dunno, tell me?!" the Sheriff asked in anticipation.

"Use the fork, Luke!" Matilda slapped her paw on Bonehead's knee as he swerved out of the wrong lane of the highway, and almost off the road. Luckily for me it was just a 45 minute trip...


We pulled into a Christian-owned 'discount' service station called 'Jesus Saves' in Los Banos, about three o'clock in the afternoon. I went inside to ask for a phone book, to look up Mr. Pigglesworth's address, only to find the entire 'P' section had been ripped out.

"Excuse me, can anyone tell me where I can find an Elmo Pigglesworth?" I asked. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to study me.

"Who wants to know?" inquired a rather large tough, barely visible in the dark of the garage. I told him my name as two cars just about hit each other trying to split the scene.

"How do I know you are who you say you are?" he squinted.

"Well, let's see,... let's just say... `I'm probably here.`," I sneered.

His face turned as if he were wearing talcum. "`You're probably right`.... Come with me." He lifted a manhole cover and lowered himself in. He then asked me to follow. We must have walked for miles underground until we approached daylight peeking through a crack overhead. "Well this is the place. Climb out of the manhole and knock on the farmhouse door.... But please, Mr Hipwing...... don't tell him who led you here, okay?" he begged.

I gave him my word. I had just about got to the door when an old man came out with a shotgun. "Oh! It's the writer lost in his work." He laughed.

"I beg your pardon...." I said throwing up my hands, "I was told to come and see you. You see I'm on a mission and...."

"Don't need to finish. I already got you figured out... Where's yer side-kick protagonist?" he questioned.

"I don't follow you."

"Where's the strange stranger?" he asked again.

"Oh, he's dead... You see..."

"It was either him or the cat, right?" he laughed, with tobacco juice running down both sides of his chin. I couldn't help but think to myself, "Well, at least he's level headed."

"How did you know?" I queried, puzzled.

"My thoughts are your thoughts," he said, as he spit on the ground. "Come on inside---Oh, I don't allow cats in my house."
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(Episode 6)
Pigglesworth was an eccentric ex-con, who swears to the day of this writing, he'd been wrongly set up. As the story goes; he claimed at one time to have the ability to predict the future. Though it was all bunk, he made quite a lot of money at it. Soon, he became very publicized around his neck of the woods, but in an opposing way.... Word got around among his followers that many of his predictions turned out to be frivolous.

After most of Elmo's clientele quit coming around, he 'fessed-up about being a fraud, as far as having the ability to foretell events, but maintained he still had supernatural abilities. Only, not as most would understand. He took out a giant ad in the Los Angeles Times, claiming not only was he truly clairvoyant, but was blessed with a gift no other has ever claimed... The miraculous ability of 'For-sawing The Past!'

He listed 36 major world events that in fact did happen, including times, dates, years, centuries, decades, and believe it or not, temperatures! He named who won the World Series the previous year, and by what score! People marveled over his 100 percent accuracy so much, that he was paid one million dollars in advance; to write a book on '1000 post-dictions of the 1st millennium.' But the apple cart was soon to turn over (though he couldn't see it coming).

Rumors began to circulate about his authenticity, so much so, that the FBI launched an investigative probe, to determine whether or not he was a fraud. Soon afterward, a librarian claimed to have identified Pigglesworth, in spite of women's panty hose pulled over his face, engaged in incriminating activity.... reading!!!!!!!!. To back up her story, she presented to the authorities a library card with his name and address on it. He supposedly left it behind by accident. That was all they needed to get a search warrant.

Searching his home while he wasn't there, they found over 125 books, 45 magazines, various video tapes, and a complete collection of newspapers dating back to 1962. But what they found that really could have nailed him, what convinced them to bring him in, what left him without anyone willing to vouch on his behalf... was....a.........(GASP!).........TELEVISION!

They interrogated him for five hours, but the evidence was all circumstantial. They had to let him go. But being the likable guy he was, there weren't any hard feelings. He talked motor racing for awhile with some of the cops, traded Vietnam adventures, and bragged about his kids. Out of friendly curiosity, the police chief casually asked him where he bought his solid gold Rolex watch, because he had one at home just like it. Elmo thought for a minute, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I can't recall.." He got 10 years.


Elmo Pigglesworth enjoyed a peculiar looking dwelling. There were a lot of maps scattered all over the floor, yet some were hanging on the walls with thumbtacks pinned on various strategic locations.

"The thing you need to do is get back on that there Train of Thought," Elmo began, "and reverse the locomotive back to the duration of the time, when you first met the Strange Stranger. Then find out what kind of information he has. Once you find him, commence to lead him to the Grand Entrance to the GATE of the City of the Intellectually Inept, which is Big Buford's Buffalo Barf Bucket Burger Bistro. Now you, as the Gate Keeper, are to lead the Strange Stranger to the Intellectually Inept."

I couldn't believe that after traveling 1500 miles on foot, that was all he offered us (besides a rather greasy lunch). Especially since none of it made any since to me At least he was kind enough to point out the nearest railroad tracks to us.

After walking approximately a mile, Matilda and I waited around for about an hour till we abruptly heard the rumble of the approaching train. As it approached, we jumped in one of the boxcars and immediately pulled a lever (that was oddly