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

and follow you back into your physical existence," Homer spoke up. I didn't want to go, life was so much more interesting in their world, but I knew if I didn't return now, I'd never be able to do so later.

Homer, Strange, and Matilda walked with me to the tracks. We all shared a tearful farewell. "I'll think about you guys often, and maybe from time to time, visit you. It's been a most enjoyable three months," I expressed with tears pouring, and snot-rag in hand.

In the nick of time, prior to the moment I would have drowned in my own swimming hole of grief, I heard the train whistle blow. Matilda and I started running to gain momentum to leap aboard. Just as it approached, we clung on to the engine and climbed in. I looked back and waved to Homer and Strange. I gazed ahead and saw the many characters I had fabricated, waving as the train went by. Then I passed by the Calypso Singers and yelled out the window at the top of my lungs, with all the sincerity I could muster, "Get a job!"

I suddenly felt uneasy as I had no I idea what lay ahead. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the plan that Strange gave me. It read:


"It's not very often a writer and his characters become the best of friends, and now as your friends, we ask you to leave this Fictional Forest.. The only way for our world to rest in peace is for you to leave. Homer and I have theorized a way to return you to your physical reality. You must die a fictitious death. It's risky, but you must try it.
Strange and Homer"


I stuffed it in my mouth, swallowed and began looking around at all the unfamiliar scenery, while pondering to myself as to how I should die. I was scared, so I decided to put it off for awhile, and succumbed to a snooze. Two hours or so afterward, I awoke and looked out the window, noticing in the distance there stood a mountain range. It was then that I chose my death.

The track veered off into the mountains, then it divided in two different routes. One track remained unfinished over a half-built bridge. This was the one I elected to use. My Train of Thought gained speed as it swerved to the right and proceeded straight for a downhill plunge. The rocky embankment approached at a high rate of speed. I closed my eyes as I heard the loud split-second flash and visioned the iron shrapnel exploding all around Matlilda and I. Then I felt...... nothing?.....


I opened my eyes. I was at my writing desk and the half-written story was scribbled on paper. It had in fact been fantasy. I sat there for a minute, then got up to get something cold to drink. Without realizing she was there, I stepped on Matilda's tail as she let out a loud squall.

"Oh Matilda, I'm sorry. I didn't see you...Are you all right little kitty, hmmm? I sure didn't mean to do that," I apologized.

She just rubbed her side against my pants leg. "Think nothing of it, Luv, I know you didn't," she replied.
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YESTERDAYS MILK
(Episode 1)

December 27, 1995

My dearly beloved diary:
It's a little past 3 am and all is hell.... as I'm sitting in a rather large pit being stoned to death by my peers, while hitting myself repeatedly over the head with a monstrous sized boulder. Sometimes I'd just like to dunk my face in the toilet bowl, slam the lid on it; and commit sewercide!

You're brought into this world cause 'someone' screwed around... and, you leave it cause 'you've' simply screwed up. But, it's not you holding the screwdriver. Rather, a large- bellied maintenance man on the third floor and seventh door to the right. "How do you know all this?" you ask. Well the answer would come automatically in most cases were it not for the fact that most brains come in standard models, and prices may vary depending on what circumstances you're willing to pay for attaining such knowledge.

Oh pardon me, the dog wants out. She's been quite patient really. Yes, Maggie's quite a Lady. I found her half-starved, and begging me for my fries in the parking lot beneath the golden arches, one fine day.... Introduced herself as Maggie McMutt. And both of us being of Scottish descent, get along well, the lass and I. Well, that's it till tomorrow....
Sincereley, last time I checked, still Clyde P. Hipwing


As I opened the door to let her out, I noticed it was a lovely full moon.... OOPS, well I was wrong. It was only Mrs. McPherson bending over to pick up her morning paper. "Morning, Mrs. McPherson!" I called out, scaring the dickens out of her. Which probably came as a surprise to her, not being related to the Dickens' who lived next door to her and all.

Then there was my other neighbor, George Birthington. Rumor had it old George did his clothes only once a year. Everyone around here referred to it as George Birthington's Washday. All of my neighbors were a bit strange.

Well, it was a bit early, but I was in the mood for a morning stroll. As I was walking, I noticed a milk truck parked next to the curb. It was Marty the Mysterious Milkman! He was making his morning rounds.

"Mornin', Marty!"

"Um... Mornin'..." He replied.

"How's the milk business?" I asked.

He thought wisely to himself, "Well as Louis Pasteur once said: "Yesterday's milk is tomorrow's curds! "

We were both left in an awkward silence before going on with our business. "Pardon me," he excused himself, "but there's milk to be delivered."

Marty was kind of a born loser. Always wanted to be a dentist. He went to Dental School and graduated with honors. Yet, he failed to make any 'impressions.' Marty always felt his calling for notoriety-- his new aspirations were to become the next sheriff of Pothole county. He ran a massive campaign, but he was up against stiff competition as Deputy Doodah lead in all the polls, inspite of the fact he had little chance to prove his authority, being under the tight reign of incumbent, Sheriff Marshall Dumas. They were constantly at each other's throats, especially since Doodah often refered to him as "Doofus".

"It's Dumas! How many times do I have to remind you? It's Dumas!" The frustrated Sheriff often replied.

He wasn't a bright sort to say the least; he was constantly being reprimanded for chasing Indians on horseback, as there wasn't a Bingo parlor around that didn't get busted up occasionally. And today was no exception as I observed our lame duck Sheriff galloping off into the sunrise of another day of Bingo busting.
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(Episode 2)
The morning sun illuminated the darkly desolate hopes of the general populous of Mountain Oyster, as our latest mortal of admirable exploits -- Deputy Doodah -- was at the front of a line, in a local department store, picking his nose... "Yes, Um... I'll take the one with the large nostrils and thinned out bridge......."

"Oh, that one? I'm so sorry Sir, that's the display model...We don't have anymore in that particular style and size on stock..." The sales lady, syrupy sweet with much concern as if his mother had died, said.

"That's Ok, I'll just take the display model." Doodah mumbled.

"Oh, I'm sssssssso sorry, but..."

"Look lady, I called down here 20 minutes before I took the time to drive up here, and the assistant manager told me that he had five of them in stock; so I'll pick whatever nose I want to pick! Man, the service stinks here!!"

As the cashier was about to inject Doodah with a lethal dose of saccharine, there was a tumultuous thunder of breaking glass that woke even the sleepy floor sweeper. A large Good Humor truck had smashed non-stop through the exterior windowpane, knocking over cash registers, destroying merchandise, and scattering panty hose, merging with ice cream sandwiches, far and wide. DooDah loosened himself out of the rubble, removed a popsickle from his ear, and discovered the truck lying upside down.

"Fudge!" He exclaimed.

Slowly, a rather dwarfed, shady and eccentric character emerged out of the passenger's side door. "What in tarnation are you doin' and who are you!" Doodah demanded from what appeared to be a one-eyed midget shaking broken glass out of his hair.

"Sorry bout the mess," he began. "My name's Emilio Esparanza Mucho Gusto Julio Big John... Um... My friends call me Mr Big, for short."

"Okay, Mr. Big..." Doodah snapped back, "what's the BIG idea crashin' into this here department store, scarin' children and old ladies, and just why were you in such a hurry?"

"Well sir, I couldn't reach the brake. Aside from that, as to how I got here... it's a long story," Mr. Big explained, "but to make it shorter, you don't have to read the whole thing, just revert about 2 or 3 pages back in this book!"

Subsequent to reading a few paragraphs, Doodah, in a brief span of minutes, understood that the one-eyed midget had been brought into physical existence after dying a fictitious death, in the previous story (Hint, Hint).

"Do you know where I might find a certain Mr Clyde P. Hipwing?.... We have some unfinished business to take care of," Mr. Big sneered.

Doodah, in spite of the immediate pandemonium, was happy to help. He put his hand on Mr Big's shoulder and vigorously lead him to a window with an exceptional panoramic view.

"Well, if you take that there road up ahead, and turn right; you'll eventully come to a red light. Take a left and then you'll see Big Buford's Buffalo Barf Bucket Burger Bistro...Behind it, there is a gravel alley way. Now, if you're not careful, you'll miss the south turn around the corner hidden behind Mrs Betcher's rose bushes. Go all the way till you come to Mike's Mattress Mart on the corner of Rabid Skunk Blvd and 5th...You'll see the Lee West addition entrance, but don't turn there, go 4 blocks further. His is the first house on the second block, two miles up on the right.....

"Oh no, come to think of it...that route is closed off cause of all the construction work....I guess you'll have to take the detour down that street over there... Mr Hipwing lives in the only pink house on the right after the left turn. Sorry to have to inconvenience ya, fella," Doodah said, patting Mr Big on the top of his head, when, all at once, the floor began splintering where he and the one-eyed midget were standing inside the emporium.

Isles