Date: Wed, 19 Oct 94 23:50:10 -0600
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From: wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self)
Subject: Story!
As usual, folks, another Friday First! from Will Self: the new literary genre
that's all the rage!!--the Vanagon Detective Story!
--------------------------
As I sat at my desk in this sleazy joint that calls itself The Uncle Willy
Automotive Detective Agency, a blonde dame came through the door like
an old air-cooled pancake on fire. If my gut feeling about dames like this
was right, I was going to need a bracer. I pulled open the desk drawer with
the 35mm socket in its holster and the Southern Comfort. The socket got to
stay in the drawer--it was Comfort I was after. I had recently refilled
the bottle with the recommended VW blue coolant.
I took a long swig, taking my time and squinting at the dame as I swallowed.
She looked as impatient as a Porsche backed up behind a cross-country Vanagon
tour. I handed her the bottle. Without a word, she downed the rest of it and
pitched the bottle through the open window, where it landed on a pile of CV
joints with a crash.
"Hey, that stuff ain't cheap," I growled. "Here, if you're going to drink
like a wasserboxer radiator, pour this down the maw." I handed her an
unopened bottle of Jack Daniels.
"Never touch the stuff," she hiccupped. "Look, Willy. The name
is Marsha, the game is a hot investigation of counterfeit VW emblems."
My ears pricked up. They always do when someone calls me Willy. Frankly,
it gives me the willies. But I was interested in the part about hot.
"I'm interested in the part about hot," I sneered. "When it comes to blonde
dames, hot is my favorite part." I smiled--if you can call it a smile--and
showed her my muffler burns. "I'm an expert on hot."
"So you're hot," she cooed. "Here, this'll cool you down," she said,
pouring the Jack Daniels on my crotch.
----------to be continued-------------
(I'm in Missoula this weekend. Thanks to Jim Brill, who does freelance
work, for posting this for me.)