May 16, 2022

No News From Doodlebug Island, by William F. Jordan

Long-time residents of Doodlebug Island Dwayne Murchison and his wife Peggy are just returned from a trio up the Rhine River during which they had the pleasure of continuing their pastime of pleasant disagreements. For, though they are devoted to each other, each finds pleasure in different things. While Peggy is buoyantly optimistic and devotes herself to finding spiritual connections with the people she meets and the beauty of her surroundings, Dwayne has a more detached and philosophical perspective that more than somewhat borders on the skeptical and sardonic. “Bill,” he said to me, “Every little town or village in…

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MORE THE MERRIER, by Will Durst

Got to congratulate Donald Trump for how fast he’s become more annoying to the Republican Party than a mouse in an air conditioning unit. Like that popcorn husk that gets stuck in the back of your molars and you can’t pry it out with a cord of toothpicks. Almost as grating as the Kars for Kids commercial. The aerodynamically coiffed real estate developer recently announced that if the GOP Big Boys don’t stop saying mean things about him he might run as a third party candidate. “Be nice or I’ll poop on your parade” is pretty much the bombastic billionaire’s…

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No News From Doodlebug Island, by William F Jordan

When members of the Doodlebug Island Chamber of Commerce chose a new president, they turned to Riley Curtis, a stalwart and indefatigable member who had performed yeoman duty in virtually every chairmanship capacity to which he had been appointed. Whether it was membership, finance, advertising or public relations, he had stood to his post and accomplished chamber duties in a creditable, even stellar way. So, it came as a surprise to everyone that whereas he smoothly assumed his new duties, he nevertheless managed to be a source of consternation to other members. With his first speech, it became apparent that…

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LIFE’S TROPHIES, by Brendon Marks

A trophy is an everlasting symbol of one’s conquest over an opponent. The practice started centuries ago when some inedible part of the vanquished foe was lopped off and nailed to the wall over the fireplace. During times when you had no house guests these trophies prove very utilitarian for such activities as drying your socks on damp winter evenings. Trophy collecting has endured in spite of the efforts of several camera manufacturers to replace the activity with “moments frozen in time”. The concept has been modified slightly to allow for those instances where the loser may be reluctant to…

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No News From Doodlebug Island by William F. Jordan

Like many people, Darwin Wilkens, who has weathered fifty-three years on Doodlebug Island, is inordinately fond of sharing his experiences, insights, political views, and philosophy of life with anyone willing to risk the encounter. And, if no one volunteers for the job of listening, he is known to leave the park bench that from long use has born the imprint of his presence and insinuate himself into the conversations of people simply strolling through or socializing with friends. All he appears to need is the merest wisp of the matter being discussed, and he’s off like Man of War. “I…

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Just Pop Out That Cup Holder by Brendon Marks

How did we ever manage BCH (Before Cup Holders)? I’m sure that the inspiration for the first automotive cup holder was a direct result of a prolonged bout with ADD (Another Drink Dumped). The truck I drove for years was PCH (Pre-Cup Holder), so I know of what I speak. I had one of those neat little console things that sat on the transmission hump and collected screws, nuts, bolts, gum wrappers, and used tissues, mocking me with those indentations that were supposed to pass for drink holders. They could handle a soft drink can all right, but forget about…

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No News From Doodlebug Island by William F. Jordan

Franklin Hempstead was a man who could have gone off to the hereafter loved and respected by other Doodlebug Islanders, missed by all who knew him, remembered for his quiet, sober reflections. But he almost ruined what could have been and should have been cherished recollections of his generous, giving nature by bequeathing his assets to the church of which he had been a member for sixty-five of his seventy-three years, and stipulating that the funds be spent in the acquisition of an organ, “unless the congregation should decide to expend the money on what they perceive a more pressing…

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Coffee Cups, Etc. by Brendon Marks

Since the birth of Mr. Coffee every office with one or more people in it has a coffeepot. Where there are pots, there are cups. Many people use a foam cup so they don’t have to bother with details like washing or keeping track of where they left it. These cups are handy when you must attend a boring meeting. You can do many things with them to stay awake. 1.) Break little pieces off and drop them inside to see how far down you can go before what is left is full. 2.) Use a ballpoint pen to doodle…

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Check With Your Doctor, by Brendon Marks

The TV was on, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I was vaguely aware that an advertisement for some prescription medicine was encouraging me to ask my doctor if it was right for me. My first question was: “Shouldn’t he already know?” Then the side effects were mentioned, and that got my attention right away. They were headache, nausea, vomiting, muscle aches, blurred vision, and diarrhea. I?m not a real big fan of any of those maladies, separately or in any combination, and I have a short list of diseases that I would trade for them, so I don?t see…

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No News From Doodlebug Island

Dinner conversation among friends gathered at Wally’s restaurant was running to the usual regarding the inane doings of the Arizona Legislature when someone mentioned retirement, and the conversation shifted to what could be anticipated. “Ted and I are going to travel to those places where religion isn’t the excuse for killing one another,” said Susie Higgens, a petite first-grade teacher. “Yeah,” added Ted, “places where citizens know they’re in the twenty-first century and not stalemated in the twelfth. In short, we have no plans to visit Israel, the middle east, or Africa! Maybe we’ll see what the French or our…

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Truck Wreck, by Brendon M. Marks

My wife asked, “Are you not a farmer anymore?” “What are you talking about?” “They say that you’re a farmer if you look out whenever a car drives by the house, even at night. You used to look out all the time, but you don’t anymore.” “That’s because I can tell who it is just by listening.” “Are you serious? Do you expect me to believe that?” “Well, sometimes I have trouble telling the difference between Mary Lou’s Durango and Amy’s Dakota, but it’s all in the same family, both the vehicles and the drivers.” “Who’s going by right now?”…

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Old World Heritage – Bordeaux . . . by Joel Mann

When one talks about winemaking in locations such as the United States, Australia and New Zealand, South American, or South Africa, those locations are called the new world. They’re the regions which developed winemaking traditions as European settlers ventured around the globe with grape vine cuttings in hand to stake their own piece of land that reminded them of back home. A poor immigrant had little hope of becoming landed vineyard owners in their native France, Italy, Germany, etc. But wide open frontiers in other places didn’t come with titles, family crests, and other barriers to that dream. A common…

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No News from Doodlebug Island . . . by William F. Jordan

The avidity with which my employee Mark Shockly tackled the grammar texts I assigned him and the mastery he achieved led me to assign him coverage of local news while I handled syndicated material and editorials. But I came to regret my decision when several people stopped me on the street to inquire the meaning of words Mark had used. One person went so far as to swear: “I’ve never seen such vocabulary in my entire life, and I doubt some of those words even exist!” Now, as editor of the Doodlebug Island Run-on, I’m used to catching the brunt…

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Typical Excentric Reader . . .

This month’s Typical Excentric Reader is Randy Seal. His accompanying note stated, “And the Story goes; t’was the very last day of the year 2014 when Randy Seal reads the Sedona Excentric ‘Astrology For The Weak’ to the snow ducks perched in this Cottonwood yard. Lucky Ducks.” Little did Randy know he’d be the last Typical Excentric Reader to grace the pages of this paper. Unless, of course, Randy knows someone who wants to see the publication continue. Thanks, Randy, and all the other Typical Readers. Related posts: Typical Excentric Reader Typical Excentric Reader Typical Excentric Reader Typical Excentric Reader

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Heading For The Last Round-up . . . By Bishop

“This ain’t the same old range. Everything seems to change. Where are the pals I used to ride with? Gone to a land so strange. – Sons of the Pioneers Remembering the Hopi prophesy, when we dig precious things from the earth, we will invite disaster. Indeed, near the day of purification, cobwebs will spin back and forth while a container of ashes will one day be thrown from the sky that could burn the land and boil the oceans. To the Ancient ones, that situation was dubbed Koyaanisqatsi, meaning life out of balance, “life in turmoil, life disintegrating.” No…

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NEWS QUIZ? . . . by Joseph G. Evrard, Staff Kentuckian

Do you watch the news on TV? Good.I have a fun quiz for you. Let’s tune in now… ‘Good evening and thanks for joining us here at Channel One Eyewitness News. I’m Rodney Bighair. In tonight’s top story, President Obama calls upon embattled Mideast leaders to: Blow each other off the map. Kiss and make up. Go jump off a cliff. De-escalate the violence and begin peace negotiations. “In Congressional news, a report released by the House Majority leader reveals that: Most members of Congress think they should unlimited terms. Recently passed campaign finance reform legislation will make a big…

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That Really Bunches My Panties . . . by Brendon Marks

Waldo had a toboggan. I always remember Waldo’s toboggan when the weather turns cold and snow is reported in far-away places. I have many memories of upper New York State winters that serve mainly as reminders of why I left. Many people look forward to skiing, sledding, and generally flopping around in the snow, but I’m not one of them. If I never see another snowflake, I would have no regrets. That doesn’t mean that I never had fun in the snow. When I was considerably shorter than I am now, my parents decided that I would live with them…

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VORTEX SUMMONS PUBLISHER

Pictured is a long-time contributor to this publication, Doug “Rabbit” Sutherland, Minister of Reality. In this picture, Doug is the “Happy Gardener.” Doug wrote, “I am the happy gardener, I sweat and grunt and bleed; My eyes are crossed, My mind is lost, In joyful Zen I weed.” Doug, along with James Bishop, Jr., William F. Jordan, Brendon Marks, Joseph Evrard, Joel Mann, Denny Mandeville and numerous others are the reason the Sedona Excentric lined the streets of the Verde Valley for more than 25 years. E-books of Frankly Fanny, Astrology for the Weak and Kozmik Korner to be released…

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Spoiled and Sullied . . . by Joel Mann

My whole family hails from Wisconsin. As such, we’re all Green Bay Packer fans. Prior to writing this, I had to watch in stunned disbelief as my team choked on a near certain trip to the Superbowl, going down in inglorious defeat after they had outplayed Seattle all afternoon. It’s quite the humbling end to potentially great year. Why do I bring this up? It reminded me of the all the ways that Mother Nature attempts to spoil and sully a perfectly good glass of wine, sending an otherwise valuable vintage year down the drain. So in honor of my…

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No News from Doodlebug Island . . . by William F. Jordan

That part of my business dealing with the publication of romance novels, biographies, autobiographies, memoirs, or family histories had been inordinately slow for so long I had begun to fear it would lead to the loss of my ability to exaggerate, embroider, lie fancifully, or invent outlandishly. At that very moment, the Reverend Wilkens stopped by to inquire whether or not I would publish his life story on which he’d been working for some time. I told him I’d consider it. The next day he returned with a many-page manuscript, written in cursive and held together with spring clips—BIG spring…

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