2. The Secret of Weasel Squash

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Never before have I told anyone this story. I've finished telling you the first part of it all. Now I'm

gonna tell you the rest of it.

“Give me a break,” I said as we sat under a tree in the lavender fields outside town. (wait, what do

you mean you don't remember the lavender fields? Get with it people!) “You're just making this stuff

up!”

“Never have I told a lie,” he replied. “I may just be a wandering vagabond, but I've honor! You're not

gonna sit there and slander my and varnish my good name!” (I think he meant 'tarnish')

“Let me finish my story for you,” he said “I implore you. You must hear this.”

“You are one serious noodle-brain,” I said finally “But go ahead . And please calm

down. Don't blow a gasket or anything.”

“Never. Now! The story of............................ Weasel Squash!”

“Gonna cut to the chase here,” he said “I'd just finished eating a peanut butter and mango sandwich.

Run down the road, visit my orthodontist, get some work done. The office had a strange motif. All

around were trucks, train tracks, other fun things. He drilled in my tooth, right where some mango

or peanut butter remained, when off in the distance we saw an object. A spot in the clouds. The

desert seemed far away, like Nova Scotia or somethin', but the clouds came closer. So did the object.

You see where this is going?” he asked. I shook my head no.

“Never does anyone understand!” he cried.

“Gonna continue or what?” I asked him.

“Make a long story short, it entered the town. Weasel Squash.” Tendons stood out on his neck. “'Did

you ever see such a thing?' I asked the dentist. 'No I ain't' he said. A zephyr kept bringing it closer.”

Cry he did. I shuddered to think what was coming in this story.

Never had I seen someone so deeply affected by a memory. Did I dare hear the rest of this story? I was

gonna, it seemed.

“Say,” he perked up “Did I explain what a zephyr is?” “It's a west wind.” I replied.

Goodbye annoying grammar. It seemed this guy knew some English.

“Never before had I seen it,” he said, returning to his story “There was a smell like a rotting corpse.

Gonna try to forget that smell.... the tussie mussie flowers shriveled immediately. My sinuses hurt, I

tell ya! The house cleared out in seconds. David Jayne, my orthodontist, ran out too.

A minute later, I went to investigate. Everyone from the town flocked out to see it. Would I tell a

lie to you? I was about to be a hero. Kids offered me their piggy-banks in thanks for what I was doing.

And then... I saw it. It was an Ikea couch. Just floating above the grass. It had a doily on the armrest.

Hurt and damaged, it floated around, from another dimension it was! I sat on it like a rowboat, I tell

you! I wielded it like a tool, a wrench or hammer! Then I saw it was variegated! Changing colors!”

At this point I completely lost track of what he was talking about. “So you're saying this spot in the distance, making a terrible smell, and approaching town, was a couch floating along the fields, that proceeded to change colors and you rode it?”

“Bazinga!”

“How much caffeine have you had today?”

“I only drink it sparingly. Anyway, Weasel Squash disappeared around me, and suddenly we were in Pennsylvania! Seconds later, Ancient Rome! Riding my couch-from-another-dimension, I led Roman slaves in revolt!”

“Wait.... you're Spartacus?”

“Yup! M'names Sparky! Guess the Romans mispronounced it a bit. Eventually, the couch brought me back. Ever since then, the residents of Weasel Squash haven't trusted me. They've also been scared of any visitors coming into town. They think the visitor might be a descendant of my vanquished enemies coming for revenge!”

It was clear to me he was doing the vocal equivalent of doodling. Improvising. But part of me believed. This man with the mind of a turnip, strange as it seems, was convincing me his story was truth!

“Why me?” I asked “Out of everyone, why do you want to share this amazing tale with me?”

“Cause yer car was broken down. I was bored and wanted to talk to someone.”

“Oh. I was hoping for something more impressive and mysterious.”

“Sorry. I'm Spartacus, not Agatha Christie.”

Next morning I fixed my car, and rode out of Weasel Squash, never looking back. But sometimes, nearly at night, I look off into the sunset, and I can see a crazed looking man riding a floating Ikea couch, and I know it's him. Off to conquer the evil and free the oppressed. Look out your window sometime. Maybe you'll see him too....