June 24, 2003

• NOT ANOTHER ADVENTURE OF
  MELODY ANDREWSDOTTIR!?!?!!!!

  
  

  Yep!  Episode Five.

  
  

  Editor’s note:  When we last saw Melody and her friend Naomi Chortling Wolverine, they had just exted the cab of the fishy Marvin Dingleberry at the airport, to catch a plane for Naomi’s village.  There Naomi must engage in sacred ancient rituals in preparation for the inevitable confrontation with their nemesis Mad Dog.  The Sorority of the Sow must recover the power of the sacred wedding waffle iron, which even now resides in Mad Dog’s horny hands.

  
  

  
  

  ---

  
  
  

  As we headed toward the airport terminal, my steps bagan to falter and my spirit to flag.  I tried saluting it, but kept thinking of what lay ahead.  My heart began palpitating.

  
  

  “What troubles you, my child?” Naomi asked.  “Your steps falter, your spirit flags, your heart palpitates–you a mess, girl!  Are you perhaps daunted by the thought of leaving your old profession, traveling to the ends of the earth, and eventually confronting the most dangerous man alive?”

  
  

  “That?  Naah.  What bothers me is the thought of dealing with these airport cult types.  The latest batch is the Harry Kissoffs.  They wear baggy orange three-piece suits, hand out laurel wreaths and breath spray, then try to sell you life insurance.  Just your basic medicated order.”

  
  

  Naomi looked confused.  “Don’t you mean mendicant order?”

  
  

  “Nope, medicated.  Those bozos are so wacked out they take large doses of tranquilizers in order to keep from going totally gaga.  They are fanatically dedicated to their guru, Harry Kissoff.  He once sold ten billion dollars’ worth of flight insurance to Lee Iacoca, and HE drives everywhere.”

  
  

  “They sound formidable, indeed.  But leave them to me,” Naomi said grimmly.  She looked like both of the brothers Grimm at the same time.

  
  

  My worst fears were realized, for as we entered the terminal, we were set upon by one of them.

  
  

  “Peace, sisters,” he said offering us a laurel, and hearty handshake.  “I have a wonderful opportunity for you in term life, no medical exam needed, and….”

  
  

  “Look! Over there!” Naomi exclaimed, pointing behind him. “That looks like a rich and not-too-bright widow.”

  
  

  “Where?” he asked, turning in the indicated direction.

  
  

  “Here!” Naomi said.  And with that, she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck (which was scruffy, indeed) and the seat of his baggy pants, and proceeded to drop-kick the gangling huckster into the customs examining area, where the drug dogs then rent his garments and his anatomy wondrously.

  
  

  “Wow, that was great!  Is that part of yur mystic shamainc training?”

  
  

  “Well, not really,” Naomi said.  “A few years ago, I was in San Francisco and took a short martial arts course sponsored by Trained Women Against Thugs.  Comes in handy sometimes.

  
  

  We then bought our tickets and checked our luggage.  All Naomi had was a burlap bag;  all I had was a Gucci overnight bag, a Pucci carry-on, a Hucci Cucci hatbox, and two steamer trunks.  Be prepared, that’s my motto.  Actually, it’s the Boy Scout motto, but it’s still a good little motto.

  
  

  Our flight was aboard one of the new, extra-jumbo jumbo jets, and it was uneventful… except for one event.  The first class section had been full of what appeared to be nuns of the Sisters of Lachrymose Aardvarks, but in reality were terrorists for the Synthetic Limburger Armada.  Looking back, it seems odd that no one was suspicious.  Nuns rarely travel first-class.  Ane these particular nuns all had stainless steel wimples.   Then again, nuns in full regalia tend to be so conspicuous that they are almost invisible.  Ninja nuns–what a concept!

  
  

  Anyway, the faux nuns suddenly took to the aisle brandishing their weapons, which consisted of crossbows, ceramic nunchakus, and wicked-looking plastic daggers sometimes known as CIA letter-openers. 

  
  

  “Death to practically everyone!” they screamed, more or less in unison.  The other passengers gradually became aware that something was amiss.

  
  

  The leader, or at least the one with the biggest wimple, stepped forward and started barking orders.  When he realized no one could understand him, he stopped barking and switched to English.

  
  

  “All right, nobody move.  You, flight attendant, over there, come over here.”

  
  

  “But you said nobody move,” the attendant quavered.

  
  

  “All not-so-right, not nobody move,” he tried again, tangling his syntax terribly.

  
  

  While he was distracted trying to untangle his syntax, Naomi sprang from her seat and disarmed him.  Ignoring his arms, which lay twitching feebly on the floor, she shuffled toward the other terrorists and dealt with them, poker-faced, and finally left them bound and gagging under the Steinway in the piano bar.  Like I said, it was a big plane.

  
  

  I was tremendously impressed with Naomi’s performance, all the more so because she had neglected to unfasten her seat belt before springing.

  
  

  “Naomi, that was great!”

  
  

  “Piece of fry bread,” she replied modestly.

  
  

  We soon arrived at our destination, the small obscure Indian village of Erewhon.  As we left the plane, the crew and other passengers showered us with thanks and gratitude.  After retrieving our checked luggage, (but to be perfectly honest it wasn’t all checked, some was plaid and some was plain leather) still damp from the recent shower, we hailed a cab.

  
  

  Next stop, Erewhon!

  
  

  TO BE CONTINUED….

  
  

  This episode was first published in Volume 3 Number 2 of The Shaman Papers, Summer 1991.  We had just gotten to Alaska after our extended New Mexico honeymoon.  My “local color” piece related that for us it had been the “year of the bear” what with our learning the healer’s bear posture from Felicitas Goodman, my meeting up with Ursula my power animal, and Greyfox shooting an apple-stealing black bear in our yard his first month in residence here.

  
  

  That issue also carried an article in which Greyfox told about how he discovered that he could do past life readings, a previously undiscovered use for the shamanic journey.  He has recently started doing those readings again, in Coyote Medicine’s Cyber-Clinic.
  

  
  

  [Still sitting in for Greyfox here, this is Kathy/KaiOaty/SuSu, signing off for now.

  
  

  In case you missed the announcement in SuSu's blog, Greyfox has written two NEW episodes of Mel, and I plan to hurry up with these archival posts, the sooner to get to the side-splitting new material.]

  • 2:30 pm
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