#7 Body Found On Farm That Of Beaverlick Gangster, A Day Of Beauty, And Dear Geraldine
Body Found On Farm That Of Beaverlick Gangster by Manny Polewhacker:
Last Saturday began like any other day for Reebar Hayseed Amberdexter, 6th generation owner of Amberdexter farm, just out of town on Rt. 64; just turn right at Gleason’s Grease Pit Diner and go down The Reba Peep Memorial dirt road until you hit the front gate of the farm. In which case, you back up and pay Reebar for the gate, because you’re there.
“I was plowin’ the back 50, getting’ ready for plantin’ season,” explained Reebar, “…and though it IS common for me to come across rocks, an’ garbage, an’ even animals that didn’t make it through the winter, but I never went out to plow my fields and found anything like THIS!”
The “THIS” Reebar Hayseed Amberdexter refers to is a body. A human body.
Hayseed had come across the badly decomposed body of a man who was still alive: the Notorious Bank Robber, Shake-Down Artist, Drug Dealer, Pimp, Rackets Runner, Hitman, and one time Boy Soprano Sammy (Murf The Turf) Credenza, 87, who was found in just his silk boxer shorts, his $300 dark socks, and his Italian loafers.
Murf the Turf was as drunk as someone who has imbibed way too much alcohol. He had been into the Giggle Water. He was fitted for the Irish Handcuffs. He was full of Lord Byron’s Lunatic Soup, he bought some roady soady, he had partaken of a piss-up, and fired up the Yak-Yak Juice.
Murf The Turf was sloshed, bent, bombed, forshnicked, piflicated, shmammered, sideways, zosted, and hellified with his toes up. He was immediately taken to Clem Craplin’s Burger Barn for a plateful of fries and then to the hospital. Suspicious minds poked their fingers directly through the Looking Glass of Murf’s most hated rival: Bob (“The Zilchman”) Dobolina, leader of the dangerous, disgusting, and not at all nice “Flev Glambo Gang”.
A very long time ago, back in the days when a man was a man, a woman was a woman, in a world of Poodle Skirts, Hula Hoops; when all was well because Eisenhower was in the White House and young men came home from school, turned on the TV, and watched Annette Funicello’s bra size grow, Murf and The Zilchman were best friends, working for old man Glambo running numbers.
Mostly, it would be single digit numbers, like four or seven, but sometimes they would be double-digit numbers, like a twenty-three or even a seventy-four. One time Murf was asked to run a three hundred and twenty seven. Murf did it, but would walk with a noticeable limp for the rest of his life.
They worked their way up to the very heights of the Flev Glambo Gang from the very bottom. The boys went from running numbers to taking Zoomba classes with letters. The boys learned how to lean on shopkeepers for protection money and how to take care of the working girls. They had to shake-down the unions in town. They had to clean the kitchen and the bathrooms of the gang’s hide-out, go out for sandwiches and pizza, and take the Gang’s Mothers-In-Law shopping. Credenza and Dobolina then graduated to cleaning the cars and the garage, get the suits from the tailors, and buy the gang’s wife’s their Christmas and Anniversary gifts.
Finally, it was time to kill people!
On their first hit, Murf The Turf and The Zilchman forgot their guns. The Zilchman ended up pointing his finger at the marked man and making “BANG! POW!” noises while Murf smacked the man over the head with a 2X4.
On their second hit, the boys remembered their guns, but forgot their car. By the time they walked clear across town, the person they were to “take care of” left and went home.
By the time Credenza and Dobolina were again called upon to hand out some rough justice to a mook, they remembered both their guns and their car, but forgot who they were supposed to kill. Just so the night wasn’t a total waste, the boys decided to do horrible and unthinkable things to a road sign, which was what they were doing when they were first arrested.
Credenza and Dobolina were tried and convicted of first-degree vandalism with a fire-arm specification, two counts of doing extremely naughty things to city property, and one count each of being ignorant with intent. Both received life sentences with five years added onto that for wearing “Ozzy” T-shirt and sweatpants while attempting to perform an execution, which meant that, with time off for good behavior, the boys were out in about two hours.
Back with the Glambo Gang, Credenza and Dobolina learned about the number’s rackets, prostitution, the drug rackets, the protection rackets, money laundering, the counterfeit rackets, the tennis rackets, and running alcohol into the town. In no time at all, Bob (The Zilchman) Dobolina and Sammy (Murf The Turf) Credenza became Flev Glambo’s right and left-hand men.
And then SHE came into the picture…
She was a tall drink of cyanide with legs up to her eyeballs; an Angel with a bad attitude, a Devil who was just misunderstood. She had the face of a doll; cute upturned nose, full, soft, ruby red lips, and dark brown eyes that seemed to see into all of your secret places where you keep locked up the memories that make you flinch and the heartbreaks you refuse to talk about.
If she had a face to risk your life for, and she did, then she also had a body that was made for pleasure; her curves were ample, and in all the right places.
She wore boots. She had a flick knife in the right boot. She also kept a Saturday Night Special with her at all times, but no one ever knew where she kept the little pistol; she had been patted down by the police on occasion, and her purse searched with no result and yet, whenever she needed it, she would excuse herself, twist herself around and seemingly pull the gun out from thin air.
It was her party trick.
The name of this Femme Fatal?
Mortadellam (“Ribsticker”) Braunsweiger.
Police historian Sgt. Crutch Rhelm gives us some background on Ms. Braunsweiger:
“Martadellam Braunsweiger grew up in South America on the tough streets of Iguazu Falls, Argentina before she realized she was on the wrong side of the continent and made her way to Brazil. There, she worked at a factory irritating voles with a fork and doing some nose modeling when she came to the attention of talent scout and Glambo Gang activities organizer Terry (Pickleface) Hesticles, who booked Martadellam into the Glambo Gang’s main club: “The Rumpus Room” as the club’s chanteuse.
Finding out the meaning of the word ‘chanteuse’ and discovering that she could actually sing, Hartadellam Braunsweiger began singing at the Glambo’s club, turning the evening smoky with her withering renditions of “If I’m So Hot (Why Are You So Cold To Me), “My Headache’s Got A Headache”, “Your Open Zipper Blows Lies Up My Skirt” and the crowd favorite: “If That’s A Canned Ham In Your Pants, Make Me A Sandwich”.
Braunsweiger earned the nickname “Ribsticker” because she would always be attached physically to Mr. Glambo; always touching him, always had her arm around him, but her head was always on a swivel, seeking out a new guy to destroy while he sucked Glambo dry. That’s the other reason she was called the” Ribsticker”, because she would hug you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he stuck the knife in your side.”
In time, Moradellam had set her sights on Sammy (Murf The Turf) Credenza and Bob (The Zilchman) Dobolina and, like dumb animals in spring, Credenza and Dobolina followed Braunsweiger around slack-jawed, trying to out-do each other to cater to her every whim while, at the same time, trying not to let Flev Glambo catch either of the boys hitting on his new girlfriend.
Eventually, as happens with all things alive, Flev Glambo met his end and, as befitting a man of his history and occupation, it was a suitably violent end: Flev Glambo was in the kitchen at “The Rumpus Room” when he tripped and fell into the ham slicer.
Flev Glambo was laid to rest on a canoe with his wife and given a traditional Viking funeral. Glambo and envisioned that Credenza and Dobolina would run the gang together, as brothers, but even as Glambo’s outraged wife jumped from the burning canoe and swam to shore, Bob (“The Zilchman”) Dobolina has hatching a plan that not only would make him the sole capo di capo of the Glambo Gang, but would eliminate Sammy (“Murf The Turf”) Credenza as competition not only for the head of the Glambo Crime Family, but also for the hand of the beautiful and terrifying Moradellam Braunsweiger.
However, just as The Zilchman was about ready to pull the trigger on his dastardly Master Plan, Sammy Credenza was gone, and so was Moradellam Brausweiger.
The Zilchman and his men chased Murf and Moradellam all over the Eastern half of the United States before giving up at the Mississippi River because, in the words of trusted Glambo Gang Enforcer and Gang Softball Coach Glum (“Dr. Death”) Lumley: “None of us could swim, and the boss would get twitchy and have fits whenever we were about to drive over a bridge. It was weird,” commented Lumley, “he also had a thing about bells…”
Mr. and Mrs. Credenza settled down in a fishing shack just outside of Brain Tumor, Wyoming and had ten children. Sammy got a job writing comedy for two online newspapers and had his knees replaced with hydraulics while ‘Mora’ raised the kids and, in her spare time, baked cookies for the PTA and trained wildcats.
They had a wonderful, rich and full life together until Moradellam passed away as a result of a long, involved and very dangerous pout.
That’s when Sammy (“Murf The Turf”) Credenza decided, seeing how precious life is, that he should seek out his best friend Bob (“The Zilchman”) Dobolina and try to make amends. Sammy tracked Dobolina down at the Gang’s old club, “The Rumpus Room”, now a restaurant and inn called: “Mom’s Kitchen”. Bob Dobolina is the owner and the handyman of “Mom’s”.
As always, The Beaverlick Gazette was there for this conspicuous reunion:
Dobolina: Good LORD man! You’ve gotta helluva nerve showing your old, ugly face around here!
Credenza: Ahhh shut up, you old fool!
Dobolina: You stole my girl, Murf! You STOLE my GIRL!
Credenza: I didn’t STEAL ANYTHING! I left Beaverlick, and Mora came with me!
Dobolina: YOU STOLE MY GIRL!
Credenza: Fer fuck’s sake, Zilchman! She was NEVER ‘Your Girl’! Mora and I got married! We settled down and had TEN KIDS! Jelly, Jathy, Jerian, Jacob, Jenna, Jambo, Jerkstick…
Dobolina: I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANY OF THAT! I WANT HER BACK!
Credenza: YOU CAN’T HAVE HER BACK!
Dobolina: WHY?
Credenza: SHE’S DEAD!
Dobolina: Whoa…Dead? What do you mean, dead?
Credenza: Dead. Deceased. Departed. Gone. Lifeless. Turned over the perch. She assumed room temperature. Breathing her last, she laid down her knife and fork. She is fender meat. She kicked the pooch and screwed the bucket.
Dobolina: OK, OK! I get it…
Credenza: She’s DEAD, Bob!
Dobolina: OK! I’m sorry! I am TRULY sorry for your loss! Sit down. Let’s have a drink!
Credenza: She is no MORE!
Dobolina: OK! All right! Sit down here! You still drinkin’ Maker’s Mark? (chuckles) You always did think you were bigger than you were…
Credenza: And YOU always thought too small!
Dobolina: Maybe. Maybe. So, you and Mora had TEN KIDS!
Credenza: Yep. Ten of the little rascals. We have eighteen grandchildren now. How about you?
Dobolina (sipping his whiskey) No. No grandchildren. No KIDS! Five wives…
Credenza: FIVE?
Dobolina: Yeah. Including Imogene Clawhammer. Remember her?
Credenza: Wasn’t she a Preacher’s daughter? All prim and proper…and judgmental…walked around like she had taken the Good Word, made it into a big thick stick, and jammed it up her rear end?
Dobolina: She was a bomb just waiting to go off, and when she did, she exploded over the better part of six states! She turned into a BEAST!
We left the two old gangsters to reminisce about the old times and look at pictures of each other’s lives: more pictures of Credenza’s kids and grandchildren, and some pictures of the places Dobolina has been and the famous people he met. The drinking and reminiscing continued on through the night until Sammy (“Murf The Turf”) Credenza was found in a ditch on Hayseed Amberdexter’s property and Bob (The Zilchman) Dobolina was found later that day up in Daisy Liplock’s peach tree, drinking from a hip flask and singing “Halleluia!”.
The Flev Glambo Gang is no more. Inevitable really, seeing as the whole ‘Gang’ sprang from the over-active imaginations of a Beaverlick Men’s Book Club gone wild from reading Frank Miller’s “Sin City”. Glum (Dr. Death”) Lumley went on to a career as an interior decorator for funeral homes and slaughterhouses and maintains an interest in running “Flower Arranging Death Matches” for charity.
As for Sammy Credenza and Bob Dobolina; Sammy has his family. He has work he loves with people he loves. He will be fine.
The Zilchman, however, is a different story. Eager to “go out and live life to the fullest”, Bob Dobolina decided to sell the last vestige of the Flev Glambo Gang: “Mom’s Kitchen” and, with the proceeds, head West to build a new life.
The problem, if you’ll remember, is that Bob Dobolina can’t swim and has a “thing” about bridges. In fact, as of this writing, The Zilchman is standing on the East Side of the Mississippi River at the St. Louis Bridge, collapsed into a twitching, groaning pile leathery skin and bones, having a fit.
Last Saturday began like any other day for Reebar Hayseed Amberdexter, 6th generation owner of Amberdexter farm, just out of town on Rt. 64; just turn right at Gleason’s Grease Pit Diner and go down The Reba Peep Memorial dirt road until you hit the front gate of the farm. In which case, you back up and pay Reebar for the gate, because you’re there.
“I was plowin’ the back 50, getting’ ready for plantin’ season,” explained Reebar, “…and though it IS common for me to come across rocks, an’ garbage, an’ even animals that didn’t make it through the winter, but I never went out to plow my fields and found anything like THIS!”
The “THIS” Reebar Hayseed Amberdexter refers to is a body. A human body.
Hayseed had come across the badly decomposed body of a man who was still alive: the Notorious Bank Robber, Shake-Down Artist, Drug Dealer, Pimp, Rackets Runner, Hitman, and one time Boy Soprano Sammy (Murf The Turf) Credenza, 87, who was found in just his silk boxer shorts, his $300 dark socks, and his Italian loafers.
Murf the Turf was as drunk as someone who has imbibed way too much alcohol. He had been into the Giggle Water. He was fitted for the Irish Handcuffs. He was full of Lord Byron’s Lunatic Soup, he bought some roady soady, he had partaken of a piss-up, and fired up the Yak-Yak Juice.
Murf The Turf was sloshed, bent, bombed, forshnicked, piflicated, shmammered, sideways, zosted, and hellified with his toes up. He was immediately taken to Clem Craplin’s Burger Barn for a plateful of fries and then to the hospital. Suspicious minds poked their fingers directly through the Looking Glass of Murf’s most hated rival: Bob (“The Zilchman”) Dobolina, leader of the dangerous, disgusting, and not at all nice “Flev Glambo Gang”.
A very long time ago, back in the days when a man was a man, a woman was a woman, in a world of Poodle Skirts, Hula Hoops; when all was well because Eisenhower was in the White House and young men came home from school, turned on the TV, and watched Annette Funicello’s bra size grow, Murf and The Zilchman were best friends, working for old man Glambo running numbers.
Mostly, it would be single digit numbers, like four or seven, but sometimes they would be double-digit numbers, like a twenty-three or even a seventy-four. One time Murf was asked to run a three hundred and twenty seven. Murf did it, but would walk with a noticeable limp for the rest of his life.
They worked their way up to the very heights of the Flev Glambo Gang from the very bottom. The boys went from running numbers to taking Zoomba classes with letters. The boys learned how to lean on shopkeepers for protection money and how to take care of the working girls. They had to shake-down the unions in town. They had to clean the kitchen and the bathrooms of the gang’s hide-out, go out for sandwiches and pizza, and take the Gang’s Mothers-In-Law shopping. Credenza and Dobolina then graduated to cleaning the cars and the garage, get the suits from the tailors, and buy the gang’s wife’s their Christmas and Anniversary gifts.
Finally, it was time to kill people!
On their first hit, Murf The Turf and The Zilchman forgot their guns. The Zilchman ended up pointing his finger at the marked man and making “BANG! POW!” noises while Murf smacked the man over the head with a 2X4.
On their second hit, the boys remembered their guns, but forgot their car. By the time they walked clear across town, the person they were to “take care of” left and went home.
By the time Credenza and Dobolina were again called upon to hand out some rough justice to a mook, they remembered both their guns and their car, but forgot who they were supposed to kill. Just so the night wasn’t a total waste, the boys decided to do horrible and unthinkable things to a road sign, which was what they were doing when they were first arrested.
Credenza and Dobolina were tried and convicted of first-degree vandalism with a fire-arm specification, two counts of doing extremely naughty things to city property, and one count each of being ignorant with intent. Both received life sentences with five years added onto that for wearing “Ozzy” T-shirt and sweatpants while attempting to perform an execution, which meant that, with time off for good behavior, the boys were out in about two hours.
Back with the Glambo Gang, Credenza and Dobolina learned about the number’s rackets, prostitution, the drug rackets, the protection rackets, money laundering, the counterfeit rackets, the tennis rackets, and running alcohol into the town. In no time at all, Bob (The Zilchman) Dobolina and Sammy (Murf The Turf) Credenza became Flev Glambo’s right and left-hand men.
And then SHE came into the picture…
She was a tall drink of cyanide with legs up to her eyeballs; an Angel with a bad attitude, a Devil who was just misunderstood. She had the face of a doll; cute upturned nose, full, soft, ruby red lips, and dark brown eyes that seemed to see into all of your secret places where you keep locked up the memories that make you flinch and the heartbreaks you refuse to talk about.
If she had a face to risk your life for, and she did, then she also had a body that was made for pleasure; her curves were ample, and in all the right places.
She wore boots. She had a flick knife in the right boot. She also kept a Saturday Night Special with her at all times, but no one ever knew where she kept the little pistol; she had been patted down by the police on occasion, and her purse searched with no result and yet, whenever she needed it, she would excuse herself, twist herself around and seemingly pull the gun out from thin air.
It was her party trick.
The name of this Femme Fatal?
Mortadellam (“Ribsticker”) Braunsweiger.
Police historian Sgt. Crutch Rhelm gives us some background on Ms. Braunsweiger:
“Martadellam Braunsweiger grew up in South America on the tough streets of Iguazu Falls, Argentina before she realized she was on the wrong side of the continent and made her way to Brazil. There, she worked at a factory irritating voles with a fork and doing some nose modeling when she came to the attention of talent scout and Glambo Gang activities organizer Terry (Pickleface) Hesticles, who booked Martadellam into the Glambo Gang’s main club: “The Rumpus Room” as the club’s chanteuse.
Finding out the meaning of the word ‘chanteuse’ and discovering that she could actually sing, Hartadellam Braunsweiger began singing at the Glambo’s club, turning the evening smoky with her withering renditions of “If I’m So Hot (Why Are You So Cold To Me), “My Headache’s Got A Headache”, “Your Open Zipper Blows Lies Up My Skirt” and the crowd favorite: “If That’s A Canned Ham In Your Pants, Make Me A Sandwich”.
Braunsweiger earned the nickname “Ribsticker” because she would always be attached physically to Mr. Glambo; always touching him, always had her arm around him, but her head was always on a swivel, seeking out a new guy to destroy while he sucked Glambo dry. That’s the other reason she was called the” Ribsticker”, because she would hug you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he stuck the knife in your side.”
In time, Moradellam had set her sights on Sammy (Murf The Turf) Credenza and Bob (The Zilchman) Dobolina and, like dumb animals in spring, Credenza and Dobolina followed Braunsweiger around slack-jawed, trying to out-do each other to cater to her every whim while, at the same time, trying not to let Flev Glambo catch either of the boys hitting on his new girlfriend.
Eventually, as happens with all things alive, Flev Glambo met his end and, as befitting a man of his history and occupation, it was a suitably violent end: Flev Glambo was in the kitchen at “The Rumpus Room” when he tripped and fell into the ham slicer.
Flev Glambo was laid to rest on a canoe with his wife and given a traditional Viking funeral. Glambo and envisioned that Credenza and Dobolina would run the gang together, as brothers, but even as Glambo’s outraged wife jumped from the burning canoe and swam to shore, Bob (“The Zilchman”) Dobolina has hatching a plan that not only would make him the sole capo di capo of the Glambo Gang, but would eliminate Sammy (“Murf The Turf”) Credenza as competition not only for the head of the Glambo Crime Family, but also for the hand of the beautiful and terrifying Moradellam Braunsweiger.
However, just as The Zilchman was about ready to pull the trigger on his dastardly Master Plan, Sammy Credenza was gone, and so was Moradellam Brausweiger.
The Zilchman and his men chased Murf and Moradellam all over the Eastern half of the United States before giving up at the Mississippi River because, in the words of trusted Glambo Gang Enforcer and Gang Softball Coach Glum (“Dr. Death”) Lumley: “None of us could swim, and the boss would get twitchy and have fits whenever we were about to drive over a bridge. It was weird,” commented Lumley, “he also had a thing about bells…”
Mr. and Mrs. Credenza settled down in a fishing shack just outside of Brain Tumor, Wyoming and had ten children. Sammy got a job writing comedy for two online newspapers and had his knees replaced with hydraulics while ‘Mora’ raised the kids and, in her spare time, baked cookies for the PTA and trained wildcats.
They had a wonderful, rich and full life together until Moradellam passed away as a result of a long, involved and very dangerous pout.
That’s when Sammy (“Murf The Turf”) Credenza decided, seeing how precious life is, that he should seek out his best friend Bob (“The Zilchman”) Dobolina and try to make amends. Sammy tracked Dobolina down at the Gang’s old club, “The Rumpus Room”, now a restaurant and inn called: “Mom’s Kitchen”. Bob Dobolina is the owner and the handyman of “Mom’s”.
As always, The Beaverlick Gazette was there for this conspicuous reunion:
Dobolina: Good LORD man! You’ve gotta helluva nerve showing your old, ugly face around here!
Credenza: Ahhh shut up, you old fool!
Dobolina: You stole my girl, Murf! You STOLE my GIRL!
Credenza: I didn’t STEAL ANYTHING! I left Beaverlick, and Mora came with me!
Dobolina: YOU STOLE MY GIRL!
Credenza: Fer fuck’s sake, Zilchman! She was NEVER ‘Your Girl’! Mora and I got married! We settled down and had TEN KIDS! Jelly, Jathy, Jerian, Jacob, Jenna, Jambo, Jerkstick…
Dobolina: I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANY OF THAT! I WANT HER BACK!
Credenza: YOU CAN’T HAVE HER BACK!
Dobolina: WHY?
Credenza: SHE’S DEAD!
Dobolina: Whoa…Dead? What do you mean, dead?
Credenza: Dead. Deceased. Departed. Gone. Lifeless. Turned over the perch. She assumed room temperature. Breathing her last, she laid down her knife and fork. She is fender meat. She kicked the pooch and screwed the bucket.
Dobolina: OK, OK! I get it…
Credenza: She’s DEAD, Bob!
Dobolina: OK! I’m sorry! I am TRULY sorry for your loss! Sit down. Let’s have a drink!
Credenza: She is no MORE!
Dobolina: OK! All right! Sit down here! You still drinkin’ Maker’s Mark? (chuckles) You always did think you were bigger than you were…
Credenza: And YOU always thought too small!
Dobolina: Maybe. Maybe. So, you and Mora had TEN KIDS!
Credenza: Yep. Ten of the little rascals. We have eighteen grandchildren now. How about you?
Dobolina (sipping his whiskey) No. No grandchildren. No KIDS! Five wives…
Credenza: FIVE?
Dobolina: Yeah. Including Imogene Clawhammer. Remember her?
Credenza: Wasn’t she a Preacher’s daughter? All prim and proper…and judgmental…walked around like she had taken the Good Word, made it into a big thick stick, and jammed it up her rear end?
Dobolina: She was a bomb just waiting to go off, and when she did, she exploded over the better part of six states! She turned into a BEAST!
We left the two old gangsters to reminisce about the old times and look at pictures of each other’s lives: more pictures of Credenza’s kids and grandchildren, and some pictures of the places Dobolina has been and the famous people he met. The drinking and reminiscing continued on through the night until Sammy (“Murf The Turf”) Credenza was found in a ditch on Hayseed Amberdexter’s property and Bob (The Zilchman) Dobolina was found later that day up in Daisy Liplock’s peach tree, drinking from a hip flask and singing “Halleluia!”.
The Flev Glambo Gang is no more. Inevitable really, seeing as the whole ‘Gang’ sprang from the over-active imaginations of a Beaverlick Men’s Book Club gone wild from reading Frank Miller’s “Sin City”. Glum (Dr. Death”) Lumley went on to a career as an interior decorator for funeral homes and slaughterhouses and maintains an interest in running “Flower Arranging Death Matches” for charity.
As for Sammy Credenza and Bob Dobolina; Sammy has his family. He has work he loves with people he loves. He will be fine.
The Zilchman, however, is a different story. Eager to “go out and live life to the fullest”, Bob Dobolina decided to sell the last vestige of the Flev Glambo Gang: “Mom’s Kitchen” and, with the proceeds, head West to build a new life.
The problem, if you’ll remember, is that Bob Dobolina can’t swim and has a “thing” about bridges. In fact, as of this writing, The Zilchman is standing on the East Side of the Mississippi River at the St. Louis Bridge, collapsed into a twitching, groaning pile leathery skin and bones, having a fit.
A Day Of Beauty by Maria Tallchief Jones
Many visitors to our bucolic town are surprised to find the vast array of services offered in a small town like Beaverlick. “We may be a small town, but we are not savages” is my usual response. I will be doing a series on the various businesses in Beaverlick, starting today with a visit to Lucinda’s Curl Up & Dye Salon, owned by Lucinda Snappflemmer. Curl Up & Dye is located on Main Street in a modest white building; don’t let the exterior fool you, as it’s anything but modest when you enter.
Upon entering the salon, the first thing you notice is the deep oxblood covered walls, with gold framed mirrors, white metal distressed chandeliers hanging every 3 feet, and black velvet seating areas. A large gold samovar and sleek silver espresso machine sit tucked in the corner. Lucinda greets me, long blonde hair, black ankle-length gauzy dress and loads of crystals around her neck. I feel like I’m meeting Stevie Nicks, the early years.
Lucinda has scheduled a few services for me: all natural dye, using dye made from walnut shells; deep conditioning mask of cow’s placenta and hops from the brewery, followed by a blowout using coal heated bellows. Afterwards, a makeup application using make up made in house from berries and herbs foraged by Lucinda herself.
My day of beauty at Curl Up & Dye was quite lovely; however, not without a few consequences. The organic hair dye made from walnuts turned out beautifully, but I had squirrels practically molesting me for a week! They kept trying to nest in my hair. The deep conditioning mask for my hair made my hair shiny and smooth…and the hops in it made me feel like I tied one on for a full day after having the treatment. It was an unexpected side effect, and with no hangover!
I was not a fan of the blow dry using coal heated bellows – little sparks flew about, and yours truly grew fearful of going up in flames at one point. Lucinda does use a conventional blow dryer for the less adventurous, which will be my choice next time I make an appointment.
The makeup made from berries and herbs were truly amazing…my lips were stained with a cherry juice, and they stayed red – really red – for five full days. Lucinda added a secret ingredient that made them plump up, and they were so full, I looked the very embodiment of “bee stung lips.” A sheer teal eye shadow she concocted from blue berries and sage was so soothing and like the lip color, it lasted a few days. All these natural products had a subtle sweet smell to them…birds fluttered around me, bees hummed gently in my ear…I felt like Snow White! All that was needed was a handsome man on a white horse…The woman is part alchemist, part witch!
I highly recommend Curl Up & Dye – I plan on booking a full array of services in the near future…once the squirrels are gone.
Many visitors to our bucolic town are surprised to find the vast array of services offered in a small town like Beaverlick. “We may be a small town, but we are not savages” is my usual response. I will be doing a series on the various businesses in Beaverlick, starting today with a visit to Lucinda’s Curl Up & Dye Salon, owned by Lucinda Snappflemmer. Curl Up & Dye is located on Main Street in a modest white building; don’t let the exterior fool you, as it’s anything but modest when you enter.
Upon entering the salon, the first thing you notice is the deep oxblood covered walls, with gold framed mirrors, white metal distressed chandeliers hanging every 3 feet, and black velvet seating areas. A large gold samovar and sleek silver espresso machine sit tucked in the corner. Lucinda greets me, long blonde hair, black ankle-length gauzy dress and loads of crystals around her neck. I feel like I’m meeting Stevie Nicks, the early years.
Lucinda has scheduled a few services for me: all natural dye, using dye made from walnut shells; deep conditioning mask of cow’s placenta and hops from the brewery, followed by a blowout using coal heated bellows. Afterwards, a makeup application using make up made in house from berries and herbs foraged by Lucinda herself.
My day of beauty at Curl Up & Dye was quite lovely; however, not without a few consequences. The organic hair dye made from walnuts turned out beautifully, but I had squirrels practically molesting me for a week! They kept trying to nest in my hair. The deep conditioning mask for my hair made my hair shiny and smooth…and the hops in it made me feel like I tied one on for a full day after having the treatment. It was an unexpected side effect, and with no hangover!
I was not a fan of the blow dry using coal heated bellows – little sparks flew about, and yours truly grew fearful of going up in flames at one point. Lucinda does use a conventional blow dryer for the less adventurous, which will be my choice next time I make an appointment.
The makeup made from berries and herbs were truly amazing…my lips were stained with a cherry juice, and they stayed red – really red – for five full days. Lucinda added a secret ingredient that made them plump up, and they were so full, I looked the very embodiment of “bee stung lips.” A sheer teal eye shadow she concocted from blue berries and sage was so soothing and like the lip color, it lasted a few days. All these natural products had a subtle sweet smell to them…birds fluttered around me, bees hummed gently in my ear…I felt like Snow White! All that was needed was a handsome man on a white horse…The woman is part alchemist, part witch!
I highly recommend Curl Up & Dye – I plan on booking a full array of services in the near future…once the squirrels are gone.
Dear Geraldine:
My boyfrend and me have been going out for near on 14 years now, and we still haven’t done it. My granny told me only easy girls do it before gettin’ married. Now, I ain’t the brightest bulb in the box, but don’t you reckon she might could be funnin me cause I ain’t sure what she means.
Thank you in advance,
Alice Mae Thunderhoof
Dear Alice Mae:
I reckon you should start by checking the “expires-by-date” on the inside of your underwear. You know.. that little size tab thingy? I’ve seen them hanging on your granny’s clothesline, and they look like she’s been washing them with your grandpa’s overalls, so it may be a little hard to read; but I know you’re way past it just from seeing you in the gas station for the last 15 years.
Beaverlick Cottages has an on-site preacher. Might need to get a room for the night.
Yours truly,
Geraldine Sweetlove
My boyfrend and me have been going out for near on 14 years now, and we still haven’t done it. My granny told me only easy girls do it before gettin’ married. Now, I ain’t the brightest bulb in the box, but don’t you reckon she might could be funnin me cause I ain’t sure what she means.
Thank you in advance,
Alice Mae Thunderhoof
Dear Alice Mae:
I reckon you should start by checking the “expires-by-date” on the inside of your underwear. You know.. that little size tab thingy? I’ve seen them hanging on your granny’s clothesline, and they look like she’s been washing them with your grandpa’s overalls, so it may be a little hard to read; but I know you’re way past it just from seeing you in the gas station for the last 15 years.
Beaverlick Cottages has an on-site preacher. Might need to get a room for the night.
Yours truly,
Geraldine Sweetlove
Welcome To Beaverlick And The Town’s ONLY Newspaper: The Beaverlick Gazette!
Beaverlick: A small town where the vast majority of the townspeople, known as Beaverlickers, spend their lives safely nuzzled in a fragrant and fastidiously manicured valley, nestled between two mountains right in the heart of the American Mid-West.
The Beaverlick Gazette celebrates the ecstasy of Beaverlick achievement that routinely judders the sleepy little valley and exposes the viruses of crime and corruption that occasionally infects the little vale.
The Beaverlick Gazette: bringing small town news to the whole wide world.
-Alvena Coldcock: Winner Of The ‘Introduce Beaverlick To Real People’ Essay Contest.
(Editor's Note: The Beaverlick Gazette Writers are: Modesty Fiona Blaise, Sparky Murphy, George Palczynski, and Kelly J Randall. Artwork by Sparky Murphy and Kelly J Randall. "Stoopid Tunes" by Psykosity)
Beaverlick: A small town where the vast majority of the townspeople, known as Beaverlickers, spend their lives safely nuzzled in a fragrant and fastidiously manicured valley, nestled between two mountains right in the heart of the American Mid-West.
The Beaverlick Gazette celebrates the ecstasy of Beaverlick achievement that routinely judders the sleepy little valley and exposes the viruses of crime and corruption that occasionally infects the little vale.
The Beaverlick Gazette: bringing small town news to the whole wide world.
-Alvena Coldcock: Winner Of The ‘Introduce Beaverlick To Real People’ Essay Contest.
(Editor's Note: The Beaverlick Gazette Writers are: Modesty Fiona Blaise, Sparky Murphy, George Palczynski, and Kelly J Randall. Artwork by Sparky Murphy and Kelly J Randall. "Stoopid Tunes" by Psykosity)
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