Aboard My Train Of Thought by Scott C. Endsley (best book club books for discussion .TXT) 📕

whole, as the audience begged for more.

Nelly, not having good hearing or eyesight, figured they wanted more of HER and lectured for another half hour before she was escorted off stage. A book publisher quickly approached her with a gigantic book offer, and a $10,000 check as an advance. "I was married once to an old fart just like him," she whispered, grabbing her elbow and escorted her to her van to sign contracts.

Matilda, meanwhile, had made a mad dash out a side door, not realizing what was going on while jumping into the backseat of a waiting cab. "To the airport please! Do hurry!"

The sleepy cab driver nodded without looking in the rearview mirror. Matilda was frantic as to what to do next. No more than fifteen minutes later, the taxi screeched to a halt. "Ah, dattle be five bucks, ma'am."

Matilda answered nervously. "I don't have any money, but,...."

"Hey look, ma'am, I ...." The driver realized he was conversing with a cat as Matilda gave him a cute but dumb animal look, and left him in a CATatonic trance (sorry, couldn't help myself).

She ran past the indoor crowd, looked up at the flight schedule. She noticed that 'Tragedy Airlines, Flight 13,' had a plane headed for Oklahoma City, boarding passengers in 5 minutes. "How am I going to board a plane? Oh! In the luggage compartment, naturally."

She sneaked past the gate and noticed the loading attendant not paying attention, apathetically loading luggage, then she prowled behind and noticed he was about to sneeze. With his eyes shut and nose itching, he didn't see her jump inside, just before he shut the compartment and locked it tight.
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(Episode 8)
Meanwhile deep in the fictional forest I was trying to piece my Train of Thought back together.
"All I have to do is gather my scattered thoughts and reconstruct my story line."

This was going to prove taxing, creating a story within a story, but I had it settled in my mind it could be done. Of course, I dreaded the chore of using a pen once again, but, I had no choice; the one-eyed midget ran off with my word processor and hocked it.

As I began my introduction, my locomotion of ideas were starting to be put back on track (corny, huh?). Gradually my Train of Thought was beginning to piece together. I excitedly got into the engine.

"Good Godfrey! No fuel! Where am I going to get the ink? The life blood of my story?!!" I asked myself aloud.

"Why don't we jest push it till it gets uphill and then let'er rip?!" Doodah suggested.

"Okay, just push it till she starts goin' down. Then everyone jump on."

Doodah and Marty pushed as Maggie held a megaphone in one paw, giving directions. We were having a difficult laborious time till the Merry Band of Calypso Singers joined in pushing, and singing "We Shall Overcome."

Once the train reached the top it began to speed up. Marty and DooDah jumped aboard just as steam erupted from the spout. I looked down at the front panel. "Ink! We've got ink... a full tank!" The entire group was elated with enthusiasm. We did it!

As I looked out the window I noticed my exact 'Fictional Likeness,' that the One-Eyed Midget had created, waving farewell to me. I returned the gesture, realizing I was no more subjected to Mr Big's imagination, for I was leaving my fictional self behind and would again enter my own reality... by again dying a fictitious death. Something I hadn't informed the others about.

"Shouldn't I tell them? Or just do it?" I thought to myself. But there wasn't much time to explain as the unfinished track was fast approaching. Upon its advance, Marty immediately passed out

"Where in tarnation are you goin'?! Look out!" and..."We're gonna bloody die!" were Doodah and Maggie's inquisitions and proclamations concerning their inevitable --inescapable demise.

"Hold on! It's gonna be all right!" I shouted, holding on to Doodah's arm as he thinks about jumping. The train gathered momentum, going faster and faster, approaching the same fall as before. Then as everyone gasped it plunged into the rocks and exploded.

We opened our eyes, still screaming--- and realized we were back in our physical reality. We were also in the middle of the intersection on the corner of "I" and "Am" and everyone was honking, demanding we get out of the road as Doodah began making threats to arrest the next horn blower.

We had all just shaken the dust off ourselves when the ground began to tremble and the fire breathing, feline looking, Rumpasaurous Rex came ripping up through the ground in the middle of the intersection, scattering concrete fragments in all directions... "Hey, yer gonna have to stop doing that, buddy!" Doodah demanded.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Chairman Meow shrugged. "The-one eyed midget and all his mischief are no more!" he proudly affirmed.

"Where is he?" Doodah asked, needing reassurance.

"Consumed in kitty litter.(hee hee)" the cat-like Rumpasaurous joked, though no one laughed, instead everyone headed home, each one of us going in separate directions.

Just as Maggie and I were about a block away, Matilda observed us from the topmost of her favorite shade tree and came running. "Oh dear luvs, I worried so much about you! You'll just never believe what I've been through." She excitedly rapped on and on.

"Well," Maggie replied, "while the lad and me-self had been risking our lives, you got to go Vegas."

"Oh my, aren't we in a bitchy mood today?" Matilda purred.

"Oh you sissy little pussy willow!" Mag growled. The two of them battled similar to cats and dogs, all the way to our humble abode.
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(Episode 9)
Meanwhile, Next Monday Night At The Bid For Sheriff Debate

... And as the next sheriff of Pothole County," Marty promised, "I'll make sure we don't have nothin' like that again."

"Would you like a rebuttal, Doodah? You have one minute." The Debate Judge asked.

"Yeah, I'd like to say that my opponent is an arrogant S.O.B.!"

Immediately fists began to swing as the band started up, and a singer stepped up to the microphone to lead those in attendance with a cheerful campaign chorus--- with the melody of Camptown Races;

Who's the man who'll cut your grass?
Doodah Doodah...
Even carry out your trash
And meet your every whim.
He'll even wash your car
Or treat you at the bar
He'll go so far as kiss your butt--
If you'll vote for him!


All cheered as Doodah and Marty were tumbling all over the platform, still punching it out. Everyone except the little neighbor lady, Mrs. McPherson, who paced up to the mic. "Will everyone please just shut-up and listen? Neither one of these heathens deserve our votes. I say let's draft Sheriff Marshall Dumas for another term in office!"

Everyone, but Doodah and Marty, who were still rolling on the floor, catcalled her off of her soapbox. The whole community wanted to see more blood, gore, and guts. After the judge broke up the battle and calmed the crowd, he demanded that the debate resume peacefully. Doodah was the first to get up, bloody nose and all, surprisingly sportsmanlike though... as he lent a hand to Marty, who now was adorned with a plaque-stricken bicuspid, lodged in his left earlobe.

"You boys oughta be ashamed of ur-selves." the Judge harped. "Now Doodah, if you can't say anything respectable about your opponent, then don't say nothin' at all! You hear?"

"Ah yes sir.... Ma opponent wants to be easy on first time offenders. He wants to have readin' and rithmatic books in the jail cells. My opponent has a big heart... a real big heart... a really, real big heart.. but there's still plenty of room in it for his really, really, real big mouth... and... I still say he's an arrogant S.O.B.!!"

Following fifteen more minutes of knuckles soaring, Marty ascended up to the microphone to secure the platform. "I'd just like to say... I know my opponent don't like me much. But I've always looked up to him as my big brother...er somethin', and I've just decided that if this here election is gonna divide everyone, I'd just as soon go back to deliverin' milk. I don't want your vote. I want my old buddy, Doodah, back!"

All the people booing and hissing began leaving in disgust as Doodah rose to his feet to bear-hug Marty, and let loose on his shoulder. "When I said Marty was an S.O.B, I was right." A stillness fell on those who stuck around as he continued, "He's a full fledged Son of a Boy Scout! And I demand that you vote for Marty, tomorrow!"

"No no no, Doodah, YOU deserve it, my friend!" Marty replied.

"Nope, I'm takin' over yer milk business, Heh Heh." Doodah snickered.

"What's so funny 'bout the milk business? Think you could do it better?" Marty boiled.

"Why no, Marty, Heh Heh! Unlike you, milk and I aren't in the same league, Heh Heh!"

Before long, the entire affair started up again. The debate judge took charge of the festivity as Doodah and Marty, more vicious than before, rumbled about, throwing punches. "Thank you, everyone, for comin' to the debate. Votin' time starts tomorrow at 7 A.M. Should there be a problem with the electricity tonight an yer clocks should stop 'cause of the up-coming blizzard.... that's around the time Frank Jones lets the chickens out, and the cock crows thrice."
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(Episode 10)
And, In The Middle Of The News The Following Day.

"....................Concerning the situation in the former Soviet Union, 'all hope for Russia is lost, cause Vladimir's Pootin'!' said an up and coming......... Oh, I'm sorry, I read that wrong..... "All hope, for Russia, is a lost cause!" Vladimir Putin said.... An up and coming member of the Duma, who's seriously considering the Prime Minister-ship, if offered. More details on that later, as they arrive.

"In National news today........From Los Angeles, California, we've just recieved word that popular television show host, Patti Peptalk, from The Patti Peptalk Hour, is being held in the Los Angeles City Jail on 2nd degree murder charges of 61 people, and attempted murder of 12 others who were all attending the annual Patti Peptalk Pitty Party.

"Her defense lawyers are trying to negotiate a deal, that if she pleads guilty, the charges would be lowered to 1st degree manslaughter. But, the DA's office is not budging and wouldn't release any details, other than the apparent incident occurred when a sweet, grandmotherly like woman in the front row kindly advised Mrs Peptalk that her dress didn't quite match her eyes.

"Oh, I've just been handed a late breaking story..... Vladimir Putin just called... I don't understand Russian, but he sounded pissed!...The boss told me to tell you to clean out your lock.....er...........Uh

"............In local news: so far, there is a low voter turnout in the efforts of electing a new sheriff in Mountain Oyster and the surrounding area. Everyone is either watching the noon parade, taking their kids to the park for