Several weeks ago they were out prospecting for turquoise and uranium just south of the Tonto national forest. They were having the usual luck, which was no luck at all. They had camped for the night and were sitting around a camp fire doing rope tricks and text messaging their currency traders in Hong Kong when off to the east they heard a loud crack in the sky, and saw an erratic flash. They thought nothing of it and went back to their rope tricks, cigars, and discussion regarding the advantages of investing in Atlantic City casinos.
The next morning while drinking their wheat-grass espressos they spied a strange procession coming across the mesa toward them. It was an odd group of people, and they were being led by a burro. My father said that the group included at least three guys who looked like Elvis. He said the Elvis’s did nothing but complain about their shoes being stepped on, something about toe boxes caving in but he didn’t remember much about it. He said the group also included several airline pilots, thirty or more tourists from a Bahamian cruise ship, a hippie who said his name was Jesus, and another guy in a suit, Gabriel Goldstein, who claimed he was Jesus’s lawyer. There was also a guy from New Jersey who my dad said looked a lot like Jimmie Hoffa, a pizza delivery man from Roswell, NM, three Vietnamese fishermen from New Iberia, Louisiana, and the Travelocity Gnome who said he got drunk and got on the wrong flight back in Vegas.
This group of wanderers stopped long enough to ask directions to Interstate 10 and then started up again, all that is except for the burro. It seems that the burro had taken a shine to Orville and his cow Daisy who was pulling Orville’s wagon, and this burro had no inclination to leave. Burros, they are known to be stubborn like that. Anyway, Orville hitched the willing beast up to his wagon alongside of Daisy and the five of them made their way back to Don Pablo’s estancia.
By the end of the day my dad saw how attached Orville had become to the critter so he told Don Pablo he was going to “phone home” and ask me if there was anyway for Orville to keep `em. Well I got a cell call from Dad explaining the situation so I figured the only person who could be of help would be attorney Goldstein. He was easy to find in the phonebook as he has a large personal injury advertisement in the yellow pages that includes a list of his most famous clients. I didn’t see Jesus on the list, but I did see Jesse James, Marilyn Manson, passengers from the Titanic, and the 1st mate of the Hindenburg.
Attorney Goldstein filed some papers in court. I don’t know exactly what those papers were called, but it sure sounded a lot like “Wrist of Habeas Corpus Christi.” Anyway, attorney Goldstein told my dad to run a legal notice in various newspapers in order to give any interested party an opportunity to come to court and lay claim to the beast before the judge signed the papers. So my dad ran ads in the Arizona Republic, the Wall St. Journal, the Phoenix New Times, the Times-Picayune, the New York Times, the Trenton Times, the High Times, the Times-They-Are-A-Changing, and the Village Voice for three consecutive weekends prior to the hearing date. My dad ran a legal notice that contained a photo of the creature with the following information: “Is this beast yours? A hearing will be held in the Maricopa County Courthouse, Room 3A, Wednesday, November 21, 2007, to determine title to said beast. Beast answers to the name “Phone Home” and was found south of the Tonto National Forest leading stranded airline and cruise ship passengers, Elvis, Jimmie Hoffa, Jesus and his lawyer to safety. If this beast is yours show up and prove it!”
I forgot to mention it, but Dad and Don Pablo started calling the critter “Phone Home.” You see when Dad told Don Pablo that he would “phone home” to see if there was something that could be done about keeping the beast, the critter’s ears started twitching, and he started pawing and stamping the ground in a repetitive fashion and braying as only critters like that can do. Don Pablo figured that “phone home” must mean something to the animal, so they decided to start calling him “Phone Home.”
Well the hearing before Judge Bean was held two weeks ago, and no sooner had the ink dried under the judge’s pen when Sheriff Joe of Maricopa County stormed into the court room wearing a pair of Chinese ropers and demanded possession of the burro.
It seems that Sheriff Joe got it into his head that the critter was an illegal alien and should be detained and deported. Attorney Goldstein told Sheriff Joe that all the aliens had already left and that Phone Home weren’t one of `em. But Sheriff Joe would hear none of it. Dreading the thought of that poor creature falling into the hands of the Sheriff, Orville, Don Pablo, and my dad slipped out of the courtroom with papers in hand and headed back to Don Pablo’s place to hitch up the wagon, grab Don Pablo’s pet monkey, Guezelda, and skedaddle before they could get stopped.
Anyway, that’s pretty much what happened a few weeks ago in courtroom 3A of the Maricopa Superior Court. I have no idea where Don Pablo, my dad, and Orville and the critters are today. My dad text messages me occasionally; he says they are fine and somewhere east of the Salt River. My guess is that they are headed toward New Mexico. Dad said they were headed to the “land of enlightenment,” and that’s what they call New Mexico, ain’t it?
Meanwhile Sheriff Joe has vowed to fight this matter in court as long as he is standing in his Chinese ropers, and attorney Goldstein says he will defend Orville’s possession of the beast until “Judgment Day or hell freezes over, whichever comes first.” I don’t know which will happen, whether hell will freeze over first or Judgment Day will come, but the possibility of that poor Phone Home being forced to live in a tent and wear pink underwear would surely break old Orville’s heart.
Well Mr. Dailey, I don’t know if the Phone Home is Chicarron or not. I suppose you’ll have to be the one to identify him, but there you have it, that’s the story. It don’t seem to have a lot to do with toe-boxes, or boots for that matter, but I’ll keep you posted just the same. Never thought I’d see the day when my dad would become a fugitive, but odd things happen in life. Say, if you see my dad, Don Pablo, or Orville’s photo on a post office wall will you let me know? And Mr. Tostig, if my pappy and his pals should wind up over in Texas, is there any chance you could see to check the burro’s traces and harness, and my daddy’s boots? I hate to think of those ol`timers fleeing the law in their socks, so if you could look out for them it would be appreciated. I’ll text message them that your shop will be easy to find, as you keep a candle lit in the window at night for just these sorts of things.
Well its morning and I got chores to do; I got a herd of wire-haired daschunds that need to be looked after. I’ll keep you posted of any news, till then, please keep an eye out for old timers and remember, Phone Home.
Your in ernest, Emmett
The next morning while drinking their wheat-grass espressos they spied a strange procession coming across the mesa toward them. It was an odd group of people, and they were being led by a burro. My father said that the group included at least three guys who looked like Elvis. He said the Elvis’s did nothing but complain about their shoes being stepped on, something about toe boxes caving in but he didn’t remember much about it. He said the group also included several airline pilots, thirty or more tourists from a Bahamian cruise ship, a hippie who said his name was Jesus, and another guy in a suit, Gabriel Goldstein, who claimed he was Jesus’s lawyer. There was also a guy from New Jersey who my dad said looked a lot like Jimmie Hoffa, a pizza delivery man from Roswell, NM, three Vietnamese fishermen from New Iberia, Louisiana, and the Travelocity Gnome who said he got drunk and got on the wrong flight back in Vegas.
This group of wanderers stopped long enough to ask directions to Interstate 10 and then started up again, all that is except for the burro. It seems that the burro had taken a shine to Orville and his cow Daisy who was pulling Orville’s wagon, and this burro had no inclination to leave. Burros, they are known to be stubborn like that. Anyway, Orville hitched the willing beast up to his wagon alongside of Daisy and the five of them made their way back to Don Pablo’s estancia.
By the end of the day my dad saw how attached Orville had become to the critter so he told Don Pablo he was going to “phone home” and ask me if there was anyway for Orville to keep `em. Well I got a cell call from Dad explaining the situation so I figured the only person who could be of help would be attorney Goldstein. He was easy to find in the phonebook as he has a large personal injury advertisement in the yellow pages that includes a list of his most famous clients. I didn’t see Jesus on the list, but I did see Jesse James, Marilyn Manson, passengers from the Titanic, and the 1st mate of the Hindenburg.
Attorney Goldstein filed some papers in court. I don’t know exactly what those papers were called, but it sure sounded a lot like “Wrist of Habeas Corpus Christi.” Anyway, attorney Goldstein told my dad to run a legal notice in various newspapers in order to give any interested party an opportunity to come to court and lay claim to the beast before the judge signed the papers. So my dad ran ads in the Arizona Republic, the Wall St. Journal, the Phoenix New Times, the Times-Picayune, the New York Times, the Trenton Times, the High Times, the Times-They-Are-A-Changing, and the Village Voice for three consecutive weekends prior to the hearing date. My dad ran a legal notice that contained a photo of the creature with the following information: “Is this beast yours? A hearing will be held in the Maricopa County Courthouse, Room 3A, Wednesday, November 21, 2007, to determine title to said beast. Beast answers to the name “Phone Home” and was found south of the Tonto National Forest leading stranded airline and cruise ship passengers, Elvis, Jimmie Hoffa, Jesus and his lawyer to safety. If this beast is yours show up and prove it!”
I forgot to mention it, but Dad and Don Pablo started calling the critter “Phone Home.” You see when Dad told Don Pablo that he would “phone home” to see if there was something that could be done about keeping the beast, the critter’s ears started twitching, and he started pawing and stamping the ground in a repetitive fashion and braying as only critters like that can do. Don Pablo figured that “phone home” must mean something to the animal, so they decided to start calling him “Phone Home.”
Well the hearing before Judge Bean was held two weeks ago, and no sooner had the ink dried under the judge’s pen when Sheriff Joe of Maricopa County stormed into the court room wearing a pair of Chinese ropers and demanded possession of the burro.
It seems that Sheriff Joe got it into his head that the critter was an illegal alien and should be detained and deported. Attorney Goldstein told Sheriff Joe that all the aliens had already left and that Phone Home weren’t one of `em. But Sheriff Joe would hear none of it. Dreading the thought of that poor creature falling into the hands of the Sheriff, Orville, Don Pablo, and my dad slipped out of the courtroom with papers in hand and headed back to Don Pablo’s place to hitch up the wagon, grab Don Pablo’s pet monkey, Guezelda, and skedaddle before they could get stopped.
Anyway, that’s pretty much what happened a few weeks ago in courtroom 3A of the Maricopa Superior Court. I have no idea where Don Pablo, my dad, and Orville and the critters are today. My dad text messages me occasionally; he says they are fine and somewhere east of the Salt River. My guess is that they are headed toward New Mexico. Dad said they were headed to the “land of enlightenment,” and that’s what they call New Mexico, ain’t it?
Meanwhile Sheriff Joe has vowed to fight this matter in court as long as he is standing in his Chinese ropers, and attorney Goldstein says he will defend Orville’s possession of the beast until “Judgment Day or hell freezes over, whichever comes first.” I don’t know which will happen, whether hell will freeze over first or Judgment Day will come, but the possibility of that poor Phone Home being forced to live in a tent and wear pink underwear would surely break old Orville’s heart.
Well Mr. Dailey, I don’t know if the Phone Home is Chicarron or not. I suppose you’ll have to be the one to identify him, but there you have it, that’s the story. It don’t seem to have a lot to do with toe-boxes, or boots for that matter, but I’ll keep you posted just the same. Never thought I’d see the day when my dad would become a fugitive, but odd things happen in life. Say, if you see my dad, Don Pablo, or Orville’s photo on a post office wall will you let me know? And Mr. Tostig, if my pappy and his pals should wind up over in Texas, is there any chance you could see to check the burro’s traces and harness, and my daddy’s boots? I hate to think of those ol`timers fleeing the law in their socks, so if you could look out for them it would be appreciated. I’ll text message them that your shop will be easy to find, as you keep a candle lit in the window at night for just these sorts of things.
Well its morning and I got chores to do; I got a herd of wire-haired daschunds that need to be looked after. I’ll keep you posted of any news, till then, please keep an eye out for old timers and remember, Phone Home.
Your in ernest, Emmett
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