The Lone Recycler, The Lost Episodes
The Sheriff of Toddingham
Story by Uncle Lars Bob
The days were dark in South County. The writers strike had left the comics out of work. But just when South County thought it would never laugh again, a hero arose to recycle those old jokes and puns. Yes, with 10,000 comedians out of work, Uncle Lars Bob was trying to be funny.
Indeed, in the days of the Lone Recycler, all the King’s men were Master Baiters. The Sheriff of Toddingham and his goon, Occifer Ogre were Master Baiters as was the Duke of Rum.
In those days, South County hath many lakes. And those lakes hath many fishes. The peasants (taxpayers) of South County being duly concerned about fish overpopulation did construct tiny houses on the frozen lakes.
Upon drilling holes through the ice, the peasants lureth the over breeding little menaces to the ice hole by placing a frozen worm on the end of a hook.
The thought of handling this worm was distasteful, so many hireth the services of professional baiters. The baiters procedeth from ice house to ice house baiting hooks for the peasants (taxpayers).
On both days of summer, the baiters would go from boat to boat and Master Bait.
For many generations, the females of South County were not allowed to Master Bait. The thought of females touching that nasty worm was uncomfortable for many and for years the King forbade female Master Baiting.
In time attitudes changed and many asked the question, “If females can be doctors and lawyers, they should be allowed to Master Bait.”
The Patsy of Charles, after an apprenticeship of nearly twenty years became the first female Master Baiter in South County and the King did replaceth Texas Ranger with a Master Baiter, the Patsy of Charles.
But of all the Master Baiters in all the land, The Duke of Rum, was the most proficient.
Now, boys and girls, most people knoweth not that The Duke of Rum was raised by the Indigenous Peoples (Native Americans) of South County.
The Duke of Rum had spent most of his life in a quandry... He felt different yet... couldn't figure why... he was just so depressed. The Duke of Rum went to the Chief for answers... He asked the chief how his brother Red Deer Running had gotten his name...
The chief answered in his typically poetic way..."When Red Deer Running was born, at the moment of his birth, the first thing his mother saw was a beautiful deer running off into the forest... and so Running Deer was named.
It is the custom of our tribe to name the offspring according to the spirits in nature visiting upon the birth."
Then, the boy said to the Chief... And how did my sister "Thundering Bird" get her name?
The chief described again, how at the moment of her birth Thundering Bird's mother had heard a roar of thunder and looking up, saw a bird flying in the sky...
The boy asked again, how his cousin "White Crouching Bear" had been given such a name...
And the chief, looking down once more at the boy, explaining the traditions of their tribe.... White Bear's mother had seen a rare white bear crouched over a stream at the moment her baby's birth.
Then the Chief speaketh to The Duke of Rum, "Why dost thou ask, Two Dogs Humping?"
In those days, in the Village of Strom did dwelleth Pudd, the village idiot. Pudd was long and lean and wore a pink dunce helmet which turneth blue when Pudd was wet or cold.
The Duke of Rum was a bully, perhaps stemming from his time with the Indians and The Duke of Rum did poundeth Pudd.
The Duke of Rum poundeth Pudd in the park. The Duke of Rum pounded Pudd by the lake. The Duke of Rum even took Pudd home and poundeth Pudd in his bathroom and poundeth Pudd in his bedroom.
Indeed, every time The Duke of Rum saw Pudd, Pudd would get pounded.
And the peasants (taxpayers) would ask The Duke of Rum, “Why dost thou pound Pudd day and night?”
And Duke of Rum would say, “One day I will take a spouse. I am practicing the marital arts of Kung Fu, Tae Kwon Doe and Ju Jitsui to prepare myself for marriage.”
And the King was very proud of The Duke of Rum and The Duke of Rum did Master Bait for the King.
And the King saw that The Duke of Rum was the best of his Master Baiters.
And it came to pass that in the third year of our hero’s exile in the Land of Favre, that a mighty battle did ensue and the Earl of George did defeat evil King Gustaf and Texas Ranger did smite the Patsy of Charles, but the Barrister of Integrity bade Texas Ranger to spare the silver bullet and Texas Ranger driveth not the stake into the heart of that vile wench.
And the peasants were sore afraid that the Patsy would arise from the dead to taxeth the piss out of them, once more.
“For the King is dead,” sayeth the Barrister of Integrity, “Let us build a great round table, where men and women of peace will come to tell tales of great glory in service to the people. No longer shall the Great Hall of Royal Buttock Kissing be for the King and his cronies, let all people know that freedom from butt kissing hath returned to South County.”
But the Duke of Rum conspired with the evil Sheriff of Toddingham that tyranny and evil would one day return to South County. And when all came to the Great Hall, The Duke of Rum vowed to pound Pudd in the corner until the Patsy returned.
And the Sheriff of Toddingham was sore depressed, for all the other Sheriffs in neighboring lands had new jails and the King had promised Toddingham his own jail. But the King and the Patsy were gone.
And the Sheriff longed for simpler days when he was just a patrol cop.
The Barrister Prodi of Jewel, was driving home over the St. Croix Bridge after spending a great day out on the lake fishing. Her catch, cleaned and filleted, was wrapped in newspaper on the passenger side floor. She was late getting home and was speeding. Wouldn’t you know, a cop jumped out, radar gun in hand, motioned her to the side of the bridge.
The Barrister, Prodi of Jewel pulled over like a good citizen. The Sheriff of Toddingham walked up to the window and said, “You know how fast you were going, Lady, not recognizing the Barrister?”
Prodi thought for a second and said, “Uhh, 60?”
“67 mph, Lady! 67 mph in a 55 zone!” said the Sheriff.
“But if you already knew officer,” replied Prodi, “Why did you ask me?”
Fuming over Prodi’s answer, the Sheriff growled, in his normal sarcastic fashion, “That’s speeding, and you’re getting a ticket and a fine!”
The cop took a good close look at Prodi, in her stained fishing attire and said, “You don’t even look like you have a job! Why, I’ve never seen anyone so scruffy in my entire life!”
Prodi answered, “I’ve got a job! I have a good, well-paying job!”
Toddingham leaned in the window, smelling Prodi’s fish catch, said, “What kind of a job would a bum like you have?”
“I’m a rectum stretcher!” she replied.
“What you say, Lady?” asked the Sheriff.
“I’m a rectum stretcher!”
The cop, scratching his head, asked, “What does a rectum stretcher do?”
Prodi explained, “People call me up and say they need to be stretched, so I go over to their house. I start with a couple of fingers, then a couple more, and then one whole hand, then two. Then I slowly pull them farther and farther apart until it’s a full six feet across.”
Toddingham, absorbed with these bizarre images in his mind, asked, “What the hell do you do with a six foot asshole?”
The Barrister nonchalantly answered, “You give it a radar gun, a badge and stick it at the end of a bridge!”
In those days, South County hath many lakes. And those lakes hath many fishes. The peasants (taxpayers) of South County being duly concerned about fish overpopulation did construct tiny houses on the frozen lakes.
Upon drilling holes through the ice, the peasants lureth the over breeding little menaces to the ice hole by placing a frozen worm on the end of a hook.
The thought of handling this worm was distasteful, so many hireth the services of professional baiters. The baiters procedeth from ice house to ice house baiting hooks for the peasants (taxpayers).
On both days of summer, the baiters would go from boat to boat and Master Bait.
For many generations, the females of South County were not allowed to Master Bait. The thought of females touching that nasty worm was uncomfortable for many and for years the King forbade female Master Baiting.
In time attitudes changed and many asked the question, “If females can be doctors and lawyers, they should be allowed to Master Bait.”
The Patsy of Charles, after an apprenticeship of nearly twenty years became the first female Master Baiter in South County and the King did replaceth Texas Ranger with a Master Baiter, the Patsy of Charles.
But of all the Master Baiters in all the land, The Duke of Rum, was the most proficient.
Now, boys and girls, most people knoweth not that The Duke of Rum was raised by the Indigenous Peoples (Native Americans) of South County.
The Duke of Rum had spent most of his life in a quandry... He felt different yet... couldn't figure why... he was just so depressed. The Duke of Rum went to the Chief for answers... He asked the chief how his brother Red Deer Running had gotten his name...
The chief answered in his typically poetic way..."When Red Deer Running was born, at the moment of his birth, the first thing his mother saw was a beautiful deer running off into the forest... and so Running Deer was named.
It is the custom of our tribe to name the offspring according to the spirits in nature visiting upon the birth."
Then, the boy said to the Chief... And how did my sister "Thundering Bird" get her name?
The chief described again, how at the moment of her birth Thundering Bird's mother had heard a roar of thunder and looking up, saw a bird flying in the sky...
The boy asked again, how his cousin "White Crouching Bear" had been given such a name...
And the chief, looking down once more at the boy, explaining the traditions of their tribe.... White Bear's mother had seen a rare white bear crouched over a stream at the moment her baby's birth.
Then the Chief speaketh to The Duke of Rum, "Why dost thou ask, Two Dogs Humping?"
In those days, in the Village of Strom did dwelleth Pudd, the village idiot. Pudd was long and lean and wore a pink dunce helmet which turneth blue when Pudd was wet or cold.
The Duke of Rum was a bully, perhaps stemming from his time with the Indians and The Duke of Rum did poundeth Pudd.
The Duke of Rum poundeth Pudd in the park. The Duke of Rum pounded Pudd by the lake. The Duke of Rum even took Pudd home and poundeth Pudd in his bathroom and poundeth Pudd in his bedroom.
Indeed, every time The Duke of Rum saw Pudd, Pudd would get pounded.
And the peasants (taxpayers) would ask The Duke of Rum, “Why dost thou pound Pudd day and night?”
And Duke of Rum would say, “One day I will take a spouse. I am practicing the marital arts of Kung Fu, Tae Kwon Doe and Ju Jitsui to prepare myself for marriage.”
And the King was very proud of The Duke of Rum and The Duke of Rum did Master Bait for the King.
And the King saw that The Duke of Rum was the best of his Master Baiters.
And it came to pass that in the third year of our hero’s exile in the Land of Favre, that a mighty battle did ensue and the Earl of George did defeat evil King Gustaf and Texas Ranger did smite the Patsy of Charles, but the Barrister of Integrity bade Texas Ranger to spare the silver bullet and Texas Ranger driveth not the stake into the heart of that vile wench.
And the peasants were sore afraid that the Patsy would arise from the dead to taxeth the piss out of them, once more.
“For the King is dead,” sayeth the Barrister of Integrity, “Let us build a great round table, where men and women of peace will come to tell tales of great glory in service to the people. No longer shall the Great Hall of Royal Buttock Kissing be for the King and his cronies, let all people know that freedom from butt kissing hath returned to South County.”
But the Duke of Rum conspired with the evil Sheriff of Toddingham that tyranny and evil would one day return to South County. And when all came to the Great Hall, The Duke of Rum vowed to pound Pudd in the corner until the Patsy returned.
And the Sheriff of Toddingham was sore depressed, for all the other Sheriffs in neighboring lands had new jails and the King had promised Toddingham his own jail. But the King and the Patsy were gone.
And the Sheriff longed for simpler days when he was just a patrol cop.
The Barrister Prodi of Jewel, was driving home over the St. Croix Bridge after spending a great day out on the lake fishing. Her catch, cleaned and filleted, was wrapped in newspaper on the passenger side floor. She was late getting home and was speeding. Wouldn’t you know, a cop jumped out, radar gun in hand, motioned her to the side of the bridge.
The Barrister, Prodi of Jewel pulled over like a good citizen. The Sheriff of Toddingham walked up to the window and said, “You know how fast you were going, Lady, not recognizing the Barrister?”
Prodi thought for a second and said, “Uhh, 60?”
“67 mph, Lady! 67 mph in a 55 zone!” said the Sheriff.
“But if you already knew officer,” replied Prodi, “Why did you ask me?”
Fuming over Prodi’s answer, the Sheriff growled, in his normal sarcastic fashion, “That’s speeding, and you’re getting a ticket and a fine!”
The cop took a good close look at Prodi, in her stained fishing attire and said, “You don’t even look like you have a job! Why, I’ve never seen anyone so scruffy in my entire life!”
Prodi answered, “I’ve got a job! I have a good, well-paying job!”
Toddingham leaned in the window, smelling Prodi’s fish catch, said, “What kind of a job would a bum like you have?”
“I’m a rectum stretcher!” she replied.
“What you say, Lady?” asked the Sheriff.
“I’m a rectum stretcher!”
The cop, scratching his head, asked, “What does a rectum stretcher do?”
Prodi explained, “People call me up and say they need to be stretched, so I go over to their house. I start with a couple of fingers, then a couple more, and then one whole hand, then two. Then I slowly pull them farther and farther apart until it’s a full six feet across.”
Toddingham, absorbed with these bizarre images in his mind, asked, “What the hell do you do with a six foot asshole?”
The Barrister nonchalantly answered, “You give it a radar gun, a badge and stick it at the end of a bridge!”
The Fine Print
As you may have guessed, The Lone Recycler is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to persons alive or dead is purley co-incedental.
