Buried Treasure

The other day a guy stopped by our place with a real fancy metal detector. He said he had noticed that our place was probably at least 100 years-old, and a good chunk of property so wondered if I would mind him looking around. I told him it was okay with me but wanted to accompany him and we should split anything that might be of value. He agreed, so off we went into the pasture. 

We started the search at the northeast corner, slowly walking a straight line. The guy, named Dave, waved his detector back and forth, keeping it close to the ground. The gadget had blinking lights, made "beeps" and other sounds. It was "high-tech.” Dave just got the thing so was still learning. He kept making adjustments by turning knobs and so-forth. 

After a short while his detector began beeping so we stopped on that spot and I started to dig using a small camp shovel. I dug about six inches down when I found the rusty horse shoe. Not worth anything, but I tossed it in the bucket. I was responsible for both the shovel and the bucket. The detector kept beeping so I continued to dig. The beeping was loud, and the orange light on the contraption blinked rapidly. We thought there might be something big down there.

After I had dug about a foot and a half deeper, I thought it might make sense to fetch a larger spade in order to speed up the search. I went to the shed, got a garden shovel and dug, and dug, the detector beeping and blinking but found nothing. I tossed unkindly and uncooperative rocks out of the hole, now about three feet deep, and paused for a moment to ask Dave if he was sure the detector was working properly. He assured me it was. He had bought it brand new.

About the time I noticed I was standing shoulder-deep in the hole, I told Dave I was about to give-up. If he wanted to continue digging, I was willing to hold the metal detector. I tossed the shovel out of the hole. As soon as I did, the detector's beeping and blinking stopped. 

"Good grief,” I said to Dave. “We have been detecting the damn shovel!"


Bus #53

Bob Whithabey wore his lucky blue rabbit head attached to a fob on the belt loop of his pants as he rode bus #53 from Seattle to Emerald Downs in Auburn to play the ponies. It was Saturday, and the bus was crowded. Some riders who saw his lucky blue rabbit head thought it was weird; some thought it was gross, but eight-year-old Tom Bernard thought it was really cool. He asked Bob Whithabey where he got it. Bob told him he made it from one of the rabbits he raised for meat. Tom told him he sure would like to have one of those, so Bob told him if he's on the bus next Saturday he will give him one. Tom told Bob he would be on the bus, and was very excited. 

When Tom got his lucky blue rabbit head from Bob the following Saturday he hooked it to a belt loop and would look down at it throughout the day with great satisfaction. "This is the coolest thing I have ever had!" he thought to himself. 

When the boys at Tom's school saw his lucky blue rabbit head they overflowed with envy. They all wanted one, and asked Tom where he got it. Tom told them, so the boys planned to be on bus #53 next Saturday. It came to pass that when bus #53 arrived at the West Seattle Junction the following Saturday, five eight-year-old boys stepped aboard and anxiously scanned the seats looking for a man wearing a lucky blue rabbit head on his hip. 

They took their seats with a tad of anxiety in their hearts when they didn't see Bob Whithabey. Anxiety changed to glee when they saw a man board the bus when it made its stop at Rat City. The man wore a lucky blue rabbit head on his hip. The more outgoing of the boys approached Bob Whithabey a minute or so after the bus pulled away and asked if he knew where he and his pals could get a lucky blue rabbit head like the one he had. Bob replied he was going to butcher some rabbits ten days from then; so if the boys were on the bus Saturday after next he would bring them each one. 

"We'll be here!" said the boy, and he didn't even try to hide his excitement. When he told the other boys the news they were elated, and wished with all their hearts that they could watch Bob Whithabey butcher the rabbits, but didn't want to risk asking too much of him.

After the boys got their lucky blue rabbit heads from Bob Whithabey they attached them to their belt loops and proudly wore them to school the following Monday. When their teachers saw them they said "Oh, no! You can't wear those disgusting things to school!" They took the heads away from them and put them into desk drawers. 

The boys all agreed that there was no way in hell they were going to let the teachers keep their lucky blue rabbit heads. At the first opportunity, they took them back and thought to themselves: "consequences be damned!" 

During the week the boys were suspended from school, they hopped on bus #53 wearing their lucky blue rabbit heads on their hips for all the world to see. They decided they would look for Bob Whithabey, and if they found him they made-up their minds that they would ask him if the next time he butchered rabbits they could go to his house and watch. They figured they had nothing to lose by asking. If he said "yes," it would more than make-up for being grounded from TV and video games for a month, or even a year, for that matter.

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After Pastor Taylor burned a Koran, he was promptly kidnapped by a Muslim man named Mooma. Mooma took the bound and gagged Pastor Taylor deep into a nearby woods where they could have some privacy.

The Homelite chainsaw Mooma took with him to the woods was one he had purchased at Sears. He had a landscaping project to do on the property around the house he rented from Bob Withabey. Bob Withabey took two-hundred dollars off one-month's rent in exchange for Mooma's time and labor.

Mooma found a large, hollow stump in the woods, and stuffed Pastor Taylor down into it. Pastor Taylor's head protruded from the top of the trunk. Mooma removed the gag from Pastor Taylor's mouth now that there was no chance anyone could hear Pastor Taylor's screams. Mooma thought the Pastor looked pretty funny like that.

Mooma looked around and found a tree that was about two feet diameter and proceeded to cut it down with the Homelite chainsaw. His idea was for the tree to fall on Pastor Taylor's head, but when the tree fell, it missed by about ten feet, so Mooma found another tree, cut it down with the same intentions in mind, but it, too, missed by a few feet. Mooma looked around and found another tree that, judging by its tilt just might hit the target, and sure enough, when that tree came crashing down it hit Pastor Taylor's head dead on. The Pastor's head was smashed, and after Mooma pulled the tree out of the way so he could see the damage he noticed that Pastor Taylor's head looked like a squashed, gray-haired cantaloupe. It was about the same size as one, or perhaps a tad bigger.

Pastor Taylor's step-son, Randy, hated him, and when he found out what had happened to his step-father he laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach with both hands. Randy's stomach began to hurt so much he wondered if it was possible to strain a muscle from laughing. 

As soon as Randy had himself calmed down he got in his car and started to drive to Pastor Taylor's church to console some of the Pastor's flock who were gathered there. As he drove down Olive Avenue he saw a large sign in front of a fruit stand that read: