The Saga of Harry Heinie

Mad Ron & Deaf Dan Irwin

And it came to pass that Harry (Harry Heinie, the Nerds For Peace Party District Chairman for Middle Peninsula Michigan and avid horseradish enthusiast) made his way into the mountains on a summer's day hike. Weary from his journey, he rested by the side of the trail and pulled his lunch from his knapsack.

"Aw, man," he complained, "not peanut better again. I told Mom not to gimmie any peanut butter."

     "Peanut butter?" came an echo from the heavens. "Peanut butter?" the voice thundered again.

     "Yeah," replied Harry looking skyward, "stinckin' peanut butter."

     "We love peanut butter," thundered the voice.

And suddenly, Harry (crazy enough not to think anything unusual about talking to thunderous voices from the sky...or switching the heads on his Ken and Barbie dolls) found himself surrounded by a buncha (like a group of six or seven, hence: buncha) flying, winged pigs. And he was sorely afraid, as we all should be in such a situation.

"Hey!" cried Harry. "Get away from me you crazy flying pigs! Whatcha want from me?"

"We've come for the sandwiches of divine peanut butter. Give them to us or suffer the consequences!"

"Sure here, take 'em."

"Surrender your sandwiches or face the King Pig you worthless human!"

"What?" Remarked Harry a bit more confused than usual. "I told you hunks of flying bacon that you could have them. Here, take them already and leave me alone."

Suddenly (every thing's 'suddenly' in this story), the king appeared. He was the King of Pigs, the Great Winged Hog, the Divine Feathered Swine, The Magnificent Soaring Great Fat One known by all by the terrifying name of ...Billy.

"Boy!" spoke his magnificent swineness. "You best be giving up those sandwiches or suffer the consequences according to Hog Law."

"I done told you goofy critters to take them. Have all these nasty things. I hate peanut butter. Take them and leave me alone, please," whimpered Harry.

"So," spoke His Majesty in a gruff voice, "You refuse!"

"Are you pigs stupid? Can't you understand me?"

"So,"spoke His Royal Fatback, "you refuse AND insult us! Suffer our wrath!"

"You buncha daffy...." began Harry. But, he was cut off mid-sentence as the flying pigs who, at last, grabbed his sandwiches and began hovering swirl above him dropping bombs of processed pork retributional defecation. SPLAT! SPLAT! All around Harry and he ran with the winged avengers pursuing him.

"Shit!" Harry cried...exclamation or observation indiscernible at this point. "Damn you George Washington Carver for your peanut butter!"

"Fool!" Resounded the thunderous echo of Billy's voice. "The imminent botanist George Washington Carver, while he did many things with the peanut, did not invent peanut butter! Idiot! More! More bombs! How dare you take the Carver's name in vain!"

The bombs grew more in number and increased mightily in size, A special delivery from Billy knocked Harry to the ground. He lay in a heap, covered with the fragrant heap, until nightfall.

The flying swine gone, Harry gazed up at the night sky. And there, a glowing bright star. A glowing bright star which grew brighter. And, a glowing bright star which grew brighter and bigger and brighter and bigger and still brighter and still bigger. Yes! It must be the star foretold. The star of the redeemer. All would be put right. The pigs would no more fly, Old ladies wouldn't push him around in the aisle of grocery stores, dogs would leave his legs alone! Hey nah-nee nah-nee the star comes upon ye.

Which it did. Unfortunately for Harry, it wasn't a sign. It was a meteorite. One of the few that make it through the atmosphere and crash to earth...sometimes crashing onto a Nerds For Peace Party District Chairman from Middle Peninsula Michigan encrusted in a heap of pig droppings sans sandwiches de peanut butter. So ends Harrry Heinie.

And, so ends the saga of Harry Heinie...as well as crazy Louie Parker's permission to tell his version of the Christmas Story at the mid-winter gathering at the Lindenbrook Asylum and, on occasion, fruit storehouse.

"Damn you George Washington Carver!" screamed Louie as he was dragged away to the rubber room.