Barbeque and Rueful Things from Ceegars and Disrespect for Photographers

It was at the tail end of a dark and stormy weekend, and everybody was wondering why it was so damn cold in August. We all felt a sense of betrayal from global warming. But that’s another story. My name is Biff. My friends, WhiteFeather and Chris were having a barbeque. I was invited. So was our mutual friend Deanna. This is our story …

No sooner had I arrived than, Chris (who had just been filmed by the CBC for burning down the house at Casemates) said, “Hey, Biff! I have a new digital camera. It takes fifty thousand pictures on one battery from the Dollar Store.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “But my new digital camera takes sixty thousand pictures using sunlight and methane from cow shit.”

“Well,” said Chris, “I have four pairs of yellow socks.”

“And I have five pairs of red socks,” I rebuffed.

“Let’s just take pictures of Deanna eating all the appetizers,” said Chris. “We’ll use our new digital cameras for evil.”

We pointed our cameras at Deanna and started using them for evil.

“This isn’t really a piece of bread in my mouth and I’m not eating the appetizers early because I’m a starving artist,” said Deanna. “It’s mollified air, shaped atmospheric phenomena … O hell … stick your cameras where the sun don’t shine!”

WhiteFeather made a delicious salad to go with the chicken and baked potatoes. It had cilantro and mint in it. It was the most delicious salad that ever was delicious. And the chicken was juicy and delicious. The baked potatoes were like balls of basalt … hard on the outside, but soft at the beginning of time. And delicious.

I made a note to self to eat more salads and experiment with cilantro and mint in my new kitchen.

Even though Chris was eating the most delicious salad that ever was delicious and was in the process of cooking up the most tender and juicy chicken that was ever tender and juicy, he was just a little despondent that Deanna should speak so harshly about our new digital cameras, even though we were using them for evil.

“You’ll rue this day,” he said to Deanna, “for making me feel despondent.”

Things would soon become strange and more than just a little stormy.

“Well, what do you expect,” said WhiteFeather. “The two of you should be using for cameras for good, not for evil. Men are such babies.”

“Yeah, babies,” said Deanna.

“By the way,” said WhiteFeather to Deanna, “how many days has it been since we watched that dumb video and got the call from that weird little girl?”

“More than seven days,” said Deanna. “I think the whole thing was probably urban legend stuff.”

“Whew!” said WhiteFeather. “I thought this fuzzy image thing was a sign.”

“No,” said Deanna, “that was just Biff farting again while he was taking a picture. Whew!”

WhiteFeather noticed that Chris was setting the table on fire.

“Stop that, Chris,” she said. “You have to get over this burning things down thing. You could have burned up our guests – the lovely Deanna (who is probably going to rue this day, thanks to you) and the evil Biff (who told me that he doesn’t really have ANY red socks, and just said that to try and out-do your six pairs of yellow socks.) You have six pairs of yellow socks?”

After eating a delicious three-course barbecue meal, we decided it was time to go to the gas station around the corner for chocolate and ceegars.

As we waited for WhiteFeather to put down the 250 pound psychotic gay dog McKenna, Deanna said, “It’s a cold dark and stormy night. You wouldn’t happen to have a Cayman Island on you, would you Chris?”

“No,” said Chris, “but I might have a match.”

On the way back from the convenience gas station with the five-dollar stale sandwiches, we were happy to have chocolate and ceegars.

“That was so easy,” said WhiteFeather. “We just walked in and they had chocolate and ceegars.”

“City life is wonderful,” said Deanna.

“I finally have a kitchen,” said Biff.

Back at WhiteFeather and Chris’s, Deanna said, “I’m going to smoke this ceegar until I turn green.”

WhiteFeather said, “Turning green is not a good thing for your complexion, Deanna. It could also have a serious impact on your horoscope. I predict a drastic change of life and a serious dose of ruefulness.”

“Go ahead and light it up,” said Chris and Biff in unison.

O, how they would regret their words.

“Hell,” said Deanna, “I’m an artist. If I turn green, I’ll just paint myself back to normal. Puff. Puff. Puff puff puff.”

Clothing and towels and stuff on the line said, “Don’t do it , Deanna, you’ll turn green.”

After several hundred puffs on the ceegar, Deanna said, “Ooo … I’m feeling very strange and rueful. I think I’m turning green.”

Chris said, “Ah ha! The rue is working!”

Suddenly, Deanna threw back her cape and said, “Look! I’m a vampire! The ceegar has turned me into a vampire.”

In a strange turn of rueful events, she closed her cape about her, became suddenly angelic and said, “No, I’m a saint. The ceegar has made me transcend the rue.”

And suddenly the cape was out and she said, “No … I’m a vampire! Ha ha! Bite! Bite!”

“Ha ha! I’m Arnold Schwartzenpire!”

And then the rue, the over-eating of appetizers, and the ceegar caught up.

“I think my world has become very colorless green,” said Deanna. “I think I’ll sit down for a while and think about Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number 2.”

A large torch burned away all that was rue, and Deanna began to return to a state that experts have labeled as … color. Some would hail this a positive thing for an artist.

In the distance, a voice was heard: “WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

Eyebrows were raised in Duckburg.

WhiteFeather showed Deanna pictures taken when she thought she was a vampire. “See,” she said, “you cast a photographic image when pictures were taken of you as a vampire, thus proving that you really aren’t one.”

“Cool,” said Deanna, “but why isn’t there a halo over my head in the angel picture?”

“Just be happy you’re not a vampire,” said WhiteFeather.

Chris puffed on a five year old European herbal cigarette and thought, “It’s been a strange and stormy night, but all is well. I guess I’ll just have to work some more on my rue-ing.”