Totally Radical Sportz!

Totally Tubular – Chapter 1

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 06/10/2013

Potato Farm

Chapter 1 – The Potato Saga

(Clarence Metacomb, mayor of the small town of Spudsville, Idaho is in a trap house on the south side of town taking a hit off a crack pipe as he holds an impromptu meeting with some British investors…)

Mayor:  An oil pipeline, eh?

(Cecilia Livingstone, head of the US branch of The Royal Petrol Consortium, nods…)

Livingstone:  This pipeline will make Spudsville a very rich town, Mr. Mayor. And we will of course throw some pounds the way of the boy whose farmland we’ll be purchasing.

Mayor:  (emits cloud of crack smoke)  Well, I’m sold. Now what kind of pounds are we talking about here? Pounds of crack?

~~~

(In the Spudsville Post Office…)

Mac:  Whaddya mean I can’t go back to Ireland?

Passport Office Clerk:  Mr. MacAnnannie, you’ve got criminal charges pending. Until this matter is settled you are not allowed to leave the States.

Mac:  Well, that’s a load of Blarney!

Clerk:  You had sex with a sixteen-year-old girl.

Mac:  Consensually. And she said she was seventeen!

Clerk:  That would still be illegal. And you have multiple DUI’s.

Mac:  You have so many laws in this country. It’s all very difficult to keep track of.

Clerk:  But Mr. MacAnnannie, it says here you’re a lawyer back in Ireland.

Mac:  Was a lawyer. And the American legal system is very different.

Clerk:  Well I’m afraid you’ll be stuck here for a while longer.

Mac:  Bloody bollocks. Where’s the nearest pub?

Clerk:  It’s nine in the morning.

~~~

(On the Johnston potato farm, some Chinese investors are being given a tour…)

Lenny:  You know, my father usually dealt with Mr. Shim personally in the past.

Kwang:  Well, your father is no longer with us. Mr. Shim felt it more appropriate to send his proxy.

Lenny:  Well Mr. Kwang, as you can see the potato industry is still humming along swimmingly.

Kwang:  It seems rather quiet.

Lenny:  Well, we wouldn’t want to wake the potatoes. Heheh.

Kwang:  (frowns)  The fields seem very…brown.

Lenny:  Potatoes are brown.

Kwang:  I’m sorry, Mr. Johnston. Mr. Shim he feels he cannot help fund your farm at this time.

Lenny:  If I could just speak to Mr. Shim personally. A group of British investors want to put an oil pipeline through this land. If we don’t have funding this season–

Kwang:  That is all, Mr. Johnston.

Lenny:  (sighs, checks watch)  What time does O’Seannigan’s open?

~~~

(At an “Irish pub” next to the Spudsville Post Office…)

Clem:  Welcome to O’Seannigan’s, the finest Irish pub in all of Idaho.

(Mac glances around at the gaudy cardboard shamrocks and leprechauns on the wall…)

Mac:  This is just racist.

Clem:  What’ll it be, red?

Mac:  A pint of lager.

Clem:  Pint of Budweiser coming up.

Mac:  No. Lager.

Clem:  Yeah. Budweiser.

Mac:  I’m from Ireland, buddy boy. Budweiser isn’t a lager. We feed Budweiser to our cats in a saucer.

Clem:  All we have is Bud.

Mac:  Then how do you call this an Irish pub?

Clem:  …did you see the leprechauns?

(Mac sighs and takes a seat at the bar as a glum Leonard Johnston enters and sits at the end of the bar…)

Lenny:  Pint of Bud, Clem.

Mac:  (raises his glass)  The finest Irish lager in all of Idaho.

Lenny:  (knits brow at Mac)

Clem:  Why so down, Lenny?

Lenny:  This group of Englishmen want to put an oil pipeline through my father’s land. Our Chinese funders are backing out. I think I’m gonna have to sell the farm.

Clem:  Why, that potato farm’s been in your family for five generations, Len.

Lenny:  I don’t really have a choice, Clem. With this drought, I can’t grow one potato. I’m broke.

Mac:  I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m going to be in town for a spell. Maybe I could be of some assistance.

Lenny:  (glances down the bar at the Irishman)  You know how to grow potatoes?

Mac:  What. Just because I’m Irish, I naturally know how to grow potatoes?

(Clem and Lenny stare blankly at Mac. Clem slowly begins to nod…)

Mac:  Why, you racist–No. I’m a lawyer. Or at least I used to be back in Dublin. I may be able to get those English off your back until you’re able to raise enough funds to save your farm.

Lenny:  You’re a complete stranger. Why would you do this for me?

Mac:  (shrugs)  Never much cared for the English.  (raises glass)  Another pint of your American pig swill, barkeep.

~~~

(The next morning, Lenny is showing Cecilia Livingstone and Mayor Metacomb around the farm…)

Lenny:  As you can see, we’ve hit a bit of a rough patch since my father passed.

Livingstone: Which is why we’re here, Mr. Johnston.  The Royal Petrol Consortium is willing to pay you one million pounds for your land.

Mayor:  One million pounds? That’s a lot of crack.

Lenny:  I was wondering if you’d be willing to sit down with my lawyer and maybe work out another solution.

Livingstone:  (smirks)  Mr. Johnston, I thought you were broke. How on earth can you afford a lawyer?

Mac:  HOLY BLOODY BOLLOCKS!

Livingstone:  What the devil was that?

(Lenny peers out into the potato field where Mac is busily digging a giant hole…)

Lenny:  Uh, that’s my lawyer.

(The three venture out into the dry arid field and find Mac waist-deep in a hole…)

Livingstone:  What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing on our land?

(Mac climbs up out of the hole with a large object under his arm, dropping it at Ms. Livingstone’s feet…)

Mac:  Not so fast, ya British bastard.

Mayor:  That’s an odd-looking potato.

Mac:  (grins)  That is a wooly mammoth bone; which would make this farm a federally-protected site.

(Lenny and Mac beam at each other as Cecilia’s face drops…)

Mayor:  (licks his lips)  So…anybody up for a smoke?

~~~

Send complaints to ethanrbooker@gmail.com

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