Ringing in the Root Beer
Ned Nedmiller, Snack Treat
Monday, Jan. 7, 2002
Twisted gas needles! It’s time! ‘Tis the season when a Nedmiller’s
happier than a hamster cut up by a coat hanger! Next Yesteryear done
come and came, and Ned had hisself the biggest Next Yesteryear ever,
as can be vouched by the fresh gypsies of Good King Wencelas, no
less.
All was well-fittin’ with the tradition of Next Yesteryear as
invented by Nedley’s great grandfather and greater granddappa in the
year seven days before 18 hundred and 66, the same year Wencelas
choked himself to death on a camel toe. As in every year, Ned scaled
the great tent pole in the backyard and planted the head of a dead
fish to ward off the Next Yesteryear goblin and his self-dropping
breeches. “Whew!” said Ned. No sense taking chances of free-danglin’
goblin willies scaring off Ned’s guests at this Yesteryear party, no
sir!
Course if there is any guarantee to be had of a Yesteryear party
for the ages, it comes from collecting all of your person’s dead
skin flakes and mixing them into a fine, grainy paste. No joking! A
true Nedmiller would do nothing less for the best Next Yesteryear
ever, and Ned did it up good. Big old books will tell you suntanning
by the mighty oak tree in the backyard makes them skins nice an
flaked, and Ned will be bit on the ass by a woodpecker if that’s a
printed falsehood. Also, you just know climbing inside the over
helps a heap for making skin flakes crunchy and ready to be flaked!
Before three possums can say Yahtzee, them party is begun. Fresh
off the trolley comes Ned’s fat meaty cat, and Ned cooks ‘em
brilliant. None for you? More for Ned!
More treats for the guests is laid out by the handfuls. Cinnamon
gravy richer than the king of Siam, bottle caps with moth eggs laid
nice in, and a dead guy roasting on the lawn. And them’s just for
appeteasers! Such a time brings back mammaries of Ned’s first Next
Yesteryear back on the plantation, yessir. Brings a genuine wet tear
to Ned’s old eye. And pinkeye to Ned’s nose, it should be noted.
But them foods and decorations is just the beginning to the Next
Yesteryear celebration! No Yesteryear has come to town until the
clock strikes home and it’s for real the Hour of the Misbegotten.
Masked dogs take Ned’s guests hostages and Neddy Furtado hisself has
to hide in the wall outlets, crawling about like ol’ ‘lectricity in
all its glory, dispatching one canine after another until all them
guests are back to safeness. Then you know them guests take one
big-sized bath together while Nedmiller the New cavorts about in a
Saran Wrap diaper as Baby Clamdipper. Only when Nedder’s own shadow
catches him and pops him back in a bottle of that Kentucky Bourbon
is this Next Yesteryear officially kaputs.
Then them post-party depressionations set in, indeedy-Steve. Ned
cries hisself into the fourth dimension and back one more time,
saying Nedmiller backwards eleventy times to banish away them nasty
spirits if needed. Should that falter, Ned either sacrifices a
virgin or deflowers a town crier, or both at one moment in stereo,
whichever them situation calls. Usually one of them and a yellow pie
puts Ned back into high kippers for the brand new year, ready to
plan out again the next Next Yesteryear shindig proper.
Ah, tradition.
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