back



Oak Kelsey's Response Arm
Chapter One



Date: 7/13/00
Subject: Finger Lickin' Gory.
Arlo Clenk,
When I was about ten I went with my family to Pipestone, Minnesota for a flea market. It was August and the sun was hot as I looked over a table littered with knives in variety of styles. I picked up a shiny black model and unfolded the blade from the handle which revealed five inches of steel. Along the front of the handle were four indentions for fingers, making it easier to grip. After looking at it for a few minutes I tried to push in the blade-lock to fold the blade back into it's safe position. The blade-lock was hard to push in and I was afraid I would cut my fingers, so I worked at it very carefully. Noticing my struggle, the large man wearing sunglasses who worked behind the table approached me. "Gimme that!" he said grabbing the knife away from me—it was obvious he was annoyed. The man gripped the knife, pushed in the blade-lock and slammed the blade down hard on his fingers, slicing the first three. "Aaaahhh fuck!", he yelled. The cut on the first finger was so deep it looked as if he hit bone. I ran away from the table, fearing the large man's wrath and freaked out by the bloody scene. I didn't handle knives at flea markets for a while after that. I still see blood when I see the same model I saw that day.

I hope that all this frivolity of mine isn't tainting this beautiful little thing that you've created. Nobody likes it when a stranger comes over and pukes on the floor. I put a check in the mail for a copy of "I Check The Mail" [ed note: this book is now out of print] I still haven't paid my large late fines from when I held it hostage from my local library. Thanks for including the photo of my dad. More tales about him later. Crinkled crud and jangled junk,
—goin' for broak Kelsey



Date: 7/28/00
Subject: Rononymous Drug Tale.
Lars Jackets,
My old man (Ronald G. Kelsey) has always led a pretty clean life. No drinking, no smoking and my mom's never even heard him swear. And for a while he cut out his only vice: coffee. I, on the other hand, have enough vices for both of us. It's not that he holds this over other people's heads, it's just how he chooses to live his life. The following, however, is a story of Ron on drugs:

Ron's teeth have never been in very good shape. He grew up in the epoch of pre-preventative dentistry and the dentist was someone you visited only when in extreme pain. Consequently, he probably has more gold and silver in his mouth than most pimps. The first time the dentist gave him laughing gas was for a root canal procedure. The nurse put the mask on his face, he took a few breaths and the stuff started kicking in. The tiled ceiling of the dentist's office has tiny holes on different sizes on it. He focused on them as the nitrous oxide crept up the back of my his neck and hit him in the head like a sledgehammer. He started to hallucinate that he was swimming through the tiny holes on the ceiling. The sensation was so real that he started moving his arms and kicking his legs in as if he were swimming. His flailing arms were hitting the dentist, the nurse and knocking dental instruments on the floor. "Ron," the dentist said, "Could you please stop moving your arms?"

"But some of the holes are so small I can hardly swim through them," replied Ron. Finally, the dentist had to use his body to pin down Ron's arm while he worked. The nurse did the same on the other side.

I've been writing down my dad's stories lately. Like the rest of our family, the old man is a story junkie. Our heads are just wired for that brand of nonsense.
Burp,
—Oak



Date: 8/10/00
Subject: Whatever Gets You Through the Night.
Android,

Part 1.
My friend, Eric Weber, was sitting in Marshall, Minnesota's only movie theater, eating popcorn and watching a movie with a few friends. About half-way through the film, he felt something brush against his foot. He thought he had imagined it until it happened again. "Knock it off!" he told one of his friends, who had no idea what he was talking about. When it happened a third time Eric jumped out of his seat and turned around. Behind him, on the floor, was a short man reaching under Eric's seat, grabbing at his feet. "What the hell are you doing?" asked eric. The short man simply stood up and quickly walked out of the movie theater. Turns out the man is a janitor at one of the schools in Marshall and is locally notorious for his love affair with strangers' feet.

Part 2.
This summer my friend, Wayne, was a cast member for Shakespeare in the Park in Minneapolis. This year they did "A Comedy of Errors" with a 60s, hippie theme and so, Wayne finally fulfilled his life-long dream of wearing polyester in blazing heat while playing California Dreamin' on the saxophone. After one performance, several cast members (including Wayne) decided to go skinny dipping. It was a perfect night. The moon was full and as they waded in, the cool water soothed the actors hot bodies. The only distraction from the bliss was a stranger vomiting on the beach. Then a man clad in a speedo (a.k.a. "Banana Hammock" or "Marble Bag") waded out about forty yards from the nude thespians. The water was up to his waist and although it was dark they could see he was doing something with his hands. Soon they realized the man was watching them and pleasuring himself. The nude thepians tried to ignored him until he got out of the water and vanished into the darkness. Wayne and the others got out of the water, dressed and moved on to enjoy the night elsewhere, barely jolted by the mysterious exhibitionist.

My rods and cones have been partying thanks to the ever thickening Lines section. Bend on, you crazy bastard. Thanks again.
Crusty chunks and botched blurbs,
—Oak



Date: 8/15/00
Subject: Smoke Breaks.
Mel "The Velvet Fog" Torme,
Greetings, my good man. I'm just at work flunking the dunking monks while I scoop the grouping fruit. Fine fun for a fool. Here are two smoke breaks for you:

Co-worker 1: "This is my third cup of coffee today."
Co-worker 2: "Wow, you must feel pretty wired."
1: "This is nothing compared to how much coffee I used to drink—six pots a day.
2: "Oh my God. II bet it kept you awake."
1: "It kept me going, that's for sure. I only sleep four hours a night, so I don't need much sleep. Any more than five hours in a twentyfour hour period and I feel tired the next day."
2: "I know what you mean."

Yesterday a woman who works in the cube next to me had some stuff for me to work on. sometimes she calls me "Wood" by accident, but yesterday she said "Weed, can I give you this to work on?" A couple other co-workers overheard her and started laughing. She started laughing as well and squeaked a fart out. "I'll just call you sir from now on, so I won't get it wrong."

We all pretended not to hear her fart."It's okay," I told her, "don't worry about it."


Today at 4:30 I get to decorate another co-worker's desk with gaudy hanging foil, balloons and crepe paper. She will turn 49 tomorrow. Nothing but action here. Working at a more exciting job might be fun, but then I would miss the subtle and tiny beautiful things that I appreciate in everyday life, Like the unexpected fart. Too much excitement makes me numb sometimes.

This tripe doesn't need to be posted anywhere.
Mediocrity has it's moments,
—Croak



Date: 9/6/00
Subject: Smoke Bark.
Ladies love Cool Jenk,
I was talking with a co-worker today about her husband's use of the computer. She was telling me about how he was using mapquest.com for a trip to South Bend, Indiana to see the Cornhuskers vs. Notre Dame in football this upcoming weekend.

While she was telling me this, I noticed a woman walking quickly through the parking lot. She looked like she was in her 40s and was swearing incoherantly. As she was ranting, she accented the curse words and it sounded like she was barking. She also pumped the air with her fist as though pounding an imaginary table. Then she walked in through one of the doors to the clinic. An older man in camoflage pants walked by and blew his nose onto the sidewalk, near my co-worker and I. My co-worker just kept talking about her husband's computer skills.
Slugs and dishes,
—Yolk


Take me back to the Oak Intro.

©2003 Oak Kelsey