Post 240: Well Defined

Scrapper, n. a person who removes or does away with scraps.

Ingunuitists, n. there are no results for this word.

Fe, Chemical symbol 1. iron.

Thus we see that two out of three times Sparky does not know what he is writing about. I present the following evidence.

scrappers and ingunuitists

I have alot of school bus seats I want to disappear.. They have the long back cushion with them I used aall the seat cushions so there is all the steel frames .could be useful for welding structural stuff. or scraped also the back cushions are in great shape and could be repurposed in a bunch of ways .
Come get em



Thanks, Ralph. Always amazing always Sparky, all the time.


9 thoughts on “Post 240: Well Defined

  1. Poor Aall, that doomed Dutch town that gave a gave until it was spent. With nary an alot to be found.
    Nothing but rusty bus seat frames in the everlasting embrace of the See.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Aall made the best seat cushions, though. World renowned, they were, for the finest, most comfortable, durable, fashionable, and sometimes pleasantly vibrating seat cushions. Such a shame what happened to them.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. “Speak.”
    The voice on the other end was abrupt. His voice was deep — maybe too deep, as though he was using a voice-changing device. It was unsettling, and Frunk was nervous enough as it was. He’d never done anything like this before. He felt dirty. Not in the naughty, sexy way, but in the criminal underbelly way. And not a sexy criminal underbelly. He hated to admit it, but there was also a tiny part of him — that tiny part that he normally pushed right to the back of his braincase — that was secretly just a little bit thrilled.
    “Uh, hi, uh…” Frunk’s speech stumbled over the ripples of his quivering anxiousness. “Are you the, uh … the guy who can, uh … you know … can make things … um … disappear?” The last he almost whispered. He wasn’t sure why, he was at a payphone on a quiet street with no one around. He checked. Repeatedly. Constantly. His was a small, very backward town that still had several payphones. In fact, his town was so technologically stunted that the phone he was using still had a rotary dial, and that had only been upgraded in the last few years from a hand-crank model. They still had an operator at the switchboard. Her name was Ernestine.
    “Who’s asking?” came the voice. A demand, not a question.
    “My name is, uh … is, um … uh … Frunk. Frunk Stankerbottom.” He wasn’t sure if the noise at the other end was static or a barely-stifled snort. He wasn’t sure if he should take offence, but decided that if he did, it wouldn’t be the brightest moment in a day that was already rapidly heading down a very dark path.
    “Who gave you this number?” Again, a demand.
    “Uh, Bwooce,” Frunk stammered. “Bwooce Wee Wichads.” That was actually his name. He didn’t have a speech impediment, but his mother did, a condition which, defying any medical explanation but which they decided to name “ingunuitis,” also affected her ability to spell the same words she couldn’t properly form. In her brain, it all looked and sounded normal, so that’s the name that she wrote on his birth certificate. His mother was a huge fan of classic martial arts movies.
    “I see,” said the voice. There was a moment of silence during which Frunk proceeded to have an internal argument with himself over whether this was a good idea or if he should just hang up and forget about the whole thing. He could declare no winner when the voice at the other end restarted his train of thought. “What do you want?”
    “So, uh, you’re the, uh … the scraper?” Frunk asked.
    “What. Do. You. Want?” The voice restated, emphasising each word.
    “Oh, uh … um …” Frunk was flustered now. “Right. I, um, I need to … um … make some things … you know … disappear.” He did it again. Why was he whispering? He supposed it fit the conspiratorial nature of this exchange. It just seemed the thing to do.
    “What?” The voice said.
    “Uh, I said, um, I need to make–”
    “No,” the voice cut him off. “What do you want to disappear?”
    What was worse than flustered but not quite gibbering panic? “Oh! Sorry. Right. Um, okay, so, right, I have these … uh, you know … these … seats.”
    “Seats,” Frunk repeated. “Yes, seats. Bus seats, specifically. From, you know, a public transit bus. Bench seats. With the cushions and stuff. Bus bench seats. From a bus.” Maybe he was, in fact, gibbering.
    Another few moments of dead silence. Maybe dead was a poor choice of words. Frunk resumed his internal debate with renewed vigor.
    “Why?” asked the voice at length.
    He wasn’t expecting the question. “Why? Oh. Yes, um, well. You see, it’s, um … it’s like this, you see. I’ve, er … I’ve, well … I’ve used them all.”
    “What do you mean, used them all?” It was the first question from the voice that was more inquiry than demand.
    “Well,” Frunk responded. “you see, I, um … I like to sit. A lot. I like to sit in seats that, you know, I’ve never sat in before. So I sit in a seat for a while, but once I’ve done that, well … I’ve, you know, used it up. I’ve sat in it before, so I need a new seat to sit in. I mean, it doesn’t have to be a brand new seat, it can just be one I’ve never personally sat in before. It’s a kind of OCD I have. So I, uh, I buy a lot of second-hand seats. Except, um, these. The bus seats, I mean.”
    “Go on,” the voice said.
    “Oh.” This was the part Frunk was really, really nervous about. “Okay, right. The bus seats, so um … I didn’t, uh … exactly, you know … _buy_ these.”
    The voice waited patiently. But not too patiently. “And?”
    “What? Oh! Yeah. Didn’t quite buy them, yeah. I sort of, you know … uh … _acquired_ them.”
    “Acquired?” The voice was suspicious now. Well, _more_ suspicious.
    “Stole, okay?” He just had to come right out and say it. “Stole. I stole them. Okay? I live in a small town, and I’ve sat in every seat here. All of them. Every single one of them in the entire town. My butt has been in every chair, sofa, hammock, loveseat, recliner, ottoman, stool, swing, bench, pew, saddle, chaise lounge, wheelchair, toilet, and throne in town. If you see a seat in this town, my rump has parked itself in it. Even some things that aren’t meant to be seats. If you come here and see a relatively flat surface of any kind capable of supporting an average-size man, it has felt the weight of my ass.” Frunk took a deep, cleansing breath before continuing. “Our town recently got a bus service. The buses have lovely bench seats, just lovely. Seats I’ve never sat in. Seats I’ve only dreamed of sitting in. I just couldn’t resist. So I stole them, and now that I’ve used them, I need to make them disappear before someone catches me with them.”
    He couldn’t be sure, but the silence coming from the other end sounded a bit stunned. It was followed at long last by what sounded like a weary sigh. “Fine,” the voice said. “I can make them disappear. Tell me when and where.”
    Frunk heaved a tentative sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. You are a life saver.” He felt more at ease now. His little problem was going to finally have a solution. “Uh, one little thing though,” Frunk added.
    “What?” the voice at the other end said, resuming its tone of suspicion.”
    “You’ll probably have to do something with the bus they’re still attached to,” Frunk said.
    The voice on the other end sounded shocked. “What?!”
    “And the people,” Frunk continued. “There are still a few people in the seats. They will probably want to finally get to wherever they were going.”
    The phone clicked.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Wait. nobody alerted me to the return of Mindfield!!! Welcome back, Mindfield. Please tell Winston and Pickles how much I have missed them (and you too, of course).

    In other news,if those school bus seats have been in a gnu, I don’t want ’em.


    • Hey, Camille! Thank you, good to see you’re here too! Yes, I’m back, and Winston and Pickles will make a return as well. 🙂 I only recently discovered the dormancy of YSaC after wanting to make a return, and then discovered this place taking up the banner a couple of weeks ago. So I’ve resumed posting stories in the posts (check the this and the previous 4 posts). 😀

      Also, the seats haven’t been in a gnu, but they’ve been licked by an aardvark.


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