M. DAVID LUTZ
M. (Mark) David Lutz is a dedicated writer, specializing in comedy and satire. He started seriously writing humor over twenty years ago. Primarily publishing articles and short stories until he turned his attention to writing a book series.
He has assisted other writers, encouraging them to develop their talents and helping them publish their projects.
Now retired after forty years of government service, Mark looks forward to writing full time.
He is regularly communicating with readers through his website and Facebook accounts while continuing to write additional volumes to his ‘Princess and Plumber’ series in addition to other projects.
He currently resides overseas with his wife and daughter.
Airports, Aliens, and Time Warp
I enjoy going to the airport about as much as having my lips glued to a lamp post.
If I did not arrive at the terminal in time to pick up my dad, I would never hear the end to it.
With foresight, but less common sense, I set the alarm for 4:00 a.m. When I woke up at 4:30 a.m., I was really pissed. This meant I wouldn’t have time for breakfast, bathing, shaving, deodorant, or clean underwear, which didn’t matter since I was meeting my father…not dating him.
Off I sped to the Dulles Airport, in Washington, DC, to meet me ole pappy. In my overzealous haste to avoid the horrendous early morning traffic jams renowned in Washington, I allowed more than ample time to get there. However, I had not correctly calculated that there would not be any traffic that early on a Saturday morning. This would also explain why I worked as an accountant for the government.
Now I’m at the airport, and I must find a way to kill three hours before the plane arrives. I bought a newspaper with the headline, ‘Alien Baby Found On Mars.’ Wait a minute, how stupid do they think I am? If we went to Mars and found a baby on Mars, then it wouldn’t be an alien baby but a native baby of Mars…right? Unless it were a human baby from Earth, which would make it an alien baby to the Martians but not to the astronauts since they would be human, too. All I know is that when it comes to little children, if you take your eyes off them for one instant—there is no telling where they will end up.
I was going up on the escalator, standing on the ‘right’ side. I noticed everyone else was standing on the left. Some woman behind me, wanting to get by, was expecting me to move to the left. The left? Where did she think we were, Beijing? Since when, in America, do we ride, walk, drive, stand, or even loiter on the left? Was I absent the day it was all changed to the left side? Should I look for that ‘email,’ in my ‘junk’ folder?
Well, I’ll have you know I wasn’t going to stand for that, on the left…one ‘Yankee Doodle Moment.’ As an American, I know my rights…the right…to stand on the ‘right,’ the side of right, right as the right does, for right is might. In fact, if it weren’t for the Wright Brothers, we wouldn’t even be at the airport. I was mad as all heck, and I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I took my stand—on the right.
I started studying everyone around me more carefully. They reminded me of how people looked in the classic movie, ‘The Invasion of the Body Snatchers.’ Standing there with their empty-headed, dull, vacant stares, looking like a bunch of zombies, albeit well-dressed zombies.
Do you know what I hate about aliens from outer space? They think just because they can build a spaceship and travel a billion light years to another planet, it makes them superior. They always act so smug and arrogant. However, they give themselves away with something as simple as not realizing they are standing on the wrong side of the escalator. Superior beings, my butt, they weren’t fooling me.
Due to my government training, I logically figured these aliens were setting up colonies in people’s colons, like ‘Alien’ (only the other end). Who knew aliens had a sinister plot with all that anal probing. I had always assumed it was just a pleasurable pastime while here on Earth, like in the movie, ‘Deliverance.’ Aliens or Hillbillies, it makes no difference when your colon is being colonized.
Looking upon my fellow escalator’ins, I thought: Aliens are hiding in your butts, you simple-minded humans, forcing you to carry out their diabolical plans, which includes standing on the wrong side of the escalator! Unfortunately, I must have yelled that out loud, judging by everyone’s reaction. It was a good thing this was Washington, DC; everyone here is used to people shouting stupid, bizarre, nonsensical gibberish. We call these people ‘politicians’ and do our best to ignore them.
On the terminal’s upper level, I started following the crowd, walking past all the ticket counters, which were still closed. I hoped there would be some shops or places to get something to eat as I waited for my dad’s plane.
Looking for nourishment, I approached a sleepy lady behind the counter of an information booth. “Excuse me, but I woke up late and didn’t have time to shower, shave, or put on clean underwear. I was afraid the traffic here in Washington would be so heavy this this time of the morning that I would be delayed arriving here in time to meet my dad, who would have had a hissy fit if he had to wait even a second. He’s bad enough when he’s in a good mood, though that has been so long I don’t remember what that was like. However, I miscalculated, and there really weren’t many cars on the road, so I arrived here long before my dad’s plane is to arrive and that has left me wondering where I can find something to eat. Can you help me?”
The weary woman muttered, “We only provide information; you will have to go somewhere else for psychiatric counseling…SECURITY.”
Eventually, I found a coffee stand right next to the baggage carousel. I purchased a cup of coffee and an apple donut fritter as big as a catcher’s glove. I settled in the back of some alcove in the dark, among the extra food and cleaning supplies, to sip my coffee and munch my fritter until the plane arrived.
There were more security and janitorial personnel than travelers. As I sat there, it was all I could do to keep from falling asleep. That would not be good because I was tucked away in the back of a place where they kept unneeded supplies like hotdog buns. Judging from the looks of them, it could be months before they discovered my bloated rotting body if I were to expire like that bakery.
Some guy wearing a janitor’s uniform, who had been mopping the floor, also seemed to like the seclusion of this little hideaway because he began reclining on the seats opposite of me and was having a restful nap until another guy in a jacket and tie found him. I was out of earshot, but that is when I realized body language can be pretty expressive. The guy in the black windbreaker jacket, who could have been from the same ethnic persuasion as the other one, was standing in front of the younger guy, who was now sitting up.
The jacketed one had his arms spread out from his side with palms facing up as if to say, ‘Hey Mon, what de hell are you doing? U’r supposed to be cleaning de floor Mon.’
The janitor fellow, busted for napping on the job, assumed a bewildered look on his face, shrugged his shoulders, and loudly explained. “I can’t explains it Boss, one moment I be cleaning de floor like I always am doing, Mon, den da next ting u know ah was heer in dis chair an I didn’t know dat…till u was yelling at me Mon. It must be sum kind of extraterrestrial parallel co-existent transmutable transmogrification transcendental vortex…or sum sheet like dat…yeah Mon.”
The jacketed guy, obviously not convinced, launched into what looked from my vantage point like a long, protracted impromptu employee evaluation—otherwise known as an “ass-chewing.’ “I dunno wat ’de hell is wrong with you, Mon. If you weren’t my girlfriend’s brudder, I would be firing your lazy behind, yeah Mon.”
“What do you mean, Boss, I am always doing me job Mon.”
“Reely? ’Twas just last week u suppose to be emptying trash cans at ’de loading dock when I found u lying down underneath ’de ticket counter at Pan Am, Mon. U tell me dat you are secret agent for ’de Homeland Security…an u doing surveillance.”
“Yeah Boss, an you don’t know if dat ain’t true,” the young janitor said.
“Den Monday, I send you over to ’de warehouse to get cleaning supplies and I don’t see you for two days Mon. U tell me you fell into a time-shift paradox an was really here but just moving faster din ’de speed of light. Dat’s why I can’t see u mopping ‘de floor Mon.”
“Yeah dat’s right Mon, I was mopping my behind off…yeah Mon.”
“En now u tell me u get caught in some parallel vortex. What’s next Mon, are u going to be abducted by aliens so dey can do anal probes in yer rectum, Mon?”
“Next Tuesday, yeah Mon, I put in ’de vacation slip for dat already, remember…Mon?”
Marley, the Boss said “U come wit me Ziggy, I’m going to have u mop ’de men’s room where dare are no parallel universes or swirling vortexes or any aliens flying out ’ur butt Mon.” The two of them left with the janitor guy asking the jacketed guy if he’s still going to get next Tuesday off because he didn’t want to miss a good alien probing if he could help it.
Now I was by myself again, waiting for the plane, which was still an hour away. Alone with just my thoughts. What were my thoughts? Besides planning to have my anus checked for aliens: If I eat one more bite of this fritter, I’m going to puke.
My dad finally arrived…which is another story all together…yeah Mon.
M. David Lutz © 2025
CASH AND CARRY
The old pick-up truck bounced and swayed down a long, seldom traveled back road of the little rural township, violently rocking George Jenson all over the cab though he was unaware. Lost deep in thought about the financial problems with his business, he wasn’t paying any attention to his wife.
“George…George…GEORGE!”
“Sorry, dear…I was just trying to sort some things out in my head.”
“It ain’t going to do any good…if we end up in the ditch…dead.”
Martha wouldn’t be talking like that to me if she wasn’t worried about her medical appointment today. “Okay, okay, I’ll keep my eyes on the road. It’s just that ever since the big hardware store moved into town, our business has been going down. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hang on.”
“I know things are bad, honey, but we’ve been through rough times before, and we’ve always found a way.”
“Yeah and ‘…God helps those that help themselves,’ but for the life of me, I don’t know how we’re supposed to do that.”
“Oh, really. You have to be the most pessimistic man I know.” The rest of the trip to the clinic was made in silence.
“Martha, while you’re in with the doctor, I’m going to go over and look around at the mall. You can find me—”
“In the hardware department…yes, I know.” Martha said dryly.
George blindly walked past all the shops that held no interest to him until he came to the Home Improvement section and dove in, examining each item as if he were at the Smithsonian Museum.
“Hey there, old man,” Bill called out from the other aisle. “I haven’t seen you in a long while. What brings you way over to the big city?”
“Had to bring Martha in for her doctor’s appointment.” George didn’t want to talk about his troubles, but Bill was not only a good friend, he was the store manager. He had always treated George right by giving him generous discounts whenever he came in.
“Hope it isn’t anything serious.”
“Thanks.”
“You looking for anything special today?”
“Naw, with the business as slow as it is, it don’t make sense buying more inventory I may never be able to sell anyway.”
“Don’t be such a gloomy Gus. Things are gonna pick up; just have faith. Don’t mean to rush off, but I’ve got to attend a meeting. Let’s get together next week. I have an opening I want to discuss with you…alright?”
Happy to find himself alone again, George was content looking at tools and trying to forget his problems.
“There you are…just where I expected you’d be…”
“Hi, Dear…you done with your appointment already? She nodded, not saying anything. “Are you ready to go, or are you planning on spending the afternoon looking at all the fancy dresses in the ladies’ department?” He mocked, hoping to get a rise out of her, even though he made sure and smiled so she’d know he was just kidding. It was clear to see she wasn’t in the mood. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “What did the doctor say?”
She looked down. “Come on, we best be getting back. We got a long ride ahead…we can talk on the way.”
They had been rambling down the highway for a long time…Martha still had not said anything. George began to fear the worst, especially since she didn’t even make him stop for lunch at her favorite dinette, which she always insisted they did whenever they came to town. He thought to himself: I ain’t that crazy young fool anymore that pursued her until somehow I convinced her to marry me. Gosh, even after thirty years, I love her more than ever. I just hope she knows how much I care. Even if I sometimes fail to show it.
“I’m going to need an operation, [deep breath]. Doc said I won’t be able to put it off much longer…or…well…you know…”
George felt the blood draining from his head. He wasn’t ready to face living without Martha. He turned off the highway onto a dusty, bumpy road since it was the shortest way home. He was in such a fog he never saw the cow in the road.
“GEORGE, LOOK OUT.” Pulling the wheel sharply to the right, skidding sideways, they almost plunged into the ditch. He got out of the truck sweating and shaking, having to walk about until his heart stopped racing. He only took a few steps when he noticed a green trash bag almost completely covered with road dust. He was already in a foul mood, and the thought of folks coming through his community tossing trash out of their car windows did not help at all. On top of everything that had happened this morning…this really irritated him. In disgust, he picked up the plastic bag and threw it into the back of his pick-up truck, figuring he would dispose of it properly when he returned to his house.
George got around to doing some chores the next morning and remembered the bag of trash he’d tossed into the tool shed, intending to throw it away. Curiously, it was very heavy. He had not planned to open it, not wanting to be subjected to somebody’s smelly garbage, but a pang of consciousness compelled him to ‘Remember to Recycle.’ Opening the bag and seeing the contents made him clutch his chest and gasped for breath. He tried to call out for Martha, but he did not have the strength. His hands were trembling terribly and feeling so weak that he had to plop down on a bag of grain seed.
When he managed to stop shaking and was able to, he hauled himself into his truck and drove past the garden where Martha was tending her tomato plants. “I got to run some errands. I’ll be back later.” He didn’t even wait for a reply. He needed to find a place to be alone without prying eyes.
Turning off into the stand of trees at the end of his property, George dropped the tailgate, and after looking carefully to make sure no one was around, he dumped the contents of the trash bag onto the truck bed. The stacks of money, looking like green bricks, were more money than he’d ever see in two lifetimes. Rubber bands held each bundle together. He started trembling again when he counted more than five hundred thousand dollars, which wasn’t even half of what was there. It’s hard to be exact, but I figured there’s got to be more than a million dollars here in twenties, fifties, and hundreds. He looked thoroughly but couldn’t find even the smallest clue as to whom this money could have belonged to or how it got to be by the side of the road.
George surmised It is a cinch this money was not thrown away, but for some reason, it was ditched…literally…tossed into a ditch, undoubtedly, to be retrieved later…but by whom—that is the million-dollar question. George laughed at his little pun. Further speculating, The money could not be from a legitimate source but had to come from a robbery, money laundering, drugs, or some other illegal activity. It is a given that whoever was involved had to be an unsavory character. Were they being chased or followed and tossed the sack before they got caught? What if something happened to them, and they were never coming back? That thought gave George pause, considering all the possibilities. Never have cared much for mysteries, that’s Martha’s thing. MARTHA, oh man…I’ve been here for hours. How am I going to explain this to her? I’ve never kept any secrets from her before…didn’t need to…but this is different.
“Where have you been, Mister? Supper has been ready for over an hour.”
George pulled his chair up to the table…the aroma of Martha’s homemade bread always lifted his spirits. After his second helping of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, he felt more like talking. He began nonchalantly, “Dear, have you ever thought about what you’d do if you had a lot of money?”
“Now, Honey, just because times are tough, and we’ve got to come up with the money for my surgery…I don’t see any point in wasting our time on some foolish fantasies.”
“Aren’t you always saying you want me to talk to you more—”
“Yes, but—”
“So humor me. What would you do if you had a LOT of money?”
“Oh…that’s different, I suppose.” Martha’s face lit up, “If I had a lot of money…wait…that would depend on how much money now, wouldn’t it?” She was grinning.
“How about a million dollars…is that rich enough for ya?” George was really enjoying this.
“Oh my, that’s more money than I’d know what to do with…” George shot her a look that told her to keep going. “You’re going to think I’m being silly, but every time we go to town, I find myself standing in front of the window of Milton’s Department Store looking at those fancy high fashion dresses, you know, the kind you’d wear if you were going to a country club or such?”
“Of course, I know…I’m the one who has to wander around for hours while you’re doing it.” They both laughed.
“Yes, but there is more. I’ve never told you, but why I take so long is because I always find myself imagining you and me dancing and having cocktails while listening to an orchestra.”
“Where are we when we’re doing this?” He was surprised…he had no idea she had such ideas.”
“After our dinner, it is so late, instead of going home, we go to one of those high-class hotels, where they carry our bags in for us. Our room is so beautiful with candles, and there are candies on the pillow.” Martha blushed, “The bathtub is big enough for the both of us…like I’ve seen on TV.”
As she was talking, George was filled with remorse, having never taken the time or even tried to set aside any money to do something like that. Especially now that he knew how much that would mean to her. I grew up being taught to be so practical with money—it never occurred to me to do anything like that. When he focused his attention back on her, she was still talking.
“…Besides the medical bills, I suppose we could put the rest aside for our retirement. What do you think about that? Did that answer your question?”
“Martha, come on out to the shed with me. I want to show you something. He escorted her out the back door and walked her to the tool shed. Pulling back the tarp next to the lawnmower, George stooped over the old trash bag, reached in, and then stood up, holding packs of money in both hands…grinning from ear to ear. Martha’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head as she stood there frozen for what seemed like forever. “I swear, woman, this must be the first time since we got married you’ve had nothing to say”
Clearly enjoying the moment, George began to dance a jig around the little shed, bumping and knocking stuff all over the place.
When Martha could speak, she exclaimed, “Where on earth did all this money come from?”
“Remember when we stopped on the road…I thought someone had pitched their trash into the ditch. I brought it back to dispose of it.”
“George, put it away; I’m going to put on some tea. I need to think about this, and my knees are shaking…I’ve got to sit down!”
While he preferred coffee, at the moment, that didn’t matter as he squinted with each sip. “I counted it this afternoon. There is over a million dollars there.”
“How long do you figure the bag has been on the side of the road?”
“I don’t think it could have been there for years, but being on a back road, it could have been there for some months, possibly.”
“If it belonged to one of our neighbors,” Martha questioned, “wouldn’t we have heard something by now?” She loved a good mystery and was visibly jumping into this one with both feet.
“If someone around here had been saving that kind of money under their mattress, they would have to have started before the civil war; besides, the bills aren’t that old.”
“Drug money!” Martha blurted out, looking alarmed, “or money stolen from a bank by gangsters.”
“Yeah, I thought about that.” George frowned, “The bills aren’t new, and there are no bank bands on the stacks of cash, which kinda means it wasn’t stolen from a bank, and if it were stolen, you’d think we’d have heard something.”
“Not if it were stolen on the other side of the country and the crooks were passing through.”
“Then how did it get on the side of the road?”
George had not seen her this excited about anything for a long time…even more than her TV mysteries. No doubt, it was taking her mind off her needed surgery. That was something to be grateful for.
“I know! They were running from the cops and threw it out, so if they were caught, they wouldn’t have any evidence on them?”
“If that were true, wouldn’t you suppose the cops would have thoroughly searched the area?”
“Maybe,” Martha grinned, unable to hide the sheer enjoyment of the conversation.
“If they were robbers, wouldn’t you suppose they would have returned for the money as soon as they could? Can you explain that …Miss Sherlock Holmes?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they all got arrested or something and are in jail, serving twenty years to life.”
Even though he was getting tired, especially after all the news and excitement, he would not quit until his wife was ready. “If that was true, Mrs. Mystery Solver, don’t you think they would have arranged for someone to come get the money instead of hoping it would still be there twenty years later?”
“Hmm,” She was so cute when she scrunched her face while thinking. “There was a big shootout, and fortunately for us…they all ended up dead.” Martha slapped the table, giggling at her own cleverness.
“Woman, you’ve got to stop watching so much TV!” She still knew how to make her husband laugh out loud when she wanted to. She kept on long into the night, offering one theory after another in favor of keeping and spending the money until she became exhausted and fell asleep right there on the couch.
He could have carried her to bed since, due to her illness, she did not weigh that much anymore, but he didn’t want to wake her. He tenderly covered her with a blanket, taking a long look at the face of the woman who had stood by him through thick and thin, never complaining, never making any demands. She had always loved him just as he was. He softly chuckled: Between the two of us, I sure have gotten the best of the bargain. One thing is for certain: I’d do anything I could for this woman. He turned off the lights and went to bed—with a…million…thoughts…running through his head. [pun intended]
George was fixing breakfast since he had not been able to sleep. Martha appeared in the doorway, still wearing her clothes from the night before. “I was trying to decide whether to wake you or just let you sleep.”
“It’s hard to sleep with the smell of coffee and bacon in the air,” she yawned and stretched. “What’s gotten into you, Mister…you haven’t made breakfast in years.”
[Deep breath] “We can’t keep the money.” He blurted out resignedly.
“But George—”
“My mind is made up; I’m going to turn it over to the police.”
“Maybe no one will claim it.” Her face brightened, “Maybe there is a reward for turning it in.” She was still going on and on even as he went out the door to the shed to get the trash bag with the money.
As he started down the road, the wheels in his mind were turning faster than those on his truck. What if I turned this money in and the police started asking me a bunch of questions? What if the crooks that lost it came after me for turning it in? What if no one did claim it and they gave it to me…then the gangsters or, even worse, everyone I knew in town would show up looking for a handout? That thought made George slam on the brakes, causing the truck to skid off the road. Call it coincidence or fate, but he was in the exact spot where he found the trash bag in the first place. He slid out of the truck, paced back and forth a few times, then proceeded to put the bag back on the side of the road, even kicking some dust back on it, just the way he had found it. Quickly, he climbed back into the pick-up and sped off.
Martha had dinner ready, waiting for when he got home. “What happened at the police station?” She asked sadly, “How did it go?”
“Didn’t make it to the police station,” George mumbled as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink, not wanting to turn around and face her.
“That’s wonderful! Now we can do all the things we talked about!”
He sat down quickly and started eating. Between bites, he said, “I put the money back…right where I found it…on the side of the road.” George couldn’t help thinking, This is the second time I’ve seen this woman speechless, but I’d best not be making any jokes about that right now.
“Pass me the gravy…please,” Martha spoke sullenly, not looking directly at him.
Dinner passed in silence. He excused himself to read his paper in the living room like he always did while Martha washed the dishes. Eventually, she came in and sat down beside him. “I’m not mad,” Martha sighed, “I know it was best, but now I don’t know how we’re going to manage—”
“We’ll get by…we always do, you’ll see. I think Bill is going to offer me a position. I can sell our business, and with our savings, we’ll be okay.”
Martha patted his knee, “I suppose so.” He heard her sigh again.
“What is it?” He saw a tiny tear roll down her cheek.
“Oh, never mind…”
“Really…what is it?”
“Now, we might never get the chance to have that night on the town, with the dancing and dinner, and me wearing a fancy dress and sleeping with you in a big hotel bed.”
“You really wished you had all those fancy things?”
“No, George. She sounded slightly exasperated. “That’s not the point. It was the idea of you and me going on a sort of honeymoon that we never got to have in the first place. You know…um…[sniff] before it’s too late—”
George reached around the side of the couch and handed her a large white box with a red ribbon and bow. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Martha squealed with glee.
“Open it and see.”
Inside the box was the gorgeous black satin evening dress, the same as the one in the window of Milton’s Department Store.
“And look here—we got reservations for a whole week at one of those luxurious hotels on the beach; we even have to take a plane to get there.”
George studied Martha as she sat there with her face once again all scrunched up in thought. At least now I know how to render this woman speechless… trouble is, it takes a whole lot of money. He laughed.
She still couldn’t speak, but her pleading look told George she was asking, ‘How can we afford this?’
“I told you I put the money back, and I did, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to keep enough for the surgery…and well…enough to make…one of your dreams come true.”
Martha threw her arms around George, holding him close…making him realize he was still…a very rich man after all.
M. DAVID LUTZ © 2024
A REAL HEAD CASE
While reading the paper the other day, I came across the following article, which gave me a headache:
‘…Airport baggage screeners found a human head with teeth, hair, and skin in the luggage of a woman who said she intended to ward off evil spirits with it and was charged Friday with smuggling a human head without proper documentation.’ Associated Press: Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
As this story kept rolling around in my head, I realized the actual crime was immigrants who are always coming to America to get a head. It is time to stop such people from reaching our shores empty-headed. This woman, maybe a little ahead of her time, unselfishly used her head, planned ahead, and brought her own head. She is certainly ahead of her peers, ‘head ’n shoulders’ above the rest, possessing a good head on her, and is ahead of the pack with a huge head start.
She should enjoy a certain degree of success because, as everyone knows, ‘…Two heads are better than one.’ She might even sign up with a headhunter to find a good job unless she loses her head if officials confiscate it. This would be unfortunate, for as we all know, ‘…a mind is a terrible thing to waste.’
I stumbled upon another article, again from the Associated Press, which told the fate of this woman. Some deal was made with some levelheaded authorities who would allow her to stay in the country, though there was still the question of transporting a head without the proper documentation and packaging. As I understand it, the reason this head-strong woman got over her head and got in trouble…over her head was because it was improperly stored. You would think when purchasing something like a head, which can cost an arm and a leg, you would possess the clearheadedness to call ahead to speak with the head salesperson at the Head Shop to find out, ‘…How to transport a head properly when traveling abroad. In hindsight, this whole incident could have been headed off, if the woman had not been such a chowderhead.
Only charged with a misdemeanor, the Court ruled, with its heart and not its head over this issue of the head. ‘… A verdict was reached in the head smuggling case, a Haitian woman facing federal charges after a human skull with teeth, hair, and skin was found in her checked luggage, may avoid deportation in a deal reached by attorneys,” said her lawyer. Associated Press: Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
Surely, the head supplier for this Haitian woman facing federal charges after a human skull with teeth, hair, and skin was found in her checked luggage should have known the proper method to store a head and the permits needed. If you ask me, this woman should file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau and have it sent to the head of the company, wherever it is ‘head-quartered.’ They should see to it that whoever is responsible—heads will roll. Just remember, if you are going to travel to the United States…with your head, use your head…make sure to file the appropriate documents and properly store your head in something like a Tupperware Lettuce-Keeper Crisper. Not only is it a proper container, but as per the commercial jingle:
♫ ‘Tupperware, Tupperware It’s the best thing you can buy, ♫ Tupperware, Tupperware It will keep your head so fresh and dry. Just press down on the center ♫, And you’ll hear a little burp that means your Tupperware is sealed and at work. ♫ Tupperware, Tupperware it’s the wonder of the age Tupperware, Tupperware It will last you for a lifetime, or until you are dead…like your head.’♫
Just when I thought I could put this whole thing to rest with the heads, putting the headline behind us, another story appeared. ‘…Haitian police discovered seventeen human skulls on Saturday in a wooded area in an upscale suburb of the capital, according to officials. Witnesses said at least some of the skulls were tossed from a moving car on Saturday morning. “It could be a homicide,” said a spokesperson, for Haiti’s National Police. “The forensic scientists will have to analyze the skulls to find out what happened to those people because it’s very curious that we found them all in the same place.” Associated Press: Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
Some witnesses were saying that heads were being tossed from moving cars. The police chief said it could be a homicide but urged everyone to keep their heads until forensic analyzed the heads to see why they were not still attached to their bodies.
Headquarters of the Brain Trust’s, ‘Meeting of the Minds stated, ‘Well, things have finally started progressing for the citizens of Haiti. You want to go to this place if you want to get a ‘head. They are so plentiful; all you have to do is look along the side of the road and pick one up.’
Authorities are trying to figure out why seventeen heads were together in a wooded area in an upscale suburb of the capital. Maybe these were ‘Heads of State’ on a retreat? Wasn’t there a rock group called the ‘Talking Heads;’ this could be members of their fan club. In my opinion, I think seventeen heads altogether without one functioning brain between them sounds more like a session of the United States Congress.
The police think it is curious that they would be all together. For me, the answer is simple: ‘…When you have no body…why not hang out with others who have no body? Maybe this was the inspiration for the song:
♫ ‘You’re no body, ’til some body loves you.
You’re no body ‘til some body cares ♫
You may be a head, of a company, possess the world and it’s gold,
♫ But it won’t bring you happiness when you’re growing old
The world is still the same, you can’t change it ♫
As sure as the stars shine above
♫ You’re no body ’til some body loves you
So find yourself some body to love. ♫
At least seventeen bodies are out there looking to get a head. Why would the Haitian National Police call in someone from the Serious Crime Unit?’—yeah, mon.
Throwing something from a moving car onto the highway is littering, not a felony. I suppose if the original owners of these heads were not done with them yet before they were beheaded, that would make it a crime. Now that I think of it, why do we say ‘be-headed’ instead of ‘de-headed.’ Be-headed sounds like a good thing. Those seventeen headless bodies would love to be ‘be-headed.’
The head of the police is baffled, unable to make heads or tails of this mysterious case of a collection of homeless heads. The head of forensics said it would be a while before they knew the cause of death. Obviously, he wasn’t using his head when he said that. Even without a medical degree, I am positive the cause of death would have been approximately the same time when the head stopped being connected to the body, wouldn’t you agree?
It is also easy to determine which of the heads were male and which ones were female…[wait for it]…the female heads were the ones with the mouths open.
The police believed it could be a homicide. The police aren’t using their heads, either. You don’t have to be ‘Columbo’ to know that heads just don’t fall off due to natural causes. Another idiot, who was clearly not using his head, said, “We cannot rule out suicide.” Whoever that was, I could do their job, I am sure of it. Suicide…you’d have to be one tough hombre to kill yourself sawing off your own head. Even if they had managed to pull that off…er…I mean…cut it off. That would not explain how their body wandered away after it killed itself, and its head ended up in the woods. Witnesses said they had seen heads being tossed out of moving cars…and God knows we’ve all had to deal with drivers on the road driving without using their heads…
The evidence is being kept in a refrigerator because, as the Chief of Police said to the press, ‘I don’t want to have to deal with a bunch of ‘hot’ heads on this case. While two heads were generally thought to be better than one, this case has changed the opinion of the Haitian National Police. Everyone involved said, ‘Seventeen heads is definitely not a good t’ing…yeah mon.’ Officials are going to have to put all their heads together to get to the ‘bottom’ of this.
Haiti, apparently, is not the only place where people are losing their heads. There was an incident when a truck driving through Texas was stopped, and the driver was detained by the Highway Patrol for ‘deadheading’, which is the term for when a commercial truck driver must complete a trip without any paying passengers or freight. However, in this case, the driver was ‘deadheading’ with twenty-four human heads in the back of his truck.
This also could apply to when fans of the Grateful Dead are ‘deadheading’ back to their homes because they ran out of money buying beer and dope. The tractor-trailer truck was speeding down the road at 2:30 am, headed for the border. It was pulled over for a routine traffic stop. The driver was acting suspiciously, failing to keep a cool head. That is when the cops discovered two dozen human heads in the back. When the driver couldn’t produce any documentation showing why he was hauling the deadheads, he was detained until they could contact the headquarters of the company the driver worked for. The head of the company was able to provide the proper documentation on corporate ‘letterhead,’ that stated the heads had taken part (unknowingly and more likely unwillingly) in medical training and were now headed back to Little Rock, Arkansas, the home base for homeless heads. Subsequently, the driver and his heads were released on their own cognizance. The police determined that no crime had been committed. However, they did feel the heads were being mistreated by the way they were being transported. They were stacked on top of one another in a produce crate without any kind of wrapper. The police strongly felt that a Tupperware Lettuce Keeper Crisper would have been appropriate. The police thought it showed great disrespect but didn’t make a big deal out of it. They did not want to appear as a bunch of ‘hot’ heads. The whole incident could have been avoided if the company had used its head and given the driver the documents to transport heads.
Lately, it seems there is a big demand for bodies. Many organizations are trying to stay ahead of the competition, employing headhunters to put them ahead and trying to keep their heads above water. However, it is still illegal to sell human body parts. A director of a university personally found that out when he was busted for running an illegal body shop–—selling human remains. I think someone needs to check all the ‘headshops’ that have sprung up recently, especially in San Francisco.
On a parting note, it was good to hear that some of the heads in this story found employment when they were cast in the movie, ‘8 Heads in a Duffle Bag.’ I just hope their new stardom…doesn’t go to their heads.
M. DAVID LUTZ © 2024
