|
 Dewey Decker showed his new business cards to the
other guys at the Mule Barn Truck Stop’s philosophy counter, and
each member of the world dilemma think tank got to keep one.
Steve, our owlish-appearing cowboy, scratched his head as he studied
the card.
“Okay, Dewey, I’ll bite … what’s a verm-a- ….?
“Vermiculturist, Steve,” Dewey said, proudly. “It means I raise
worms.”
Dewey, the beloved accident-prone member of the think tank, began
his new career with just a shovel and his pickup, spreading manure
in people’s yards. Now, thanks in great part to the genius of his
girlfriend, Emily, (she of the magnificent cheekbones) he was
earning a decent living. Back when they fell in love … and that’s
literally, because Dewey tripped. She took this crash-and-burn
disaster and molded him into a multi-dimensional businessman, while
still keeping him away from sharp objects or things that crush.
Dewey has branched out now into compost, worms (excuse me …
vermiculture) and fertilizer tea. The tea goes on the lawn, not in
the tea cups.
“Dewey,” said Doc, “this vermiculture stuff now … how much work is
it, really?” [to top of second
column] |
“That’s the good part about it,
Doc. You see, I don’t have to do anything at all, really, except
keep them in … product, you know. They reproduce without any outside
help, and turn manure into the best compost in the world. Then you
can sell them to other people to work their compost piles, or to
fishermen.”
“Well, Dewey,” said Herb, “it
looks to me like simply being a vermiculturist doesn’t really cover
the subject. Wouldn’t those red wigglers also make you a
compostocologist?”
“Hadn’t really thought about …” Dewey said.
“And when it comes to selling them to fishermen,” Doc said,
“wouldn’t you be an ichthymasticatiousdietician?”
“I … I …”
“Yes, Dewey?”
“I refuse to be anything I can’t spell.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to
you to honor those masked folks who wait on us in the coffee shops
and take our temperature at the doctor’s office. Thank you for your
courage.
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