It’s well know around Licketyville that Speechless Henry Cavett has always had a thing about puns, which Doug Larson calls “the lowest form of humor, unless you thought of it yourself.” With no larynx, delivering his puns has gotten tougher for Henry. But not impossible.
It’s less well known around Licketyville that Henry also has a thing about leather underwear. His thing is that he crafts it: all custom, one-off items. Sells them on the web, mostly.
Friday, he brought in his latest work in progress. Most of this particular item was a “V” of shiny red-orange leather with a curly letter “H” spelled out in rhinestones and silver studs. The rest of the item was two skimpy bands of same-colored leather attached to the “V” in the usual places.
“Very, uh…nice, Henry.” I had a hundred questions, but didn’t ask any of them.
This morning, Henry showed up with a brand new cell phone, one of those jobbies with a built-in digital camera. Hmmm.
A while later the Today Café received a rare visit from Helena, Hell-for-short, Frome, none other. The Demon Stylist of Licketyville was all smiles as she tucked her compact little self into Henry’s booth. Wasting no time on pleasantries, Hell stuck out her hand. Henry nodded, fished something out of his inside pocket and set it on the table. His new cell phone.
While Hell’s forehead went into Heavy Frown, Henry scribbled something on his spiral pad and handed it to her. The frown deepened, but Hell cupped her hands over eyes and allowed herself to be surprised.
The red-orange thong was the next thing to emerge from Henry’s pocket. No plain brown wrapper, no nothing. Henry tapped Hell on the elbow.
For just a moment Hell stared down at the table.
One hand had crept halfway to the thong when Henry’s cell phone went off. I don’t mean rang, I mean “went off”. Henry’s phone has a ring tone that sounds like a string of firecrackers. I couldn’t follow the flurry of action except for the thong flying off the table and into the aisle.
Everyone in the Today Café saw what happened next. Hell slid out of the booth, bent down and snapped up the thong. As she was bending over, Speechless Henry pointed the cell phone at her, clicked it once and then innocently put it to his ear.
Hell stood up, the tiny thong crumpled in her fist. Realizing she had an audience, Hell bowed, turned back to Henry, kissed him on the cheek, dropped an envelope on the table and hip-wiggled herself out of the Today Café. Whew. Dodged a bullet there.
Meanwhile, Henry caught my eye and gestured. On my way to his table I picked up a ginger sesame scone as a Demystification Offering. As if to clarify, Henry held out the cell phone. The tiny color screen was dominated by Hell’s tidy derriere. About the only other thing visible was her arm reaching toward that overdecorated snippet of leather.
“So? What am I supposed to be seeing? I’m lost here, Henry.”
Henry winked and held out his spiral pad. “Hell, bent for leather” was scrawled there in big letters.
Recalling one wag’s definition of a pun as “a short quip followed by a long groan,” I did my very best to stifle a groan. I hope you would have, too. Any of us could be his next target.
QUOTE OF THE DAY: “The goodness of the true pun is in direct ratio to its intolerability.” -- Edgar Allen Poe
Be good today.
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