New headquarters of the Oregon chapter of The Institute

Day 11 Rest & Rehabilitation

Today was spent in cleaning out and burning the few personal effects left from our missing crew members.  Old ginseng wrappers and cans of open beverages with unreadable labels. Remains of old unidentifiable meals that looked organic in nature but frankly could have been anything. Even a few pitifully constructed weapons in the form of sharpened sticks and socks filled with gravel that had been hastily constructed for the ill-fated mutiny that was put down by my trusted but now missing head of security, Big Lemon Kowalski. Remembering the carnage brought about by that big toothed but lovable lug, brought a warm glow of remembrance.

I found a few poems written by our Candace Flavours, known to us as ExcuseMeMs for most of the trip, that she had written to Big Lemon. They were so warm and caring they nearly brought a tear to my eye. Thinking her cold and callous and well, just plain mean, I would never thought her capable of harboring such tender feelings. Here is a partial excerpt from one.

My dearest BLK I love you mostly for your big yellow tooth

And not because you won’t wear your shooths

and tho I love your tattooed feet

they are less fragrant, but you know that, my sweet

I want you always to be mine

Or I will kill you

Love, your candy buttons

There was more, running on page after page ad nauseam, but they are personal and I shan’t share any more of them with you even if you were to pay me money in the form of cash, check, or money order, as I have too much respect for her now that she is gone. They were tender and moving and in some cases extremely explicit in nature, with many of the acts so detailed and graphic that they could only have been Chinese because of all the perverted stuff that comes out of that godless mis-begotten country, but no matter how much you beg, cajole or send me large amounts of money in the form of cash check or money order, I won’t budge. I mean it, so don’t ask.

Now that I seem to be bonding with my new site manager and his lovely wife I am beginning to feel the loss of my last two crew members, less and less each moment . In fact our new Mrs. Assistant Site Manager made us an extraordinary home-cooked meal tonight in which I may have over-indulged somewhat, and being in the throes of calorie saturation found myself unable to remember what, old what’s her name looked like. Or that monkey-faced big toothed baboon she had been mooning over.

Perhaps I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Day 12 New Digs

Today was a new day and a fresh start. After convincing our newest major employee to give up that tissue sample and DNA material, I assured him that we would cover all his legal expenses if any thing were to come of our future business dealings. Fortunately he didn’t ask me to sign any documents attesting to that fact so we headed off to look for a suitable site to create our new headquarters. It wasn’t long before we noticed this incredible find. It was remote, had a single power-line coming in, and seemed mostly abandoned so we proceeded to acquire it under the Oregon law of Finders Keepers.

Giddy with our initial success we immediately began to make plans to get started with the remodeling needed to keep wild animals out until winter made it too difficult for them to brave the storms and attempt to gain entrance.

First on the agenda, besides breaking down the front door to gain entrance, was to begin making notes for the materials needed to secure the premises from, like, the afore-mentioned wild animals and possible old owners who may be testy due to their poor planning and could be lurking around to cause mischief in one way or another. So it was lots of fast scribbling and quick note taking as the ideas poured forth in a flood of enthusiasm. Luckily our new assistant site manager knew how to write, so much progress was made this morning. Soon trucks bearing loads of flattened cardboard boxes to replace missing window glass and magic markers to write warning messages on the cardboard saying “Don’t Even Think of Coming In Here” and “Stay out! We mean it” and other cryptic messages such as

“The State of Oregon allows the use of deadly force in the protection of private property if the new owners, hereafter called the squatters, deem it necessary to keep out previous owners, hereafter known as previous owners, who didn’t think it was a good idea to leave someone home to protect the property they have now lost.”

would be arriving if they could ford the creek and climb over the snow fence. Of course the drivers would have to be blindfolded to protect the location of our newest headquarters but that was a surmountable problem.

There were many other tasks to be taken care of such as finding out why there were so many bleached bones lying about the well, and what was that black crust around the edge, and why there was that persistent scratching sound coming from behind that locked door leading to the basement. We decided that it was nothing as the low guttural moaning that accompanied the scratching was receding, and it appeared that what ever it was seemed to be going to sleep for the night.  We decided to leave the new Assistant Mrs. Site Manager there overnight to guard the place as we needed to get back into town and round-up some of these supplies and to make sure we had a hot meal in preparation of the next days activities. We left her with a flashlight, the .22 with the few shells we had left, a power bar and the warning not to open the door to the basement.

I had few qualms about leaving them in the morning as I had to continue my journey homeward the next day. They seemed more than capable and I was sure if Mrs. Assistant Site Manage was ok in the morning all would go well and the newest site would be up and producing useful data soon.

The journey was soon coming to an end and I was already waxing nostalgic about it but there were at least two more days to get home yet so anything could happen. Tomorrow I would enter Utah and head South. Stay tuned.