The Ungettable Joke

By Dave Squires

A disheartened high school math teacher and a NASA engineer are dragged by mysterious events into a hilarious hunt for the ultimate joke.

Bill is a young high school math teacher, struggling with lack of inspiration. Dave is a journeyman NASA engineer, about to be married, and worried about losing his freedom. They don’t know each other, but both of them are being plagued by mysterious, whacky, reality-shattering events they cannot ignore. While seeking answers, they run into each other and decide to work together to find the source of the bizarre happenings.

When they are hospitalized after blacking out from unknown causes, they are chased by the FBI who suspects they might be involved in a cultist drug ring. After a narrow escape, they follow inexplicably provided clues that lead them to the Giant Sequoias National Park. There, a park ranger disappears in connection with the dangerous effects that now follow them wherever they go, and through a spectacular scene they are presented with a strange inscription that accelerates their search for answers. They encounter many strange characters, and discover one of three mysteriously powerful amulet pieces that seem to be the source of everything that is happening.

Now, Bill, Dave, and a crazy archaeologist are also the targets of cultist zealots who seek to possess and assemble all three pieces of the amulet, and wield the power within them -- and the cultists are willing to kill to get what they want. Bill and Dave must forget the possibility of normal life, evade the FBI, and prevent the cultists from gaining the power they seek.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Squires
• Release date: Jan 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9780615438030

Dave Squires

Bill and Dave are former college roommates who started this book many years ago, exchanging chapters for fun. The Ungettable Joke introduces a book series of humorous adventures that will lead you into a world of metaphysics linking scientific and spiritual realities. Bill teaches High School math, and Dave is a satellite project manager and systems engineer.

Book preview

The Ungettable Joke

Bill Dargen & Dave Squires

Published by William F. Dargen and David D. Squires at Smashwords

Copyright © 2010, William F. Dargen and David D. Squires

Discover other titles by Bill Dargen and Dave Squires at:

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ungettable

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

1 The Wake-Up Call

2 Two’s a Crowd

3 To Get, or Not to Get?

4 Mission Ungettable

5 A Gasser for Bill

6 Bigheaded Bob and the Medicine Tree

7 Mocularity

8 Into the Woods

9 A Goose in the Hand

10 More Than Dis-Appears, or There Cheetos Again

11 Lunch at the Low IQ Café

12 A Young Man’s Fancy

13 It Don’t Get Weirder Dan Dis

14 The Albino Peacock

15 Cave of Blunders

16 A Jury of Your Piers

17 Return of the Mod Squad

18 The Trick about Being God

19 The Big Joke

20 The Reunion

21 Over the River

22 Escape

23 The Haze

Acknowledgements:

We would like to thank all of those who remained silent when we told them about this book. We would also like to thank those who felt compelled to tell us what they really thought. Thanks especially to all who allowed us the time to work on this, and to those who took the time to read it and provide their valuable insights (Doug(s), Deeg, Stephanie, Tony, Gerald, Ryan, Aimiee, and those who wished to remain anonymous – perhaps you are the wise ones!)

Prologue

Gentlemen,

This letter might be too late to be of use to you, but I felt I must convey the contents of a particularly worrisome vision I had some time ago. I intended to divulge it to you earlier, but the truth is I simply forgot to mention it. Something more important always seemed to come up, or I would be interrupted by one silly thing or another. But, perhaps I should get to the point.

I entered this vision in the usual way, just as you have previously observed, and I was in that trance-like state over which I have no control. In the vision I witnessed a rather one-sided argument -- a severe and demeaning brow beating is a more apt description I think. Here is how I remember it.

Take it! a man said. Go ahead. I know you want to. Take it and die! I warned you that none can wield its power but me.

I did not know the man doing the talking, but I now know the man he was talking to. It was the man I came to know as Manash, a shaman of the Chimchuk tribe.

The unknown man continued. You ignorant cave painter. You can fool your superstitious people, but you’re no more than a child to me.

Dressed in his shaman’s robes, Manash stood motionless. Only his eyes showed a spark of life. The speaker, in an impeccably tailored modern suit, strutted around the old man. I had not seen this frightful man before this vision. I hoped I would not see him again.

Now, from here on gentlemen, and for simplicity’s sake, please allow me to call the modern man Francois. Of course I don’t know his name. I’m just saying, for the purpose of even this brief story, it would get rather tiring if I were to continuously call him ‘the other guy’ or something like that, so let’s refer to him as Francois. Although, I don’t want you to think that he was French. In fact, he had a rather bland American accent as far as I could tell.

I will not have you doubt me, Francois went on. If you think for a moment that I am just another sham of a shaman like you, if you think you can so much as touch this amulet and live, then do it now.

It was as if I was watching a movie. I was but a ghostly observer, unnoticed. The scene was a large city park, perhaps Golden Gate Park in San Francisco or someplace similar, and the two men were alone.

Manash, seemingly hundreds of years out of place, shuddered at the rumbling of large trucks, and the clanking and crunching of construction machinery nearby. When his head wasn’t jerking left or right in reaction to the strange sounds, his eyes darted between Francois’s face and the amulet.

Francois then held the amulet toward Manash at arm’s length. Take it!

Although Manash was clearly distraught, I detected something else beneath his rattled surface. Some calculation evolved behind his eyes.

You know who I am, don’t you? You know what I can do, what this amulet can do to you? You’re just like all the others. They all bowed to my superior mind. They hung on my every word. But you, really, how much smaller you seem to me. It’s as if you’re an insect crawling at my feet. You think you can lead your tribe? You’re not even fit to polish my shoes.

Francois’s eyes were afire with some insane intellectual brilliance. But, I wondered how he could not see what I saw in Manash? Despite the fact that Manash could not understand the English being spat at him, Francois continued to taunt the apparently overwhelmed Chimchuk. He stepped toward Manash and thrust the amulet at him again, now only inches from his face. It was a degrading exhibition, Francois, so totally confident of his supremacy, and attempting to cement it in the mind of the old shaman. Manash fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands.

Francois bent over Manash. That’s right. Francois hissed in his ear. Now you’ve got it. Francois relaxed his body language as if he was half-drunk, and stood upright, gently tossing the amulet up a few inches and catching it. Now I think you’re ready to go home and keep your place.

Manash dropped his hands from his face and slowly stood, hanging his head. He appeared ready to accept whatever Francois would do to him. Francois smirked smugly, and casually tossed the amulet up again. It never came down. Manash seized it midflight. He quickly stepped back and in a blink he was gone. Francois stood alone in the park, bewildered, surprised and marooned. But, rage appeared to grip his face just as the vision faded.

Well gents that is the entire vision. As I said, it happened long ago. I still don’t know who this character Francois is, but I now believe he is attempting to contact me. If I am correct about his communications, this man is dangerous, and very devious. Be wary of new acquaintances, no matter how innocuous, and please contact me to discuss this as soon as possible.

Anxiously awaiting your reply,

M.

Chapter 1

The Wake-Up Call

(Bill’s Journal, a Thursday in August)

It was the summer after my sixth or seventh year of teaching. As a math teacher I was easily capable of computing the figure more accurately, but it just didn’t seem to matter much. Still, if I were forced to expend my scarce reserve of enthusiasm to calculate it, I suppose I’d guess it was more like eight years. At any rate, the last year had been long enough to count for more than one if necessary.

Normally, the summers held a wide variety of attractive diversions that served to refuel my energies for the next school year. As a bachelor, my only responsibility was to my landlord, and I had saved more than enough during the year to afford three months of relaxation. This summer, however, had been painfully slow. No backpacking. No water-skiing. Only an occasional day of golf on the local public course, and even that offered little pleasure.

I felt drained and uninspired. There was no doubt in my mind that this malaise stemmed from the previous school year. It had been filled with a contentious school board election, math department power plays, and stand-offs with administrators. All this was a bit of a rude awakening to me. I had maintained, naively, that politics could not snake its way into a simple man’s life. I had always thought of myself as a simple man, and I liked that description.

I thought I had chosen a profession devoid of self promotion and its attendant corruptions. This was clearly not the case. I wondered if any human endeavor is free of politics, or if I would someday simply become the next moron dedicated more to myself than to getting the job done. For me this year had been, I suppose, a coming of age, or at least a coming to grips with the responsibility of being an adult. One of those responsibilities, I have found, is to distrust the other adults, lest ye be led to the slaughter without so much as a moo.

On stagnant August evenings like this I usually found myself sitting quietly. On this evening, as on many others, I was aware of the familiar droning sound produced by my seventies-vintage Frigidaire. But, on this particular evening I was unusually aware of it. The baritone hum had always been capable of blotting out the din from the street below and the rattling of pans in adjacent apartments. This night, however, the neighbors offered no competition, and the streets were unusually calm. The still atmosphere served as a stage for one voice alone. The Frigidaire soloed captivatingly.

I was aware of the mesmerizing effect and gave in to it willingly. There was some calm to be gained there, some clarity found as the mantra carved a path into my subconscious mind.

The thought of being back at the chalkboard, putting kids to sleep through the power of mathematics, faded into the background. GPA’s and placement tests, superintendent and principal resumed their proper priority, and I began to feel a little free inside.

I recall scanning the contents of my one room bachelor pad through bleary eyes, developing no alternative course of thought. The telephone wasn’t ringing. The television had been broken for a month. Even a stack of Miles Davis CD’s couldn’t lure me from my state of mind.

The anesthetizing pulsation of the refrigerator persisted until all else receded from my consciousness. As my mind emptied, a subconscious entity started to rise to the surface. It gave me an uneasiness, almost enough to bring me out of the trance. Some thought, previously hidden, was beginning to take form. As I attempted to focus my attention on it, the thought would flit away, retreating into a mélange of trivia and anxiety.

What fearsome memory could this be that I could not extract it from its concealment? Surely, I thought, it’s no more than the insecurity that resides in us all. But, it was more profound. I knew this had a depth that reached to the core of my being. I began to shudder at the possibility of facing it.

I felt that I should try to resist the hypnotic induction of the Frigidaire’s hum, but I had given up too much of my will to it, and it continued numbing the outer layers of my consciousness.

A sense of panic overwhelmed me. In the solitude of my room, lit only by the waning sunset, the guttural moaning of the refrigerator forced me, racing, into the recesses of my mind.

My body started to shake and I felt the tangible world receding from my senses. All but the droning of the refrigerator slipped into darkness.

I listened intently, as the familiar rumbling now became foreign. In that once vacant sound I now struggled to resolve a voice, a message somehow entwined in the rumbling growl. It seemed to beckon me closer as I sat on the edge of my bed with the appliance hidden yards away behind a wall.

I struggled for reality. If not real the voice was powerful, for it gained a presence. I felt as if it was guiding me by the hand to the very source of my fear. The voice intensified, mesmerizing, yet still unintelligible.

Desperate for sanity I opened my eyes, but found myself staring into stark, glaring, whiteness. I had no sense of my body, where it was, in what position. A sense of acceleration overwhelmed me as I felt myself thrown into the blank whiteness. I became like a speck of dust driven by a powerful wind. In the distance objects began to take shape, coming into focus as I raced toward them. The voice continued to bombard me through the pulsating drive of the refrigerator motor.

The objects floating in the whiteness became more familiar as I closed in. They were not part of some ghastly other world. They belonged to me. I knew them well, as if I had seen them daily. First one, then others, emerged from the blur. A ceramic tomato, a plastic miniature Hershey’s chocolate bar, and a can opener became crystal clear in an instant.

They were refrigerator magnets and I suddenly realized my face was on the brink of impact. The noise reached a deafening level, and all at once -- Thud. In a sudden rush I became painfully reacquainted with my body and all its senses. As I recoiled from the crash, my knees buckled and I collapsed on my back in front of the refrigerator.

The floor was refreshingly cooler than the air hanging over it. Exhausted, I lay there for a moment to regain my composure. There was no sound in the apartment. I had a sense of disappointment mingled with the relief I felt as the wild ride came to an end. Having survived such a frightening, mind bending ordeal, I felt no closer to understanding the mental plague I was under.

Staring up at the ceiling, I took a deep breath, and then raised myself up on my elbows to face the refrigerator. The door swung open on its own, the little light bulb flashed on and off, and an unmistakable chicken squawk came pealing out: Buck, buck, buck, buckawww. The door slammed shut.

That was it; show over; barnyard sounds; Old MacDonald had a refrigerator, e-i-e-i-o.

Sitting on the dingy linoleum in the dark kitchenette, I needed a flashback of what had just occurred to bring me fully back to consciousness. After recounting the events to myself step by step, the bizarreness of it all settled in and I felt very uncomfortable staying in my apartment. I had to get the hell out of there.

I took one last glance over my shoulder as I went out the door, not even taking the time to close it behind me. For lack of a better destination, I instinctively started walking toward the mall. I wasn’t interested in sharing my adventure in appliance land with anyone, but the anonymity of mixing among the herd felt safe.

With the few dollars I had wadded in my Levi’s I bought a pizza dog and lemonade, and made them last as I watched the shoppers mill around. I relived the whole event from beginning to end trying to determine if it was real or a hallucination. Having been only a toddler during the sixties, I didn’t really know what a hallucination was like.

Curiously, I felt physically and mentally revived. Somehow, I had climbed out, or had been kicked out, of the rut I was in. Maybe I was in the final stages of mind loss, but I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t understand what had happened, but I began to feel a resurgence of energy. Unbelievably, the last chicken-like utterance of the refrigerator had somehow made sense to me.

In fact, just prior to the squawking, as I stared into my somewhat barren refrigerator, with its light flashing, I even anticipated what would happen. I had a momentary visceral knowledge that the refrigerator was about to tell me something important, and I knew it was going to be a chicken noise. So, when Buck, buck, buck, buckawww came out, it seemed like the only logical conclusion to the episode.

The clattering of huge roll away gates coming down in front of the mall shops awoke me to the fact that mall security would be kicking me out in a few minutes. It was 10:00 PM. I went outside and sat on the curb in the parking lot. Primitive priorities of food and shelter forced me to consider going back to the scene of the crime. Only a random car every few minutes broke the silence as I shuffled toward home.

I considered going somewhere for help, but the idea seemed preposterous. To whom would I go with such a tale? Parents were definitely out of the question. They had suffered too long raising me to deserve being burdened with a cock-and-bull story like this. They deserved better. Perhaps a friend would understand, I thought. But, it just wasn’t in me to appear so helpless. I couldn’t show myself all freaked-out and confused to anyone. I was still unsure if all this was the creation of my own mind, or if this experience came from an outside source. I needed to get a handle on things myself before anyone else could have a crack at it. That left me with no other option but to go back and face the fridge. I was on my own. And so, I walked slower.

On the way I looked with suspicion at every traffic signal, and steered wide paths around mailboxes. I had a whole new reverence for inanimate objects. I swallowed hard as I finally arrived and stood at the bottom of the stairs in my apartment complex. I started up. I wouldn’t usually characterize myself as a hero, but I am a firm believer in mind over matter; and in this case, I guessed, maybe mind over mind.

I went right in, and found the room the way I had left it, looking like it had been ransacked. Seeing that all was normal, I edged toward the small kitchen area. The refrigerator was back to its usual droning and showed no signs of life.

A manly man, I thought, would open it up and get a beer if he were thirsty. If I were only thirsty, why then I’d waste no time showing this appliance who the man of the house was. Fortunately, I just had a truly satisfying lemonade merely hours ago.

As far as I can see, there’s really no reason for me to ever open that refrigerator again. It’s at least twenty-five years old and a manly man would demand that the landlord replace such an unsightly heap at once. A somewhat more sophisticated manly man would even offer to pick up half the cost.

Convinced of my logic and manliness I began backing away. Then, I looked down and noticed a few white chicken feathers strewn about the floor. I didn’t have a down jacket or down pillows, didn’t keep pigeons, and shopped at Albertsons where the chickens came fully naked. These feathers didn’t belong to me and I wasn’t interested in finding out where they came from.

On the way out I moved slowly enough to grab an entire drawer of clothing, my wallet and the car keys. Once in the car, I thought that I might have overreacted to the feathers on the floor, but I did 80 all the way to the Los Angeles County line anyway.

Obviously, it was time to get out of the house and into some new surroundings, so off I-5 and up highway 99 I went, to the Sequoias. Every summer since I became a teacher I’d found my way into the mountains for some serious communing with nature. Maybe I only needed to clear out the cobwebs with some fresh air. After a week of building up my strength in the mountains I’ll be ready to go back and conquer whatever goblins remain in town, I thought. So, with that resolve I continued down the highway, my eyes peeled for a 24-hour cafe.

Chapter 2

Two’s a Crowd

(Bill’s Journal, Very Early Friday Morning)

It’s un-neighborly to walk into a truck stop at 2:00 AM and sit anywhere but the counter, so I sat and I spun my stool around to face the conventional condiments and napkins configuration. I had a neighborly smile on my face and exchanged Hey there’s with the waitress as she handed me a menu. There is something gratifying about being pleasant to strangers as long as they understand the limits of the relationship.

I was deciding between an enchilada omelet and an open face roast beef sandwich when the squeak of the door and a cool gust of night air ushered in another road-weary customer.

A cozy booth would be just the ticket for that aching back. Go ahead; sit over there, far from me. He took no heed of my psychic messages. OK, at least use the other end of the counter. Oh please, leave at least three, two, oh please leave at least one empty seat between us.

No amount of extrasensory coaxing could him deter from making a beeline to the seat right next to me.

This guy clearly does not understand the proper boundaries of stranger relationships.

His Hey there and hearty grin seemed to go way beyond neighborly and border on buddy-buddy. I didn’t want any company, didn’t want to chit-chat, and had too much on my mind for whimsical conversation. As harmless as this guy might have been, I felt as though Pee Wee Herman had just sidled up next to me and winked.

Determined that no one would interrupt my contemplation, I now gave the intruder my best one two punch.

Surely the body language of a one-eyed glance and a half-smirk nod would not be wasted on this fine fellow. Certainly, he would recognize the demeanor of a tortured soul in need of isolation.

This Visalia? he asked. I nodded.

Three Rivers down the road here? -- him pointing, me nodding, my head sinking lower and lower. It is Pee Wee. Couldn’t this guy take a hint?

What’s the matter? Chicken got your tongue? he snortled.

That was too weird. I’d never heard anyone use that phrase before, replacing cat with chicken. I froze, looking down upon the Formica countertop, wondering whether he had said what I thought he said, or if I was having traumatic delusions. Images of my refrigerator covered with feathers raced into my mind. It infuriated me that this guy had brought the whole thing back to the surface. My anger immediately boiled over and I turned to finally give Mr. Can’t Mind His Own Business an eyeball-to-eyeball stare.

I snarled and twitched as my gaze penetrated directly into his cerebral cortex. He looked back, saying nothing, perplexed but still cheerful. His failure to retreat only angered me more, and my irritation quickly boiled over.

What is that supposed to mean? Why did you do that chicken, cat, swap thing? I blurted.

Whoa, I didn’t mean anything by it; just came out that way, he said.

Well you shouldn’t just throw in chicken references so casually. You should be more careful.

Why?

Suddenly I felt about as rational as a cheerleader picking out pom-poms. Although I must have sounded like a blithering idiot, the stranger gazed at me as if awaiting a great revelation. Feeling terribly awkward, I went on.

Because… well… I could think you meant something by it. You just never know these days.

I caught a strange glance from the waitress as she pretended to fill the salt shakers nearby. She quickly turned away, heading into the kitchen. A scan of the restaurant produced only one couple in a booth, ten yards away, staring right at me and snickering.

I imagined the cook might soon be out on the highway waving down the CHP if I continued to carry on