Owen’s wife collected things. She attended all flea markets and garage sales within a fifty mile radius of the homestead. Every auctioneer in the state knew her on a first name basis. It seemed like everything she bought went into the garage. It go so bad Doug had his choice of enlarging his home to accommodate all of the junk or throwing something away.
Doug sent his better half out of town so she wouldn’t know what was happening, rolled up his sleeves and started cleaning out the garage.
One of the items he found was a peculiarly shaped brass pot. Doug thought: “What the hell, maybe it’s a magic lamp. I’ll give it a couple of rubs and see what happens.” So he did and to his surprise nothing happened. He threw the pot into the trailer.
When he had a full load, he went to the dump. The pot was in one of the armfuls of trash Doug grabbed from the trailer. It fell to the ground as he made his way to the edge of the landfill. He didn’t want to drop everything and try to pick it up so he started kicking it to its final resting place. On the fourth kick, a cloud of colored smoke came out of the pot and a genie materialized before him.
“Just a minute,” said Doug. “I rubbed that pot three times and nothing happened. What’s this all about, anyway?”
“Well,” responded the Genie, “there’s been a change in the rules. The union met last year and we decided to switch from three rubs to four kicks. You see, everybody and his brother caught on to the three rub routine. Every time anyone saw anything made out of brass, they’d give it three rubs and we’d have to come out.
“There was no place to hide. We were being called on right and left. We were being worked to death - and the wishes we had to fulfill! Do you realize bust measurements averaged 28 inches before all this magic got going?”
“Oh, I’m not interested in stuff like that,” said Doug. “I’m too busy hunting and fishing and building ice shanties and tying flies and . . .”
“Not another outdoors type”, groaned the genie. “Just my luck. I’m getting awfully sick of having to produce trophy specimens for you guys. Last year’s world record black bear almost ruptured me.”
“O.K, O.K,” said Doug. “Just give me the standard three wish package - power, a million bucks, and a cabin on a trout stream.”
“You’re my kind of guy,” said the genie who then got a funny look on his face and began to sweat and grunt and make dreadful noises. He got a little indistinct, slowly turned into colored smoke and disappeared back into the brass pot.
Doug didn’t feel any different and began to think the whole episode was nothing but a figment of his imagination. When he went home to get another load of junk, the telephone rang. It was the Governor who announced Doug had been appointed to fill the unexpired term of a Senator who had just been executed at the federal prison.
So Doug packed up and went to Washington, D.C. It was not a happy time for him. Doug wouldn’t take bribes, sell influence, cheat on his expense account, file phony election funding reports or take kick backs from his office staff. This was a terrible precedent and when the other members of Congress found out about it, Doug was ostracized. Some tried to have him impeached for conduct unbecoming of a Senator.
The folks back home liked Doug. He became popular. When he came up for reelection, they showed their esteem and appreciation by soundly defeating him. You see, political office is conferred upon people the voters don’t like. They give the bum a job on the condition that he leave town and live in the capitol. A defeat at the polls is like a pardon.
Back at home, Doug was in more trouble. The Internal Revenue Service wanted to know where he got the $1,000,000 that had been deposited in his name in the local bank. A review of his previous income tax returns gave no hint of how he could accumulate that amount of money. They wanted to know where it came from.
When Doug came forward with the story about the genie, the IRS didn’t hesitate for a moment. They charged him with perjury, trafficking in drugs, all unsolved bank robberies and defrauding the government. As a result of all this, the Democrat Party considered him qualified to run for Governor, but Doug declined the nomination.
When the dust had settled and Doug paid the fines levied by the judge and the unpaid state and federal income taxes, together with the interest and the penalties, he had just enough money left, after selling his homestead, to pay his attorney.
With his reputation ruined and his finances in shambles, Doug remembered his third wish, the cabin on the trout stream. He searched through the safe deposit box and, sure enough, there was the deed to property in an area known for its fine trout fishing. Having had enough of civilization, Doug grabbed his fly rod, jumped into the 4-wheel drive and headed for his fishing property. He left the highway and followed the two rutted road until he saw a new cabin appearing through the evergreens.
And he lived happily ever after?
Don’t be ridiculous.
As advertised, the genie had given him a cabin on a good trout stream. That was the problem. It wasn’t near a good trout stream, it was built on a good trout stream - right smack dab on top of it.
When Doug was unable to produce either a building permit or an Environmental Impact Study, the Department of Natural Recourses and the Environmental Protection Agency brought charges. Doug was forced to admit building in a flood plain and impeding the navigation of a stream. He was found guilty and sentenced to five years in Philadelphia, without time off for good behavior.
MORAL: Don’t clean out your garage.
The Will of Carmichael
I, Carl Carmichael, being of reasonably sound mind and knowing that eternity is long and life is short, especially if I keep hanging around that bunch of Wolf River trout fishermen, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament.
ARTICLE FIRST
Being of said sound mind, it is my intention to spend all of my money during my lifetime and be flat broke at the moment of my death, thereby cheating my doctor, my lawyer and the funeral director out of fat fees. However, it’s possible I may not live out my allotted three score and ten years and, instead, meet an untimely end before I can use up all of my assets.
If there is anything left over when I go, I direct my Personal Representative to vigorously resist payment of any claims against my Estate. Did it ever occur to you that the reason these debts haven’t been paid is because, during my lifetime, I considered them to be unjust, improper and/or outrageous? - like the debt I’m sure Jack Allord will try to collect.
Last November, I paid the farmer eight hundred dollars just because I shot his cow by mistake. Allord made me sign a note for the three hundred dollars I had to borrow in order to make the full payment.
Well, it was Allord who insisted we have a couple beers before heading back to deer camp and it was Allord who stopped the car when we saw those big eyes shining at us from over what turned out to be the manure pile next to the barn. Any right thinking person would know Allord was more to blame than I.
O.K. Allord, put this in your pipe and smoke it. I purposely misspelled my name when I signed that note. I direct my Personal Representative not only to resist any attempt you may make to secure payment of the note, but also to visit the District Attorney and swear out a Complaint
