Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #87

Despite this ill-advised early publicity shot, the automotive industry still managed to gain traction. In the background, Henry Ford curses the day he decided to hire family members in the promotions department just to keep the peace during holiday gatherings. He turns in disgust, ready to slink away, when he suddenly realizes that the spokes-cousins have forgotten to turn off their primitive microphone in between floor shows. Naturally, he decides to eavesdrop, because this is America, where apparently other people’s business is your own.

Vidalia, left: “I hate this stupid car. There ain’t enough room up in there for me to get my long gun hitched up right when I want to shoot me some buffalo.”

Flatsy, middle: “Well, you know how cousin Henry is, with all his patent things, makin’ things harder than they have to be. He’s just bitter cuz he didn’t come from the pretty side of the family like we did.”

Nutella, right: “Yeah, they come up with some butt-ugly kids on that side of the tree, pure root rot. My momma says it’s cuz great-great Uncle Tobias kept his clan holed up in the Shady Pines and never let nobody come into town. I bet you there was a lotta cross-breedin’. No wonder cousin Henry has that twitch.”

Vidalia: “I hear that ain’t the only thing don’t work right with him. I hear he got a tiny distributor cap, if you know what I mean.”

Flatsy: “What do you know about distributor caps? Word at my house is you like intake valves and you never wear any drawers.”

Nutella: “Now, Flats, ain’t nothin’ wrong with people bein’ fond of different parts. I been known to look under different hoods in my day. But that ain’t the problem. The problem is that cousin Henry makes us work for a livin’. He’s got tons more money than he needs. You see any Vanderbilts whorin’ themselves at this here auto show? No, you don’t. They’re all at the country club, suckin’ on sloe gins and gettin’ their feet rubbed. That’s where we should be.”

Vidalia: “Wait, you tellin’ me that we got Vanderbilt kind of money? Well, don’t that beat all.”

Flatsy: “We ain’t go nuthin, Vi. He thinks just cuz he made all that money that he don’t have to share. That ain’t right, him thinkin’ we should do our part. He’s already got the money, why we gotta do anything? With my beauty, I shouldn’t be plunkin’ my ass on a sideboard. I should be off yonder in Hollywood, makin’ love to Mr. Ramon Navarro on the silver screen.”

Nutella: “That’s just terrible, Flats. I can’t believe cousin Henry is keepin’ you from the hump of your dreams. It makes me so mad I just want to spit.”

Cousin Henry did not want to spit. But he was mad. And he was suddenly looking very forward to the family gathering on the Fourth of July in a few days. He was about to announce a new business plan, one that would streamline production even further, even if it resulted in fewer Christmas cards in December…


17 replies »

  1. Uh auto curtains? Nonpareil? Um. Aren’t nonpareils those tiny chocolate candies covered with bitsy pieces of crunchy white stuff?? Ho! I’m validated:

    having no match or equal; unrivaled.

    an unrivaled or matchless person or thing.

    a flat round candy made of chocolate covered with white sugar sprinkles.

    And focusing on the one thing that nobody else even considers as usual too. Your lucky day..

    Vidalia? She who sleeps with onions and therefore has to don masculine clothing to hide the fact that she does indeed wear no underwear. Everything smells of onions anyway, so she’s in no danger, but still C’Est la Vie, right?

    Flatsy. Um. Okay it’s less about the lack of boobage (I think in circa 1920 America tits were disparaged anyway, I mean look at the fashions of the time!), than that hair. Geezus Little Orphan Annie. Go home and get a proper bob ‘do! And take that sappy grin off your mug. It looks like you gotta pee real bad, but are unsure of whom to ask permission from…Henry is right behind you! I bet he’d grant you loo access, if only to keep his vehicle pristine..

    And lastly (never leastly) Nutella. Well one can forgive ‘her’. Who can succeed with a name comprised of bits of hazelnut and chocolate, mushed together into a gooey substance future people will gobble with relish? Not me, I think it looks disgusting and reminds me of something my infant nephew left in his diaper once…but back to the plastic girl. Photoshop and bad use of the blur tool are at work here. Maybe to hide the fact that Nutella is a mannequin (not live Pinocchio) grabbed from props after the real one didn’t show up for work. Again. Sloe gin was the downfall of many a lass, along with those pesky runaway marriages…

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m at a loss on how to respond to your insightful interpretation. I apparently only scratched the surface. You dug deep and you found the gold. I bow down to your intrepid CSI instincts. Wait, that sounds like a perfect idea. You should do a series on your own blog where you assume the role of a quasi-realistic CSI Department Head. As dramatic music plays, you stumble across odd bits of evidence as you bop around town, and you construct (somewhat farcically) what might have transpired that led to the questionable malfeasance. This could be brilliant or it could be insipid.You hold the fate in your hands… 😉


    • And it’s odd how everything looks photo-shopped even though PhotoShop clearly wasn’t around yet. This is probably somebody’s funky art project from 2013, but for now I’m claiming it’s the real deal…

      Liked by 1 person

    • Poor Nutella. Her antenna is clearly going out and we’re about to lose her reception. And, as Claudette graciously pointed out, she’s got that borderline creepy pompom on her head. Other than the envious musculature, it’s just not her day…

      Liked by 1 person

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