Tarzan's Tripes Forever, and Other Feghoots

The Web's Original Shaggy Dog Story Archive

An Alaskan Honeymoon

Category: Rated PG-13

Jeff sends us a contribution from the UK. The punch line is not a common saying in this country, but it is reasonable to figure out. Thanks, Jeff.

Ernie lived in Alaska. A lonely life among the snow and ice. He owned a small but comfortable hut which he had built himself but which he longed to share with the love of his life – whom to date he had not found.

However, a sprinkle of fairy dust, a whim of Venus, a random whisper of good fortune from the Fates – whatever it was, it led Ernie one day to a local arts and crafts gathering in a nearby town. And there she was – across a crowded room, demonstrating her igloo-building and advanced sleigh-tuning and maintenance skills. Bells chimed within them both and some weeks later – and somewhat more audibly – within the small church where their troth was plighted (or their plight trothed – whatever).

Reader, I draw a veil over their nuptial bliss. Suffice it to say that the ecstasy was such that the following morning, although Ernie was awake and eager to pursue the delights of the flesh once more, his beloved Mermintrude (for such was her name, though in truth it matters not) was deep in the arms of Morpheus (not the local bartender, merely the god of slumber). Saddened and dismayed, Ernie brought out his 30,000-piece jigsaw of the Gobi Desert and began looking for the corner bits. Mermintrude slept on late into the morning. Gradually his absorption in the challenge of image reconstruction became such that he failed to notice that outside the heaviest snowfall in Alaska’s history was rapidly blotting out the landscape and all within it, including Ernie’s hut. Still Mermintrude slept on. With a start Ernie realised that all was dark and silent outside – not with the onset of eventide, but with the mass of snow which now entombed him in his tiny but fully paid for abode.

After much calling up the chimney, rattling of pots and pans, emitting of smoke signals, and – when all else failed – dialling 911 on his mobile phone, Ernie at last secured the attention and succour of the local Dig-U-Out rescue service. The shovel manager was intrigued to establish how it was that Ernie had simply – apparently – allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the elements in this way. Ernie explained over his phone about Mermintrude’s indolence, though he did not – out of a laudable sensitivity towards his beloved -mention his own herculean amatorial exploits of the previous night, nor her rapturous response and consequent exhaustion.

Shovel #2 – ever eager to know the backdrop to the emergencies they attended – enquired (digging the while) of his superior how this odd context had come about. Enlightenment dawned as he heard the simple but oddly poetic explanation: “It’s her long lay-in that has snowed Ern in….”

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