Season THREE – Episode 04 – “A snowballs chance in hell”

Mr. Vincent Pardon… As it turned out…  Was quite congenial. Immediately after both sides of the Anne Murray 45-record were played, both Rusty Flathers and Professor Cosmoid Scale were released from the Language Director’s room. Both men were also ecstatic, thinking there was not going to be “a snowballs chance in hell” of getting out of that room without fully memorizing (at a minimum) the chorus from each tune.

Then they returned to the front lobby where they were surprisingly and boisterously greeted with applause by a generous cluster of Custom and Immigration officers. Their temporary non-resident status had been approved… Each was granted a six-month work visa… And all the while a gathering of custodians commenced to sing the Canadian anthem in D minor. Their pitch was spot on flowing effortlessly in a slow and methodical manner.

Rusty was verklempt with the attention as he realized his dream of starting a new career at a remote fishing camp located in Northwest Ontario was officially going to begin. Even Professor Scale appeared to have a lump in his throat as the final words of the song rolled off tongues and an overly large gift basket was bestowed upon them as part of the finality to this welcoming ceremony.

“Off with you two,” announced the Port Director. “We’ll be looking forward to hearing aboot your successes at the completion of this summer’s fishing season!”

“Welcome to Canada,” Rusty thought to himself while glancing at the rear-view mirror, departing the border and continuing their merry way north to Lac des Bois. Meanwhile, Link was content chewing on his Jackie Loonsuckle voodoo doll (previously stashed under the bench seat of the pickup truck) and Professor Scale tore into the gift basket.

“Wow, can you believe it Rusty!” exclaimed Cosmoid. “Look at these fantastical presents!”

In no particular order he began removing the items and inspecting each on an individual basis. First was a container of Tim Hortons original blend coffee. HIGHLY caffeinated read the label. Perfect for early morning wakeup calls at the fishing camp.

Next there was a Jokari racket game. And even though fishing would be the priority, each gentleman agreed that some outdoor recreational fitness at day’s end would be a welcomed opportunity.

Then there was a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey puck and a Justin Trudeau keychain. Each garnered simultaneous shoulder shrugs but were still appreciated.

A bag of Lays Ketchup Chips, included in the basket, was then split open and examined with both a sniff and a tip to the tongue for a taste. Link took a hard pass… Rusty choked on a singular chip… Cos then floated the balance of the bag out the window of the Chevy truck, as a gratuitous offer to feed any would-be ravenous Canadian ravens.

Crown Royal… YES, each agreed this bottle of liquor would be an excellent treat for evening campfires. Conversely… NO they were not seeing value in a bottle of Escuminac Maple Syrup. Rusty had forgotten to pack hair gel with his personals… Hypothetically this could be used to hold his curls in place… But neither of the men were ignited by the thought of tackling a stack of buckwheat pancakes.

Then there was a packet of St Hubert poutine gravy mix in a biodegradable container that seemed appropriate. Although gravy with French fries made more sense right now for Rusty. Especially when he had just lost his proverbial cookies earlier that day at the Customs and Immigration building when he had been overpowered by the lingering smell of vinegar.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm… Delightful. This was the consensus in the cab of the truck as the traveling trio shared morsels of a Coffee Crisp bar.

And finally… A unique Canadian bottle of Caesar cocktail mix. Ontario’s version of the Bloody Mary. This would be a fine complement for Cosmoid’s spirit animal—Grey Goose (vodka).

A hundred and twenty-three more kilometers would put them on the north shore of Lac des Bois near the town of Jackfish where their mainland dock was located. Numerous more supplies were scheduled to be waiting for them.

Meanwhile, with wheels down Sally was making a final approach to the runway at Perth International Airport. Her flight had been turbulent, there was minimal relaxation as sleep would not come to her, and the overall length of the flight had proved exhausting.

This sluggish mode would have to change and change quickly as she snugged down her Soaker wide brim sun hat and caught two sets of peering eyes in the reflection of her Maui Jim Good Fun Fashion mirrored shades.

“Awfully earlier to be starting these fun and games,” she thought to herself as the rubber of the plane’s tires greeted the landing strip. “I’m gonna have to shake these two goons before I get out of the airport.”

There was little intel about The Kraken. Thus, Sally’s mission involved tremendous difficulties. She had been hired (triple-top-secret) as a private gun, on the down-low, by the Commonwealth of Australia to seek out the individual and or individuals who were believed to be in control of the actions of this monstrous sea creature. A very similar scenario, and one Sally Squatsnfishes knew quite well, relating to her previous experience with the destructive Mangrove Killifish.

The most intimating factor? The Kraken soared below the depths of the ocean floor at speeds of more than 90.8 kilometers per hour and or 49.03 knots. This was an incredible speed knowing that the fastest existing underwater military vessel was the Soviet K-222 Submarine that taps out at 82.8 clicks which equates to 44.7 knots per hour.

Size was another immediate fear factor. The mangrove killifish that Sally had previously slayed was very near a thousand pounds (dry weight) when they hung him up with a crane at the town square. The Kraken, according to local observers (517 survivors on the attacked ship HMAS Victoria) guessed this real-life creature was approaching FOUR-THOUSAND-POUNDS.

First things first… Sally secured her backpack by latching the shoulder straps at midsection and finagled her way to the front of the exit line. There was not “a snowballs chance in hell” the two clowns in her review of the Maui Jim’s would keep pace with her through this airport.

–            To Be Continued –