Ten thousand dollars? Dude, no one in this hammer mill has got that kind of money. At least … not that I’m aware of. Maybe Mitch is holding out on us. (He could be a counterfeiter, actually.)
Oh, hi. Just caught me in the middle of a little negotiation. I’m trying to work out the terms on a major purchase. What kind of purchase? Well, I’ll give you three guesses. No, not a PA system. No, not a hippie van with 3-D painted plaster sunflowers sticking out all over the place. Give up? I’m trying to buy a can of soup. Yes, one can of soup. Not the greatest soup in the universe, you understand … just your basic, run-of-the-mill lentil soup, the kind mother used to make … when she made cheap-ass canned soup.
Now, I know your next question is going to be something like, “But, Joe … why in the world would a can of soup cost ten thousand dollars?” Well, friends, I’m glad you asked. You see, it turns out to be true that it’s an ill wind indeed that doesn’t blow someone some good. The current pandemic crisis may have idled millions of workers, put bands out of business, and driven legions to the brink of poverty, but for some it is proving to be some kind of libertarian capitalist paradise. Scarcity, my friends, scarcity …. just drop by the local grocery store and you’ll see what I mean. You get there early, and the hoarding geezers have already ransacked the place. (Hey, anybody who wants to use “Hoarding Geezers” as a band name can have it, my treat.)
How will we afford $10K-per -can soup? Well, as you know, we are an idea incubator here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. We put our heads together (mind you, not too close together … no more so than six healthy feet) and came up with absolutely nothing. Then Mitch Macaphee, our mad science advisor, announced that he had secured a deal with the regional hospitals as an overflow site. I was scratching my head over this – how could anyone think they move keep people here without making them sicker? Look what this place is doing to us! Well, it turns out they didn’t want extra space for people … they wanted extra space for medical waste disposal. Mitch is going to cash in … and we’ll have dump trucks loaded down with spent hypodermic needles backing up to the courtyard entrance.
A bunch of spent needles in the courtyard? Who would be surprised by that sight?
Oh, hello, cyber-surfers. You find us in one of life’s most humble pursuits: making a substandard dinner. That’s the kind we like here at the Cheney Hammer Mill – far preferable to no dinner at all. In case you hadn’t guessed, soup is on the menu this evening, and inasmuch as we cannot afford that ultra-haut cuisine canned stuff you probably enjoy, your stalwart friends in Big Green are making it from scratch. And when I say scratch, that’s no euphemism. As I mentioned before, elbow grease is a euphemism, and one that should never be an ingredient in home made soup. Though, sadly, it is now part of ours. Another reason why it’s best not to have Marvin (my personal robot assistant) help with such tasks. (He just had his elbows re-greased, as it happens.)
Enough about dinner. What else is happening, aside from the fabrication of inedibles? Not a lot, my friends. Just keeping body and soul together, that’s the long and short of it. (We’re a little longer on the short of it, truth be told.) Started some projects, but have yet to finish any of them. We do have a song due out on a compilation CD – a fundraiser for Haiti relief – which is supposed to be out any day now. (A little late on that one.) That’s a new recording called “Only You,” one of Matt’s numbers. I’ll post a link when it finally sees the light of day. Either that or we’ll drop it into the soup and have you take a bowl home with you. Talk about rich! It’s soup you can dance to.