robotnik2004 | You Don’t Smell-a So Good-a You-self!

Originally published at Route 96. You can comment here or there.

(Some jokes have to be made, regardless of quality.)

Eureka Springs is a bizarrely upscale little town nestled in a steep Ozark valley. We had dinner there at an Arkansian-Greek restaurant (tsatsiki n’ grits, squirrel souvlaki, that sort of thing) and were serenaded by a buskin’ banjo-iste whose $100 hiking boots belied his Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel get-up. Hick chic, if you will. Still, I can’t deny he was a-pickin’ and a-grinnin’.

Did I mention that Arkansas was hotter and wetter than the Devil’s bum-crevasse? As we sat down to eat, Peter saw fit to inform us that he was “stewing in his own juices.” Numerous appetite-dampening quips ensued. Among the printable: Derek’s “I make my own sauce.”

What’s Your Frog Fantasy? or, Ring that Goddamned Bell!

Our colorful native guidebook had told us that Eureka Springs was the site of the Frog Fantasies Museum, home to Gladys Smith’s (any relation?) collection of over 5,000 frog-related knicknacks, gew gaws, and curios. But, like Rick in Casablanca, we were misinformed: some time since the book was published, Mrs. Smith had–wait for it–croaked. (IS COMEDY ROBOT THANKING YOU! ARE TO BE TRYING PLEASE THE VEAL!) So we were forced to make do with our own froggie fantasies. There was a Historical Bell Museum in Eureka Springs, with over 6,000 bell-related knicknacks, gew gaws, and–well, just bells, actually. But it smelled kinda funny, so we ended up saying the hell with it.