The Ballad of Silver Penny Slackjaw

Martyrs of a Forgotten Cause

Cumgather round the cracklin fire of Camp whilst I melodize for your post-prandial pleasure the legend of Silverpenny Slackjaw.

The Life and Times of Silverpenny Slackjaw: Part One: Originations
Silverpenny Slackjaw (born Baronness Barence von Böttshingle) began her life in the provisional town of Stavenport, Sweden, a waterlogged villa that abutted the maritime borders of Denmark, Poland, Germany, and what was then known as an overreaching but treacherously cunning Estonia. Composed entirely of sodden newspulp and flagging helium balloons, Stavenport was a town with an unsurprisingly short history and an even shorter future. Its residents were few enough to be counted even on Silverpenny’s famously foreshortened fingers: there were the von Böttshingles, Slackjaw’s mother and father and nominal rulers of the Stavenport archipelago, such as it was; there was Henrico, the foreign fishmonger, newsboy, barista and local architect; and there was the army of black, white, and pepper-colored cats who called Stavenport their home and relied on its ink-dyed islands for camouflage while they hunted the minnows and finches native to the geography. Slackjaw did little to distinguish herself academically. At the age of twelve, she took her first apprenticeship, studying abroad under a Copenhagen cobbler…

the majority of Silverpenny Slackjaw’s legendary early history has been excised from this account

The Life and Times of Silverpenny Slackjaw: Part Twenty-Seven: Dipsticks and Derringers
Before long, Slackjaw found herself a true queen among the New World desperados. Multi-volume encyclopedia sets have been devoted to her exploits, all mysteriously vanished in the Great Wipe of ’82. The hirsute annals of her history have since been relegated to the mimetic memories of ranging gaucho bardchefs such as myself. I present to you this evening an abbreviated (like her famously foreshortened fingers) history of the greatest extralegal crime deterrent ever to have sauntered these plains. Highlights include:

*Silverpenny Slackjaw’s famous duels, ’12-’14
*Signposts of the Flesh: a journey across America with SS’s illegitimate offspring
*a humorous anecdote concerning flapjacks
*a brief interlude on fingerpipe
*Follicles of Power: Silverpenny Slackjaw’s excessive hirsutism
*SS’s famous duels, ’21-’23
*Martyrs of a Forgotten Cause: Silverpenny Slackjaw’s lost hats
*Wind-Tossed Flora of the West
*an appeal on the subject of Global Warming
*Q&A with the bardchef

Weenies and beans will be made available upon request. May the bonfire of her legend never die.


More Brad Crumbs

Brad Crumbs in his most famous role as Guatama Buddha.

Stay away from my Brad Crumbs!

Since when were you so obsessed with Brad Crumbs?

A tiny army of Brad Crumbs.

Spanko my panko.

I wasn’t always a 5-Star Restaurant Chef specializing in Brad Crumbs. I was once a lowly firefighter.

That’s when I realized: When the going gets tough, the tough get Brad Crumbs(tm).

Did I ever tell you about the time I met Brad Crumbs at the 24-Hour Drive-Thru Carwash Parlor?

This story is not for the fainthearted or fashion-minded. It contains Saw-quality levels of gore and is just generally unpleasant and uninteresting. I was 16 years old and in the bloom of first romance, working for a disgraced surgeon who had discovered a way to synthesize a better penis enlargement pill from the glands responsible for the registering of pain in the human body, so it was my job to extract those from unsuspecting partygoers and then subject them to a series of stress tests before cherrypicking the best and ripest pain receptors for my employer. We had discovered jointly that the ideal canditates for these kinds of experiments were high school athletes: their glands were young, not yet beaten down by alcohol and steroid abuse, and they were used to pushing themselves to their pain threshold on a daily basis. We employed a process we had dubbed “waterfall-chasing,” after the TLC song that was popular at the time. What we did was, we scouted out the teams at regional football games, looking for weak links like drug abusers and bitter bullying victims. We would then lure them to the local carwash by inserting a suggestive message into their lockers, tailored to fit their vices. After drugging the boys but before removing their pain receptor glands, we would force them to send a Facebook blast out to another low-ranking member of the team advertising an after-hours party at another covert spot, where we would carry out the same process again, picking them off like dominos before it became overly apparent that the first boy had gone missing. Once we had cleared out the entire team, we moved our operations to a new location. For this reason I spent the latter stages of my youth being educated in the “school of hard knocks,” as they used to call it. I also picked up an impressive fluency in medical terminology from the disgraced surgeon, all of which is gone now. As a matter of fact, my only clear memory of that time was my bizarre meeting with then-forgotten actor Brad Crumbs, which I am about to relate.

Brad Crumbs in his other most famous role, “The Clowner” from CSI Miami.

I have mentioned that I was in the bloom of first love. Her name was Carrie, and she was the younger sister of the star quarterback of the Wolverinas, the varsity team of the town we were currently targeting. (In case you were wondering, that is not a typo. The Wolverinas’ mascot was a morbidly ugly werewolf-like creature in glittery, plum-red lipstick and a frilly pink tutu. Although it does not feature in the story I am telling, I heard that they had to put it down a couple of years after all of this happened, when they caught it installing pinhole cameras in the boys’ locker room. It mauled 3 campus security officers before it was finally subdued.) Carrie was also the secret lover and public property of the selfsame star quarterback, as evidenced by the appalling “tramp stamp” that declared, in 12 languages, his ownership of her body and soul. This, I don’t have to tell you, simply would not stand. For one thing, I had discovered, via an underground website maintained by the Wolverina itself, that the boy’s package was comically small and featureless, almost doll-like in appearance. I had been partaking of the disgraced doctor’s secret serum since I started working for him, so by that point my own anatomy was capable of swelling to skull-bludgeoning proportions. I quickly devised a plan to murder/humiliate Carrie’s brother and demonstrate my own sexual superiority all in a single blow, so to speak. Without seeking the disgraced doctor’s approval, I elected Carrie’s brother, Cary, as the first candidate for local gland extraction. This was to be my downfall.

The meeting place was Sudsy Sal’s 24-Hour Drive-Thru Carwash Parlor. I was wearing my usual costume: cowboy boots, surgical smock + paper mask (the disgraced doctor knew where to get them cheap), yellow dishwashing gloves, DJ headphones, and fluffy bunny rabbit ears. The DJ headphones were to protect my ears, which I had found was the first place high school varsity football players will go after when you are trying to drug them at a secluded carwash parlor. Cary showed up at the appointed time, but there was a snag: He had brought his sister! Of course; she was his property. I had it in writing, same as everyone. Still, I hadn’t suspected it, and I was still working out how to react when Brad Crumbs drove up and demanded a wash!  I was starstruck. I had seen all his films, from The Time-Travelling Nutjob to Mussolini’s Carrier Pigeon. And comically, he had mistaken my athlete-drugging uniform for that of a carwash employee! What did I do? I gave him a wash, of course! Only, as it turns out, it wasn’t his vehicle he was interested in washing…

(TO BE CONTINUED)


Brad Crumbs

Cheaper than a pile of Brad Crumbs.

Brad Crumbs

His face and mouth were covered in Brad Crumbs.
Tossing Brad Crumbs to the birds in Central Park.
The pudding was made of eggs, milk, vanilla, a little cinnamon and, of course, Brad Crumbs.
There is nothing more irritating than finding Brad Crumbs between the sheets.
Keep your kitchen free of Brad Crumbs—they will attract mice and other vermin.
Brad Crumbs in your hair.
Brad Crumbs between the couch cushions.
Can somebody explain why I am always finding Brad Crumbs in my pockets?
As a political prisoner, I lived off water and Brad Crumbs.
Brad Crumbs in your ear canal.
Brad Crumbs stick to every surface—especially that sexy black sweater!
Buttery Brad Crumbs.
Brad Crumbs make your chicken crispy.
Scratchy Brad Crumbs in the corners of your lips.
Scraping Brad Crumbs off your plate.
Sweep up those Brad Crumbs!

Brad Crumb art.

Brad Crumbs.