The Oscars just ended with an upset. And, yes, I was upset. Well, "disappointed." Very. Crash....? 'Best Picture'?
Hrrrmph. *grumble grumble*
I suppose I shouldn't begrudge it, especially since I haven't yet seen Crash. In fact, I have heard only good about it. But my husband and daughter have seen Crash. Although they haven't gone all smooshy over BBM the way I have, they, too, were open-mouthed when Jack Nicholson blurted out the winner. My husband just stood there shaking his head, incredulous.
"Sure, Crash was good," he said, "but it wasn't in nearly the same league as Brokeback Mountain."
To soothe myself, I have made a another Brokeback spoof out of manips, based on a brochure I picked up on our trip to Montana last month. I am calling it....
Jack and Ennis: 'Gone Fishin'
Warnings: Silliness, sexual innuendo.
(Continues from previous spoof, Jack and Ennis Find Montana not Nearly So Repressive as Wyoming....)
Well, things were going real well with the Del Mar Motel. Jack and Ennis were making money hand over fist.
But they missed the wide open spaces, motel work being mostly an indoor affair. Heck, why had they come to Montana, anyhow? To patrol motel corridors and toss out drunken Dwarves making a shambles of the sauna and plugging up the hot tub?
"We should go get ourselves some kind a outdoor operation, Ennis," Jack said, washing down the walls and ceiling of the Honeymoon Suite. Frodo Baggins had been there again, this time with a whole party of guests. What a mess. "This is no kinda work for us," he muttered, hammering the headboard back in place.
Then he paused, looked back at Ennis and said, "Let's go to the mountains! Get us a little business. Be fishin' guides or something."
He stood up so fast the length of chain dangling from the faux-timbered ceiling smacked him beside the eye. The bracket had been pulled clean out. Danged hobbits.
Ennis looked thoughtful, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"Well," he said, giving the chain a good yank (no sense getting into another law suit), "we never did get around to that fishin' we always wanted to do...."
"Yeah! Let's do it, Ennis! We could run guide trout-fishing tours! Woo hoo!" Jack used the handle of the mop as a fishing rod, casting an imaginary line past Ennis's head.
"Gimme that there rod," Ennis said, reeling Jack in.
That's how Jack and Ennis moved to western Montana. Looking for a spread along a trout stream, they heard from a convenience store clerk in Bozeman of a town that was supposed to have a big federal fish hatchery just outside it, up from Yellowstone. A town on the Madison River. Trout-fishing country for sure.
"What's the name of this here town?" they asked.
"Ennis. Ennis, Montana."
Well, that settled it.
Jack and Ennis settled in right away. They had got plenty for their motel. A fat, red-faced man named Barleyman Butterbur bought them out. He was used to hobbits and dwarves and such, he said.
They bought a fishing resort south of Ennis on the Madison, in Cameron, the Slide Inn.* Jack insisted they buy a couple of little stores in town, on account of their names. "They'll be a cushion," he explained when Ennis balked. "In case the fishin' goes to hell one day."
Ennis could see the sense in that. They put the money down.
Here are some ads for the stores they bought, from the Ennis Chamber of Commerce flyer:
"'Full Hook-ups'" Ennis had said to Jack, tapping the ad with his finger. And 'Extra Large Pull-thru,' it says. That should be a real draw for the Del Mar Motel crowd. We can put flyers in the lobby."
Here's an ad for the other store they bought:
Ennis had felt a little funny buying a store that sold women's stuff, but Jack said, no, it would do real well. They could sell clothes for fishing. They could get more women to go on their tours that way, too.
"Hell, women love eatin' trout!" Jack said encouragingly. "Alma loved trout, didn't she, Ennis?"
"She sure did. And why not? Ain't nothin' as good as trout! Rub some spices in good, slick it with oil, and let it sizzle. Ain't no finer eatin'."
~ Not just Alma, but Ennis loved a big, fresh, juicy trout....
Once their fishing-guide business was going strong, it was nothing but trout, trout, trout. Their new life brought them great satisfaction, and a return of the easy companionship they had once enjoyed back on Brokeback, years ago, living life in the great outdoors, unfettered by stifling custom. Gay or straight, men remain men, and so do their concerns.
In the old days, this sort of exchange might have ended in a brawl, but no more. Their mutual ease was so great, no shadow, no need to prevail seemed able to spoil their new-found contentment. Ennis surprised Jack with a new-found spirit of acquiesence.
It was idyllic. But, after several few months, Jack began to worry. Ennis seemed restive. Perhaps they should have stuck to the Motel Del Mar, after all, he brooded, where there was more variety. Just the night before, Ennis had eyed the trout Jack presented to him with less than his usual interest, and tackled it with less than his usual gusto.
Would Ennis remain enamoured of a life so focussed on trout?
Jack kept fishing, but he fretted....
That afternoon, when Jack walked out of the river, Ennis grabbed hold of Jack's trout with such zeal, Jack felt his worries were over.
"I ain't NEVER gonna get sick a your trout, Jack," Ennis rasped, pushing him up against a fishing shack. "Or of the way you look in that itty-bitty bathing suit."
Jack thought Ennis looked pretty good in his bathing suit, too. And told him so. Ah, Jack loved to take Ennis by surprise that way.
Terribly pleased, Ennis's face reddened from the compliment. He charged down the pebbled shingle, splashing into the river.
Jack took Ennis at his word, and went back up to the lodge to get his fishing gear. But, by the time he returned, Ennis was nowhere in sight.
Well, he'd be back, Jack told himself, and cast out his line. Ennis' appetite certainly had revived! Well, Ennis could never resist Jack's trout for long.
In no time at all, Jack had got one, a prize-winner. Dropping his gear, he held it quivering between his hands, looking up and down the shore for Ennis, to show him what a whopper it was.
The shadows were lengthening and still there was no Ennis. He looked at his trout despondently, now limp and lifeless. Perhaps he should just go back up to the resort? He had got a bit chilly, just standing in the river.
He'd go in and put on some clothes, that's what he'd do. Then he'd go out look for Ennis.
Inside the lodge, Jack slipped past the guest lounge, hoping to get by unseen (bathing thongs were not yet an accepted fashion in the Madison Valley). He crept up the private stair, entered their rooms and stood in the bedroom door amazed.
"Where you been?" Ennis inquired, sprawled on the bed, a collection of Annie Proulx short stories lying open, cover side-up on the coverlet.
"You bring your trout?"
Jack hung his head, showing Ennis empty hands. His "whopper" was long gone.
"Aw, that's OK, Jack. I think this here'll be enough for the both of us....""
*The "Slide Inn" is a real resort, and really is in Cameron. Ennis is really called Ennis, and there really is a big federal fish hatchery there. In 1863 gold was found in the area and William Ennis built a homestead on the Madison River. It became the name of the town.
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