Annie was standing on the kitchen table scooping sugar out of the sugar canister all over the table.   Duh-Wayne was catching the sugar into a sandwich bag.   The sugar was bouncing from Annie’s paws to the table then off to various sections of the kitchen,  and onto  Duh-Wayne’s red MAGA hat with the grease stain over the America part; grease  from the oil of a 47 Buick Estate Wagon.  Later it would be deposited in the bathroom when Duh-Wayne grabbed at tooth brush at 4 pm and brushed his incisors but only the top left and bottom right and only every other Thursday and Monday, .

“Annie!” I  screamed!  “What are you doing?”

“Getting a scoop,” Annie screamed zooming past me and pushing the Annie scooping sugar out with her paws out of the way.   The Annie I was yelling at.

The Annie who answered flew by with the cat litter scoop and dug into the sugar and attempted to scoop and pour into Duh-Wayne’s bag,   It went all over and two cat litter covered turds were in the sugar canister.

The Annie who was digging in the canister with the cat litter scoop and making more of a mess than the Annie digging with her paws was actually Ana, Annie Jr.’s daughter.   Jasmine had went to live with Great Aunt Jodie Slamma Jr. Great Great and Phil and Brussel Sprout and a grey dog named Roscoe who didn’t act like a dog at all.   Every time I visited he would jump from out of no where and practically knock me over trying to get his arm around my neck and yelling, “Hi Slam.”  He had a Russian accent.   Unfortunately, he only stayed for a while.   He said Great Aunt Jodie Slamma Jr. Great Great’s house had no excitement and moved back to the shelter.

Ana and Annie looked very much alike except in the face and the fact they were almost exactly the same size made it difficult to tell them apart.   I worried a little bit about Annie being so tiny in her new body, but Annie suggested that she had the body of a dwarf cat.   She claimed on purpose to be like Aunt Dorky because she was really short.

“Stop throwing sugar,” I screamed.  “What on earth is going on?”

“Bag’s full,” Duh-Wayne yelled from down on the floor and out the door all three of them ran.

I heard the sound of power tools and did not have to ask any further.   They were working on their Nascart.   Well several Nascarts.   They each had to have their own and in between working on their own carts they were selling their left overs ones , left and right.

Spurred by their visits to the shopping cart museum everyone wanted a Nascart.   A Nascart to drive, ride or apparently fly I had no idea what that was about.   A Nascart to bet on.   A Nascart to put your name or label on.   Sometimes more than one.

Even grandfather spent  four dollars on a cart.   He bought one early on before Nascart was even thought of.   He bought one to take groceries to the house, since he had to park in the street because Annie had the driveway full of her carts.   He turned his cart into one with a big ‘fro and a label that said, “Mail Bikes.”

“Get it,” he asked, his eager face showing.

“No, I don’t,” I answered.

His face fell.   “Annie said you would.”

I got Annie’s cart.   It was a huge pile of crap.   Crap that flew off in every direction when it moved and made everything dark with the swarm of flies on top.    Annie levitated with her hands firmly on the handles and moving forward by raising her legs up and down like she were swimming in air.

Duh-Wayne and his family made theirs into Mario carts.   Duh-Wayne wanted to be both Mario and the King and made his cart like both.   They could all grow wings by eating a handful of grapes.  The talon feet which grew at the same rate as the wings allowed them to pick up their cart and fly over everyone else.   It didn’t last long but if there was a seed in one of the grapes it lasted double.

Elm Tree carved her cart out of a maple tree, using only a butter knife.   Her cart blared old Joan Jett songs from the 80’s as it rolled and Elm Tree wore her hat backwards.

Great Aunt Jodi Slamma Jr. Great Great even got into it.  She and Brussel Sprout had their own carts.   The did not do anything to make their carts special.   They just ran pushing their carts and jumped on them.  They both wore flip flops causing them to slip every time.  This caused their cart to fly forward by its self while the drivers slide behind it on their rear ends.   They would then get up and run after the cart and do it again.   They were leading the pack most of the time.

The whole thing was like a weird Nascar race combined with Mario cart and the Wacky racers.  There were no winners, there were no losers.  There were no trophies.   Water cost eight dollars a bottle, Moose Made sixteen.

Everyone was selling something. Spam ran a concession stand selling Annie’s road kill specialties.  Elm Tree sold her coffee table book, ‘Carts through the ages.’  Annie sold her creations of recycled clothes, a skirt made out of used underwear, a vest with miss matched socks sewn on to make sleeves, a face mask made out of an athletic supporter (she sold 14 of them).    Duh-Wayne charged people a nickel to use the row of outhouses and he also  was serving security.  He was seen escorting out some man who was screaming, “I was just sitting there all broken hearted, I paid a nickel and only farted.”

It was an exciting day at Nascart.   At least that was what man yelling into a loud speaker that could be hear for 10 miles and for some reason we could also hear every racer going vrrroooom vvroooom with their mouths when that same man said start your engines.

It was Duh-Wayne’s brain child, a thing he could check off his bucket list, it was NASCART.   Duh-Wayne’s fame.   All these people enjoying his dream.   He smiled a famous smile because he did it.   He was the famous Duh-Wayne!  Face of Nascart.



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