Chapter 19

Leaving L.A.

     We’d been in L.A. for almost a week and it was getting tiresome always trying to have something fun happening for our followers.  They liked our pranks but weren’t so keen about starting a “Rump Legislature.”  Most of us thought we should shelve that idea for now and get back on the road.   Meanwhile, the Dodgers were in the final round of the play-offs and heading to the World Series, so Skip wanted to stay and get the free tickets his San Luis friend had promised, little knowing there was a plot underway to blow–up Dodger stadium.  “I’ll catch-up with you guys later.  It’s kinda nice living at Rosie O’Donnell’s place – I mean palace.”

      “Yeah, me too,” said Sally, “I’ll invite Pirate Jack to come stay at Rosie’s and try to keep our Rump experiment going.”

     Now, with only five on the bus, there were open seats.  Traveling around L.A. those last days in our newly decorated Land Yacht, courtesy Nordstrom’s paint department, we were getting honked at all the time.  One graffiti artist had painted a big belt buckle on the Land Yacht’s sliding door with the words “Peace To All Who Enter Here.”  Huck was all for enticing some of the fairer sex to get on board.   

     By now, Sunshine and Peaches had caught up with us.  Our last night in L.A., we were back at our Walmart spot.  Hearing our plans to leave town, Peaches grinned and said, “We were gonna follow you for a while, but now that you have some space, might as well park ours and climb on board yours.”

    “Sorry, those spots are filled,” Patty said, which we were grateful for. 

     Huck complained later, “Wadja mean those spots are filled?” Patty explained she just had a weird feeling about those two, “Peaches just seems creepy, looking like a friggin’ Jack-O-Lantern, and Sunshine – what can I say?” 

     We left L.A. for Tucson, under the too-hot sun, no clouds, with a four-hundred-mile trip in front of us.  Traveling west on I-10, the scenery soon turned desert-like – and boring – so the group settled-in with pillows and books, but not before recounting our several recent disappointments:

     We weren’t so bothered about the failure to launch a Rump Legislature, but Patty hadn’t snagged that movie advance she was seeking, being told, “Now why would I pay money for that when the whole world is watching for free on your blog.”  (He was referring to our latest Santa Monica caper.) 

    “Worse,” Patty said. “I really wanted to bait that Santa Monica cop into actually busting us – I always hated that creepy song, ‘Every Step You Take’.”

 Here’s what the producer guy claimed the whole world had watched:

     Choosing the grassy area leading to the Santa Monica Pier, at the intersection of Ocean Avenue and Broadway, where jugglers juggle, hula-hoopers hula hoop, fire eaters eat fire, Patty had us jumping out of the Land Yacht shouting, “We’re the Rumpkins 1-2-3-4-5-6-7; come with us and get to heaven,” while Huck and Steve ran to a grassy area, rolled out a blanket and began kissing each other.  Sure enough that same cop had followed us there. Skip then, with a Trump mask on, saunters over where Huck and Steve are now fondling each other, and yells at the top of his lungs, “Nobody gropes in public without a permit.”  We all wore baseball caps painted to say “Make Love Great Again,” and with Huck on guitar we all started singing “What the world needs now is love, sweet love . . .”  Not only did the cop do nothing to stop us, we couldn’t even get any passers-by to clap or join in.  The only applause came from the fire-eater, who said, “No one thought you were acting, it all looked pretty normal for around here.”