Ridin’ The Lightning

Over the next coupla minutes, I learned that in order for “jinni” to run, a spring-loaded bridging device had to make contact with two different voltage widgets. The spring, however, appeared to have sprung sometime during the Spanish-American War, and just sorta laid there, occasionally jumping out of place when Jinni hacked up a hairball.

That’s when Lukey would crane his body out gingerly like a crippled stork, grab that “sparkin’ rod” with his spit-wetted fingers, press it down, and ride the lightnin’! until Jinni settled down again to a guttural rumble.

Each time this happened, Lukey’s body shook like a sack `a crazed weasels, his yellow thatch spiked straight up and his eyes popped bigger, taking on the appearance of fried blue cat’s-eye marbles. Once, when he appeared about to involuntarily scratch his left ear with his right hind foot, I moved to grab him.

“Lee-vim be, Connor,” the RangeMonster warned. He advised me if I were to grab Lukey “whilst he’s got a-holt a’ that sparkin’ rod,” I’d be doin’ Saint Vitus’s Dance an’ drooling down to my socks. “Besides,” he said, “Lukey likes it!” I hastily jotted down, “UN-Written Range Rule #29: Don’t Grab Lukey When He’s Grabbin’ Jinni.”