The Groovy 1970s Story of Grooviness (story #70)

28 Sep

All right!  So, here we are, writing the story totally on time now that we’ve changed the rules and made story day Thursday instead of Thursday (you old school club members will know what that means, everyone else will have to sit in the corner and cry hey ho.  Okay, well, at least I can translate, I suppose; for those of you who haven’t figured it out, story day is not “Monday” anymore, it is “Tuesday.”  Which, in the SotWC vernacular means “Thursday.”  Whenever we get around to archiving old stories, you’ll get it once you read “Rotten Apple-Core Day (story #2)”.  Until then, go ahead and make with the “hey ho”-ing.).

In case you are wondering, yes, I am extremely proud of the fact that the last paragraph almost entirely parenthetical.

I’m feeling nostalgic tonight.  Let’s see how that works out.


Once upon a time, everyone wore bell-bottoms and said things like “keep on truckin'” and probably did lots of pot (I wouldn’t know) and thought paisleys were “like, wow, man,” and Nehru was good to make clothes out of and super-straight hair parted in the middle was attractive and vests with turtlenecks weren’t gay (they probably still were) and dances were named things like “the hustle” and folk music was popular and everybody had a peaceful easy feeling and they knew you wouldn’t let them down.  It was all very groovy.

Unto this came Conan, destined wear the crown of Aquilonia upon a troubled brow.

“Hey, groovy hair,” said a rat-faced little high school kid wearing orange pants with a green turtleneck as Conan stepped out of a space-time vortex left over from an old episode of “Star Trek.”

“What the crap does ‘groovy’ mean?” asked Conan, who sounded nothing like Arnold Schwarzenegger, and was really quite articulate.

“Whoa, man,” said the rat-faced boy, “what’s with all the hostility?  Mellow out, jive turkey.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Conan, “and I am in no mood for jesting.  I was just in a hut in the deserts of Cimmeria and the witch who promised to give me the Scepter of Shazzarra waved her hands, cursing me with the ability to see the future.”

“Far out,” said Rat-face.  “That is weird-city, man.”

“Where have I been sent?” Conan asked, looking about at the strange buildings and cars and stuff.

“This is Detroit,” Rat-face said.  “Detroit Rock City, man!”

“You speak in riddles,” said Conan.

“What, you’re not hip to KISS, man?  What are you, some kind of weiner?”

Thinking the boy was propositioning him, Conan punched Rat-face in the nose and knocked him unconscious.  A very pretty blonde girl with feathered hair and a tiny gold headband just happened to be walking by and saw Conan punch the boy.  “Like, wow, man,” she said, “that was way un-groovy of you!  Catch my drift?”

“He wanted to kiss me,” said Conan.

“No fake?” said the girl, whose name was Britney.  “Well, that’s totally different.  What a spaz; he totally deserved it.”

“Can you tell me where I am?” said Conan.

“Yeah, brother, this is Detroit, Michigan, and we’re on Maple Avenue.  They have those in every state, you know.”

“What is a state?” asked Conan.

“Oh, like, wow, you are totally out of it, aren’t you?” said Britney.

“I think I need to sit down,” said Conan.

“They got a bench over by the 7-11,” Britney said.  “I was just on my way over there anyway.  They got superhero cups for the Slurpees right now and I wanna pick up a Wonder Woman.”

“Sure,” said Conan, “maybe I will find some answers to this mystery at this seven and eleven.”

“Right on,” said Britney and took him by the hand.  Two blocks later, they were outside of 7-11 and Britney was on the verge of tears.  “The Riddler?” she wailed.  “All they got is the Riddler?  Who cares about the stupid Riddler?  He’s not even a superhero, he’s a bad guy!”

“I understand none of this,” said Conan.

Just then another girl with feathered hair walked by.  Her name was Kris and she was wearing really tight jeans with a striped long-sleeved shirt.  Her hair was so dark it was almost black, and it had blue highlights like in a comic book.  “Aw, gee, Britney,” she said playfully, “were you hoping to get Wonder Woman?  I totally got the last one.”  And with that she brought the plastic Slurpee cup to her mouth, put the blue straw between her lips and drank her Coca-Cola Slurpee coyly, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Outta sight!” said Britney.  “Can I have it when you’re done with the Slurpee?”

“No way, Jose!” said Kris.  “I’m keeping this cup for ever and ever and ever.”

“Sit on it!” screamed Britney.  “You knew I wanted that cup; you got it just to spite me!  You don’t even like Wonder Woman!”

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” said Kris, “but that’s for me to know and you to find out!”

“Up your nose with a rubber hose!” Britney yelled, turning to Conan and burying her face against his bare chest, weeping openly like a little baby.

Kris laughed and said, “well, I gotta boogie.  Check ya later, Britney.”  With that she turned and walked away, making sure to swing her hips a lot.

“What is this madness?”  Conan asked.

“Hey, is that a sword?” Britney asked, looking at the humongous blade at Conan’s side.

“I go nowhere without my blade,” Conan responded.

“Dyn-o-mite!” said Britney.  “Look, could you do me a solid?  If you go flash that thing and tell Kris to give me that Slurpee cup, she’d totally give it up.”

Conan thought a moment and finally said, “perhaps this is the quest I was sent here to fulfill.  I go.  Then perhaps you can help me get back to my own place and time.”

“Yeah, right on,” said Britney, not having any idea what he was talking about.

So, Conan followed where Kris had gone and caught up with her a few blocks away.  Drawing his sword, he shouted, “unhand the magical Wonder Cup of Slur-pee, foul witch!”

Kris turned around and looked at him with wide eyes.  After a moment, she stepped closer to Conan.  “Why would I do that, Cimmerian?” she said, her hair blowing in a sudden breeze, “when I have traveled so far just to find you and bring you back home?”

"The Wonder Woman Slurpee cup began to glow" Art by Maria Gullickson

Conan was dumbfounded.  Britney, who was standing not too far away was even more dumbfounded.  In Kris’s hands, the Slurpee cup began to glow.  Wisps of smoke emanated from it and formed a small tornado around Conan and Kris, who was, of course, a sorceress from the Hyborian age in disguise.

“Hey!” Britney yelled, ” what about my Wonder Woman cup?”

“Sorry, young whiny girl,” Conan shouted over the growing wind.  “It is my only way home!”

Britney stamped her foot.  “You nerd!” she screamed as the smoke grew thick and the wind grew deafening and the barbarian and the sorceress disappeared from view.

As the world faded away around them, Conan looked at the sorceress and asked, “what do we do when we get back?”

The sorceress looked up at him with mischief in her eyes.  “Well,” she said coyly, “I’m totally hip to kiss.”

“Groovy,” said Conan.


Hee hee hee.  That was fun.  For those of you who remember the 70s, I hope it brought back some memories for you.  For those of you who weren’t even born in the 70s, that’s exactly what it was like.  Honest.

See you in seven,

the SotWC


Posted by on September 28, 2010 in Fantasy, History


3 responses to “The Groovy 1970s Story of Grooviness (story #70)

  1. Meg Bruce

    September 29, 2010 at 9:51 am

    Read the story to Roger. We say , totally groovy ,man!!

  2. Eric Jansen

    October 20, 2010 at 6:07 pm

    I love that she drew the cup.


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