I can’t believe I found it! Written partially during senior year of high school, this is the story that started it all. Actually, it continued it all. The Quest for the Holy Beer Stein  started it, but either Casey or I lost that  one somewhere, so we’ve got Part Deux. Totally politically incorrect and relatively stupid, which is why my friends in high school enjoyed it.


Arizona and Utah’s
Quest for the Fountain of Youth
…the saga continues…



author and illustrator : Brian Jaeger

creative assistant: Casey Palbicki
Printed under no particular license in 1993
by Brian Jaeger
all rights reserved (although there are none)


Printed in U.S.A.

It was a warm and destitute day. I was rambling through my dictionary to find the word destitute. An empty can of beer lay crushed next to me. As I adjusted myself , another spring broke in the loveseat. Thinking about how difficult love would be in a loveseat , I was immediately dumbstruck by the ringing of my handy cordless phone.
“I got it !” I shrieked through the house, even though no one was home. “Helen’s House of Pleasure,” I said into the receiver. Nobody answered, so I started talking in JIVE to the curious stranger. After stating, “Hand me some of dat funky soul glow, brother, ” the stranger spoke.
“Shut the hell up you little dork!”
“It’s a chick! Holy shit, a chick called me!” I turned down the stereo so that I could actually hear my caller speak.
“I need your help. Meet me at the ‘El Matador’ restaurant at 3:00.”
Before I could ask who she was, she hung up, obviously to avoid being traced, even though I didn’t have a tracer, or even call-back. Hell, all we had was call-waiting, and that’s just a pain in the ass!
Anyway, I had an hour before three o’clock and the ‘El Matador’ was only a block away, so I went to go take a shower, just in case the chick who called was hot, or might just bring a hot daughter or mother or friend along.
As I listened to my Christian contemporary tape, I got pissed off that Amy Grant went Pop and now makes more money than I ever will, or Jesus ever did! While I was singing “Runnin’ Bare” in the shower, I suddenly realized that the water was getting very cold, and I soon made a mad-dash out of the grasp of the chilly water.
Three o’clock rolled around, and I was sitting at a classy table near the kitchen door, when Jos‚, the house masseuse, gave me a quicky.
“That was wonderful, Jos‚. Now go grab me a beer!”
“Hello, Arizona,” said an unfamiliar voice from behind. “My name is Elle , MacPhearson.”
“It sure is, honey. Jos‚, make that a double whiskey, and bring something intoxicating for the lady. Now, Elle, is there something I can do fer you. Boy-toy? Anything?”
“No, Arizona, I need your help. Your archeological expertise are required for my quest to find the Fountain of Youth.”
“Around here, Elle, we refer to it as the Bubbler of Youth.”
“What do you say Arizona? Will you help me for two million in cold, hard cash?”
“Sure, just toss in two autographed nudie photos of yourself for me and my trusty sidekick, Utah .”

“There is no such thing as a fountain of youth,  Arizona,” cried Utah.
“Two million bucks say there is, Utah!”
“Where in the Hell are we gonna search, A-Dog. We gotta start somewhere.”
“Let’s start by getting off and meeting somewhere. I mean the phone, Utah!”
We both decided to meet at Fox Lake for a relaxing weekend before the difficult journey before us. As an added bonus, Uncle Fuckin’ Mark was on a getaway weekend adventure of his own.
“We could never finish both cases of Blatz in one night, could we?” asked Utah . By ten thirty, I was cheating at Cribbage and telling Utah that he looked like Ringo Starr. Utah was drooling on his snapshot of Elle and periodically yelling obscenities. Uncle Fuckin’ Mark was calling me John Trevolta and making microwave pumpkin. Both cases were empty, and the secret stash was being threatened.
We then consulted the Magical Bench of Uncle Ed to help us locate the fountain of youth. The bench spoke, saying ” The fountain of youth is near Bob’s Autobody in Casper, Wyoming. Medea is the sorceress who helped Jason get the Golden Fleace. The Pentateuch are the first five books of the Bible. The sucre is the monetary unit of Ecuador.” We headed West the next day in a gem of automobile engineering: my ‘84 Chevette, of course. 


Before Utah and I left, we made sure that we had all of the amenities. We took clean underwear, a horse-shoe set, and a Garth Brooks tape. I decided to stop off at Marshall Field’s  to get some free cologne samples for our journey.
“Utah, those two whores are stealing make-up.”
“That goes to show what you know, Arizona. Those are testers. Over 50,000 people, mostly women and small children, have already used that make-up!”
“You’re right, of course, Utah. I believe I’ve seen that shade on J.D. Hoefner!”


On our way to Casper, we ran into a girls basketball team. Utah was stunned, as was I. Damage to the Chevette was minimal compared to that of the basketball team. As we tried to help the perky fifteen year olds, I was called for an intentional reaching-in foul, and we were quickly off in order to avoid coaching staff retribution.
“Did ya time it, Utah?”
“OK., I’ll give this one to you. Arizona Jaeger, I present you with the esteemed Golden Hand Award. You needed but three seconds to dismantle and claim a female’s brazier, thus defeating my 4.3 second record. I do, however, still hold the other half of the Double-Crown of  Testosterone Award. A mere five seconds is all I needed to confiscate a wonderful pair of paisley panties!”


“Why don’t they serve free beer instead of free water at Wall Drug?” asked Utah, after chewing yet another No-Doze pill.
“I believe it has something to do with the political situation in the Eastern European countries as a result of oppressive economic conditions leading back to 19th century slavery right here in the United States!” I replied, knowing Utah would agree and attempt to add something.
“Damn slanted-eyed mother fuckers! Hey Arizona, pull in here at ‘Crazy Zeke’s Pit Stop’.”
We were certainly unprepared for what was about to occur. ‘Crazy Zeke’s’ is not exactly a place to take the elderly, young, or any church-going individuals. His special of the day not only costs a bit more than a normal entree, but she could also suck the shellac off of a wood shop table! Impressed with her disposition, we conversed with Candy for quite a while. Surprisingly, she had an intelligible grasp of the Lunar Theory and an uncanny ability to do the splits on cue. Soon after our Buffalo Burgers, we were forced to leave. Utah maybe shouldn’t have started dancing naked, but the crowed didn’t seem to mind.


The next morning, I heard something knocking. What could it be? Had we been followed?
“What in the Hell is that knocking? Utah, go back to bed!”
“Those Commie Bastards are after us!” exclaimed Utah from under the covers of the bed. “Arizona, why are you sleepin on the floor?”
“Somebody’s at the door, and I think it’s Eddie Murphy! No, wait, it’s just the maid.”
“Is it noon already?” asked Utah, tripping over a luggage tray.
The head maid at the Stardust Hotel was a scantily dressed girl with little or no moral values, yet strangely appealing, even at that time of the early afternoon. In fact, Spread Eagle was one of our Native American friends. Both Utah and I were in such shock at her apparent success in actually working that neither of us tried to put the moves on her. Instead, we discussed Native American history. Spread Eagle told us of a fountain that had been lost many a moons ago that some say was the fountain of youth. Her tribe had never been able to locate the lost fountain because they were all too busy drinking and playing cards. She told us, though, that Casper seemed logical for friendly spirits, like Uncle Ed’s Magical Bench, often help mortals to find what they seek.


Before we left Rapid City, South Dakota, Utah and I visited the many tourist attractions, including Mt. Rushmore.
“Hey, look at that dork trying to climb up the mountain! I think it’s David Lee Roth!”
“No matter, Arizona,” replied Utah “let’s chuck some rocks at him. Wait! Is that Chuck Norris disarming a forest ranger?”
“No, Utah. That’s a fuckin rag-head, and I believe he may be part of some anti-American plot to destroy one of our great American landmarks in order to increase hatred toward his people so that we no longer patronize Arab-operated convenient stores, whose owners are considered traitors.”
“I just hate those assholes from Illinois!”
“Quick, Utah! To the Chevette. Remember to grab your tool belt.”
As we approached the terrorist, shots rang out. We were immediately surrounded by a dozen fiendish henchmen. Needless to say, we were captured after only a slight scuffle, and that was before they drew their swords and guns. We were tied up on a remote cliff as to not warn anyone.

“If I could only reach my 5 1/2? circle saw crosscut blade with carbide tips. Utah, you try.”
“Wait! I’m trying to reach my hoody wire cutter. I actually can’t believe they didn’t blindfold us, gag us, and take our tool belts away. We’ve been taken hostage by K-mart!”
Obviously, the terrorists did not realize how handy a couple of tool belts could be. We freed ourselves quickly from the from the ropes after attaining an X-acto knife from my tool belt.
“Nobody fucks with Kung Fu Wigger!” exclaimed Utah in a hideous rage.
“But Utah,” says I “you don’t know any of the Martial Arts.”
“A-sah, I know that, sensei. Maybe they run anyhow. Terrowists numba ten!”
We began sneaking around, knocking out any of the bad guys we could. Utah would show them the nudie photo of Elle MacPhearson, and I would smash them in their heads with my rubber mallet whilst they smiled.
“Look, Utah! That’s Sheik Adnan Al-Casey. Go stand next to him and smile. This is a Kodak moment.”  
“We’ve got to find the detonation device and grab it,” said Utah “or maybe let’s just leave before we get hurt.”
“How do you know there even is a denotation device?”
“There’s always a detonation device, Arizona,” he replied confidently. “But I still think we should leave.”
“Hell no, Utah. We are champions chosen by fate to protect a landmark of our sacred Union and preserve the land of the free and the home of the brave!”
“What can we do against a slew of insane terrorists, though?” asked Utah.
“We must use what they do not have and what we do: manly tool belts. Quick! Toss me the duct tape.”
In minutes, I created an explosive using epoxy residue, a roadside flare, ink from a pen, and a whole mess of duct tape.
“Utah, do you have a match or a lighter?”
“Sorry, Arizona. I don’t smoke, but hark, is that Kim Donnel over there, hiding from the unruly terrorists?”
“Why, yes that is Kim Donnel cowering under a picnic table. Now that she’s a chain-smoker, she’s bound to have a light.”
“No time for beer now,” cried Utah. “We must act fast!” Utah, not knowing how to address a girl whom he left scorned, yelled “Hey foxy mama, over here!”
Kim came over quickly and began to tell us about her fifteen boyfriends, four of whom included George, Abe, Tom, and Teddy. I quieted her down by telling her to shut-up. Finally, Utah asked her for a lighter.
“Utah, head back to the Vette. I’ll take care of the rest of these nasty fucks!”
“And Kim and I will take care of a good fuck!” replied Utah.
I took off to where the enemy had established headquarters. The rag-heads were all kneeling, facing east, and praying to Allah. I made my approach from the west. I grabbed one of their guns after lighting the fuse of my bomb, then  yelled “Chacka Zuluuuu” and ran like hell. The small explosion caused mayhem long enough for me to pick them off.
After my job was done, I ran to the Vette and slid across the hood to look cool. As I got into the car, I heard Utah say “I love Rabid City! Wow, that was grrrreat!” He then fell asleep like a little baby. Kim lit up a Marlboro and came up front to sit by me.
“Where we going, Big Boy?” asked Kim.
“Exactly!” I replied. “I’m starving, and I think Utah will be when he wakes up.”


As we approached Casper, the weather started getting rough, but the tiny Chevette was tough…
“What the hell is wrong with the sky?”  Utah asked.  Had he not slept for the last three hours, he may have actually seen the menacing skies before. 
As I peered through the windshield, I yelled, “Look, a funnel cloud!  Let’s go for it!”  I threw my arm across Kim’s chest to brace her and we headed straight for the funnel.  “Button down the hatches and down the sails.  We’re going in!” 
Utah replied, “Ramming speed!”
As I hit the tornado, my whole life passed before my eyes.  When I put the photo album down to see the road, I was blinded by a bright light.  Out of the light emerged Moses and Jesus.
“Hey Moses, nice goggles.  Who’s your Mexican friend?”  I questioned.
“Dis be my bess ol’ pal Jesus!”  Mosses replied.
“Si, I am.  My name is Jesus Garcia Montoya de la Hoya Lopez Sanchez Vasquez.  Arriba!” 
“What are you two doing out here?  My friends and I are headed for Casper.”
Moses said, “We just been had been mosey’m ’round when dat bad ol’ storm up n’ done hit us.”  At least the storm has passed.  We said goodbye to Moses and Jesus and we started for Casper once again.



“Look!”  I said to Utah.  “There’s Casper.  What a metropolis!”
He replied, “Hey, are those cowboys?”
“No, I don’t think Casper has an NFL team, but those guys do appear to be very tough.”          As we drove down Main Street, I remarked that Rodeo-Days would soon be upon the dinky city.  I knew that the only time any town in Wyoming was bustling was when there was a rodeo or a wet T-shirt contest within.
“We need gas,” remarked Utah, “but the highest octane at Jimbo’s Fillin’ Station is 83.”                                                                      
“Not to worry Utah.  My vehicle has an anti-corrosive valve percolator and octivent retransmissive head cleaning device.”
“What?”  exclaimed Utah.
“It’s a Chevette.  It doesn’t need any octane in its fuel.”  I said.
“Let’s high-tail it on over to Bob’s Autobody to find the Bubbler of Youth”, said Utah. 
“All right, here it is,”  I devised as we pulled into the lot.  Wondering whether the mechanic would know anything, I headed toward him.  Bob told me that he was not familiar with any Bubbler of Youth, but some guys has just paid him fifty dollars for an old fountain that was in his backyard.  Though he had twins, Bob was excited that he could now afford a car seat, even though the two youngins always sat in the bed of his Chevy Pickup, and he really did not know to hook a car seat up to his truck.  As Bob began to tell us about his futile attempt to solder the seat on, I had to interrupt him.
“Who bought the fountain and where did they go?”
He replied, “A couple of might’ skinny fellers named Jamie and Jasen, spelled with an “E” come up from yonder, bought that there piece of junk, and left o’er yonder!  Oh yeah…they was wearin’ some sho peculiar clothin, too.”
“Don’t you think there was something strange about Bob, Utah?” 
He replied, “Nope, why?”—
“He lives here out West, yet he spoke with a Southern Accent.  Coincidence, or maybe something more intriguing?  Oh well, let’s roll!”  Realizing that we had to find the two mysterious guys quickly, we decided to get a car with a little more umph at Big Al’s Car Lot.  After Big Al showed us his typical early 80’s American-made used car, he finally found one that gave me both hot and cold flashes, with goose bumps growing in spots that I never knew existed!  She had a body that made my mouth water.  Her lines were perfect, with just enough here and not too much there.  OK fine.  It was a ‘72 El Camino, but it was real shiny!  When Big Al showed off the customization, though, the desires within started up once again!  The entire back of the vehicle was filled by twin 460 HP.  Pratt and Whitney helicopter engines!
“This puppy will hum, but it’s the most expensive car on the lot!”  “Can ya swing eight hundred and fifty dollars?”
Needless to say, our new transportation was a ‘72 El Camino.


“But Utah,” I said “I don’t think we should put Kim back there with 920 horsepower!  Can’t she just sit on your lap maybe?”
“Do you think I’m Santa or somethin’?  She’s getting a bit chunky, and we’ve a long trip ahead!  I wasn’t the one who got all hard about the “eight on the floor” shifter! By the way, are you sure you can drive this thing?”
“Hell, what’s so complicated about an eight speed!  I had a twelve speed bike!”
“Wait a second”, exclaimed Utah.  “Maybe we can throw Kim in the hood!”
“What hood?  That’s the gas tank!  Let’s just leave her here with Big Al.  Why do you think they call him Big Al anyway?”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure Kim will find out!”  And so we were off on our journey to venture where no man had gone before.  That’s right-300 MPH plus on the dirt roads of Wyoming!  By dinnertime we were in Bismark, North Dakota.
“Eighty dollars for gas!  My congressman will hear about this!”  I said, forgetting that the tank held seventy-five gallons.
“Why in the world are we in North Dakota anyway?” asked Utah, while drinking a flat Blatz and paging through the Penthouse we picked up in Wyoming.
“Didn’t you hear Bob say that Jasen and Jamie were talking about sunflowers?  Well, this here in the sunflower state, and mysteriously enough, Elle MacPhearson owns a dude ranch not far from here!  Coincidence, or maybe just a stupid plot twist?”
“Hello there young men.”  said a semi-recognizable voice.  “I saw your gas bill and was just wondering whether you have ever considered nuclear power as an alternative to gasoline.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I’m Dr.  Hume.  Come with me to my lab and let’s see what can be done!”
We went off to Dr. Hume’s research and development lab.
“First, guys, let’s have a little fun with physics!  Focus your eyes on me.  Now, does it appear as if the background behind me is moving?  But no, it’s only Professeur Pasteur, my assistant, moving ME, not the background!  Amazing how your eyes play tricks on you, isn’t it fellas?  Now for that nuclear modification.  Give me a few minutes, would ya?”  A few minutes later…”Alright, boys, I’ve extracted the gas tank and replaced it with a smaller nuclear reactor.  Your car should run for two years with the condensed plutonium that I’ve supplied for you, and for when you do run out, here’s a VIP card to Pete’s Plutonium in Fargo.”


“Now that we’re set,” Utah said, “let’s haul ass to Elle’s Dude Ranch!”
Elle’s Dude Ranch was set in questionably the most beautiful section of North Dakota, although beauty unquestionably tends to always elude the state. As we approached the ranch, I noticed that dudes were certainly in abundance.  Huge men with heavily oiled muscles seemed more abundant than the dust surrounding them.
We identified ourselves to Rico at the front entrance to the ranch.  He allowed us to proceed only after we were forced to fondle his rippling biceps.
“The lady is waiting for you two at the pool.  Here, put these on.”
“Why do we have to wear G-strings and water wings in order to see Elle, anyway?”  asked Utah.
I did not know, and any response to such a ridiculous a question would do little for our situation, so I held silent.
As we entered the pool area, amazement and delight were our rewards, for Elle had, as guests, some of the most spectacular women in the world!  Immediately sensing the improbable, Utah and I bestowed upon each other high-5’s.
Seeing us from her topless sun-bathing position, Elle called out to us.  “Join us if you will in our restoration of youth and beauty.  The fountain of youth is mine!  Of course, neither of you may leave here alive!  My secret must remain safe until I decide to unveil it to the world.  No one has ever or will ever be as powerful as I.  The world is mine!”
“Actually, Elle, “  I concluded, ” Alexander the Great conquered the known world at a fraction of what you paid for that fountain.  And, it’s technically ‘me’ and not ‘I,’ I think.”
“No matter.  Soon will I create a world of all-powerful women who have unlimited man servant’s at their disposal.  And I owe it all to you two idiots.  I had Jamie and Jasen, spelled with an “E” follow you to the God-awful lake of yours.  They overheard the deal with the magical bench and were off before you two sobered up.”
“Listen here, Bitch,” exclaimed Utah, “I’m not gonna stand for all this woman’s Lib garbage.  Let’s go Arizona.”
“You know we wouldn’t make it ten feet.  Let me think of somethin’.  Hey Elle, where does the water in the pool come from, anyway?  Does the fountain create water or what?”
“Of course not.  The fountain simply filters any regular tap water with the omnipotent Chippesquaw filtering stone.  The water is in its most perfect elemental form.”
Looking at Utah, I said, “Drop em?”
He replied, “Drop em!”
Before we could be stopped, we were playing star wars and tainting the perfection of the water by pissing in the pool.
No sooner had we zipped up than the pool began to bubble and turn bright green!
“I think she’s gonna blow!”  I exclaimed.
“Honestly, Arizona, I don’t think Elle’s in the mood right now.  Look, the stone:  It’s cracking!”
“Kill those two stupid sons of bitches!”  I heard Elle order.
Risking all that we had (two G-strings and some water wings), not to mention our lives, I tackled Utah and we went sailing into the pool.


“Where are we?”  I wondered aloud.
“Yuu bloody well ought to kno, you durty bastards!”