Every time I go I say never again. And then 30 days later I'm drawn to it for some inexplicable reason.
It defies all logic. I could get chicken livers and a glass of buttermilk at a dozen places in this city but no, I got to go to the one place they make me sick.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
CHICKEN LIVERS
Friday, February 27, 2015
SOUTHERN COMFORT
When I was 19 I was on a Southern Comfort and coke kick. Then I got a bad cold. My theory was that enough Southern Comfort would knock it right out, yes?
So I got a big bottle and started chasing it with coke that Friday night. I was pretty drunk. Real drunk, and somehow I escaped from my apartment and went and hung out at the pool. I saw my best friend approaching, and he stuck his hand out to shake my hand.
Instead of shaking his hand, I hit him with the biggest roundhouse right hook I could muster. Flat out cold cocked him. Because I thought it would be funny, haha.
Then I passed out.
So now he and I were both on the ground (I’d knocked him out cold) and another friend came along and woke him up, and they carried me up and put me in my bed.
I woke up about 2 am and there was some chick in bed with me and my cold was gone!
My theory worked.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
THE PEASANT, THE GOOGOO LADY, & THE HAG,
I went to Scarborough Renaaisance Festival. It was 100 degrees out.
We had to park about 2 miles away in a cow pasture and there wassn't so much as a barb-wire fence for shade.
They had a parade that was lame, and a 7 pound Turkey leg that came with no napkin. There was a peasant woman that could'nt have been more than 40 inches tall yet weighed at least 14 stone. She looked as though she might be in the beginning stages of Acromegaly, which seemed kind of funny to me in a medieval kind of way, so I laughed. She stopped in mid-sentence as she addressed the crowd to turn and face me full on, her face swollen, full of anger and resentment as she pointed to the ground at her feet and said "What are you grinning at funny boy? You need to come closer if you want a picture!"
I hid behind Susan.
There was a goo-goo eyed lady that made funny faces as she walked along in the lame parade as though she may have had a bustle in her hedgerow.
There was the really Rabelaisian hag-woman that came through the food court, her skirt pulled up to expose fat thighs and dirty bloomers and a Bustier so high and tight you could't tell where her breasts stopped and her chin started. I do not know how she could see.
And two guys in Highlander Robes and swords and walking staffs that would enter the Food court and gaze upon it like they had just discovered America, hands over their brow as though searching a great distance over unknown terrain.
Their third time through I determined they must be looking for the goo-goo eyed lady.
"If there's a busle in your hedgerow
Dont be alarmed now"
Monday, February 23, 2015
THE REAL URBAN LEGEND, ALL SIX COMPLETELY OVERDONE PARTS
Down here we had the Jarmacks, all big trouble and
notoriously violent, with the eldest of the three brothers, Joe, being the most
badass'd. One night Little Panama comes running into the local Foosers Hut and hollers
that Fightin' Joe Jarmack has barricaded himself in the old abandoned Boys
Ranch House for Orphans and that anyone going in there gets thrown out the
second floor window.
Of Course the place empties out, and a caravan forms up to
journey down Devils Backbone, a twisting turning roller coaster road that dead
ends into the Boys Ranch where a crowd has gathered in the dark outside of the
dilapidated two story wood structure.
Its pure Hugo without the hunchback, unless you want to
count Cross Eyed Myra, who seemed to be everywhere all the time, just lookin'
for a little lovin'.
Big Panama goes running into the darkness of the ranch house
and in like 20 seconds you hear a scream and *WHOOSH* here he comes flying out
the second story window. Same thing happens to Zigger-zoo, Cherokee, Tubby and
the Strackman. Then Truck-Bob hollers "torch the place" and someone
comes up with a gallon of gas, its once for the Devil and once for the Christ,
and the next thing you know this weather-beaten old Ranch house is in flames,
lighting up the hot August night. The crowd went wild!
No one ever saw Fighting Joe again, but the next morning his
Saint Christopher medal was sifted from the ashes, still glowing red hot
like Shelley's
Heart and did not cool until it were dunked, hissing and steaming into the
Boys Ranch Pond.
Today it is the site of the nicest little park and community
center you would ever want to see. Its been deemed a State Historical Site
because of the Old Boys Ranch for Orphans. But there is not one whit in tribute
to the night that Fightin' Joe went down in a blaze of glory. The legend
is that he still wanders the Park and surrounding neighborhoods, looking for
his old girlfriend Betsye.
When the wind is out of the southwest, breathing its way
down Devils Backbone and blowing through the willows by the waters edge, you
can hear ol' Fightin Joe howling for his lost love.
THE CONTINUING CHRONICLES OF FIGHTIN’ JOE
JARMACK, Part II
“Fighting Joe” was far and away the most baddass’d dude in
these parts and a real life Urban Legend. I writ about 'im a while back.
He came from a long line of notoriously violent people.
My Mother –in-Law, Sparks, used to manage one of the toughest Redneck saloons that actually had a REAL Liquor License way out past the lights on the Jacksboro Highway. She knew Fightin Joes dad “Jigsaw" and she may be the only person on earth that might could take him.
Sparks didn't abide no bullshit in her Bar. Back in the 70's, they say she put JIgsaw out on his ass by his ear more than once. That was why he never come to her place no more. Sparks kept a sign over her bar said
"You are Welcome but your Dope is not"
and if she got wind that anyone in there was holdin' it was out the door with you.
Fightin' Joes dad, “Jigsaw” Jarmack would take offence to anyone unwitting enough to cast a glance in his direction. But he was right clever about it. Sparks said his usual method of operation was to down a couple dozen Boilermakers, which just seemed to bring out all the hate in him, then he would look for someone to unload on. He would act all friendly to them, even buy a few rounds and then out in the Parking lot he would give ‘em the knife.
He never killed anyone that could be proved but he left a long trail of men with only one ear, or minus the tip of their nose and a finger or two and there are enumerable fellows walkin’ round having a jagged tear down one cheek and stitches in their side like that guy Dalton from Road House.
All souvenirs of the night they made a big mistake, thinkin' they had befriended “Jigsaw” Jarmack.
His son, “Fightin’ Joe” was a bit different. He never pretended to like nobody.
Nobody ‘cept his girl, Betsie Boopman that lived down the street from me. She really wasn't a Boopman at all. Neither were her two half sisters.
The Boopman’s were the most unusual family you’d ever want to meet. They were like the Brady Bunch on a mean batch of Crank.
There were three brothers, all sired by the same father, Bum.
But all three son’s had come from different mothers.
Their names were Butch, Boomer and Buck. Rumor was that Butch's Mother had been killed by Boomers Mom, then when Boomers Mom got the chair, Bum re-married and Buck was born, but his momma ran off with the Carnival. Buck was the most normal of the brothers.
The other two, Butch and Boomer, were like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum and they were in a constant struggle against each other and for each other, all at the same time. They seemed to be living some kind of ancient genealogical war begun by two women, all the while having more in common with each other than their differences.
Then there were three sisters that all came from the same Momma, but they each had different Daddy’s. Their Momma's name was Eve, and she really got around I guess. I never did get comfortable with the hungry way she would eyeball me from time to time.
There was “Ruthless”, the eldest of the three, and “Lobo”, the one in the middle. Me and Lobo got to be pretty good friends. She drove a “72 Honda Civic, smallest car there could ever be (least until they came out with that Cooper thing) and sometimes I would get to be the 7th person in the car while a Grass Mask was passed front to back in the Parking lot before School.
I never did know what her real name was, but one night I did find out why they called her Lobo.
Betsye was the youngest, and she was the apple of Fightin' Joe's eye. Betsye was 16 going on 21. She was the best looking of the three. When she got all dressed up she was probably the best looking girl in the school, but instead of giving her confidence, she had become mousey, a kind of poor Cinderella Girl; quiet, shy and easily manipulated by anyone, especially Fightin Joe.
So when Bum and Eve got married, they combined to produce a household of six half Step-brothers and Step-sisters, only they were more like thirds.
Its like nothin' I've ever heard of before.
There were a lot of jokes about what went on at that house, you just didn’t want to tell ‘em when Fightin Joe was around.
You had to know about the Boopmans before I could tell you about the day that Fightin' Joe took “Perk” Perkins and “Hogshead” Newman apart during Drivers Ed then headed to the Boys Ranch to meet his end..
He came from a long line of notoriously violent people.
My Mother –in-Law, Sparks, used to manage one of the toughest Redneck saloons that actually had a REAL Liquor License way out past the lights on the Jacksboro Highway. She knew Fightin Joes dad “Jigsaw" and she may be the only person on earth that might could take him.
Sparks didn't abide no bullshit in her Bar. Back in the 70's, they say she put JIgsaw out on his ass by his ear more than once. That was why he never come to her place no more. Sparks kept a sign over her bar said
"You are Welcome but your Dope is not"
and if she got wind that anyone in there was holdin' it was out the door with you.
Fightin' Joes dad, “Jigsaw” Jarmack would take offence to anyone unwitting enough to cast a glance in his direction. But he was right clever about it. Sparks said his usual method of operation was to down a couple dozen Boilermakers, which just seemed to bring out all the hate in him, then he would look for someone to unload on. He would act all friendly to them, even buy a few rounds and then out in the Parking lot he would give ‘em the knife.
He never killed anyone that could be proved but he left a long trail of men with only one ear, or minus the tip of their nose and a finger or two and there are enumerable fellows walkin’ round having a jagged tear down one cheek and stitches in their side like that guy Dalton from Road House.
All souvenirs of the night they made a big mistake, thinkin' they had befriended “Jigsaw” Jarmack.
His son, “Fightin’ Joe” was a bit different. He never pretended to like nobody.
Nobody ‘cept his girl, Betsie Boopman that lived down the street from me. She really wasn't a Boopman at all. Neither were her two half sisters.
The Boopman’s were the most unusual family you’d ever want to meet. They were like the Brady Bunch on a mean batch of Crank.
There were three brothers, all sired by the same father, Bum.
But all three son’s had come from different mothers.
Their names were Butch, Boomer and Buck. Rumor was that Butch's Mother had been killed by Boomers Mom, then when Boomers Mom got the chair, Bum re-married and Buck was born, but his momma ran off with the Carnival. Buck was the most normal of the brothers.
The other two, Butch and Boomer, were like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum and they were in a constant struggle against each other and for each other, all at the same time. They seemed to be living some kind of ancient genealogical war begun by two women, all the while having more in common with each other than their differences.
Then there were three sisters that all came from the same Momma, but they each had different Daddy’s. Their Momma's name was Eve, and she really got around I guess. I never did get comfortable with the hungry way she would eyeball me from time to time.
There was “Ruthless”, the eldest of the three, and “Lobo”, the one in the middle. Me and Lobo got to be pretty good friends. She drove a “72 Honda Civic, smallest car there could ever be (least until they came out with that Cooper thing) and sometimes I would get to be the 7th person in the car while a Grass Mask was passed front to back in the Parking lot before School.
I never did know what her real name was, but one night I did find out why they called her Lobo.
Betsye was the youngest, and she was the apple of Fightin' Joe's eye. Betsye was 16 going on 21. She was the best looking of the three. When she got all dressed up she was probably the best looking girl in the school, but instead of giving her confidence, she had become mousey, a kind of poor Cinderella Girl; quiet, shy and easily manipulated by anyone, especially Fightin Joe.
So when Bum and Eve got married, they combined to produce a household of six half Step-brothers and Step-sisters, only they were more like thirds.
Its like nothin' I've ever heard of before.
There were a lot of jokes about what went on at that house, you just didn’t want to tell ‘em when Fightin Joe was around.
You had to know about the Boopmans before I could tell you about the day that Fightin' Joe took “Perk” Perkins and “Hogshead” Newman apart during Drivers Ed then headed to the Boys Ranch to meet his end..
BETSYE TAKES A SHOWER
When he was 4 years old, Buck Boopman cried all the way to
and from the
all-girl tap-dancing lessons his mother made him go to. But he did not cry
during the classes. No, that would have been too humiliating. It was bad
enough to have to wear that leotard and those shiny black shoes with the
little ribbon as a shoelace without bawling like a big baby about the whole
thing. The real reason Buck kept it together was simply out of respect for
the little girls in that class, especially Teddy, the daughter of the
Minister at the church he went to. Buck always looked forward to seeing
Teddy there. Teddy was Buck's first love. Tap-dancing lessons may not have
made him a dancer, but they taught him that sometimes love is just hoping to
see someone, and keeping it together for them when you do.
A few years later, in the second Grade, Buck would walk home from school
with Donna for lunch everyday. And everyday he would split the baby
Snickers bar his mother had given him with Donna when they met on the corner
for the walk back to school. One day when his mother gave him his usual
Snickers bar, Buck asked if he might have TWO snickers bars today.
'Why do you need two today?” his mother asked.
And Buck explained to his mother that everyday he split his candy bar with
Donna, and that today he thought maybe Donna might like one of her own.
"Oh yes!" His mother beamed as she wiped her hands on her Watermelon Apron
and reached into the pantry for another Snickers. "You certainly may!"
These two events would form Bucks attitude towards women that he kept for
the rest of his life.
It was also why he felt a bit nervous and uneasy about the effect that his
step-sister Betsye had on him, all the while hoping something might happen
between the two of them.
******
Betsye was 16 years old. She had a father somewhere that sent a birthday
card to her on her birthday for the last 14 years. She loved her daddy like
all little girls do, but stayed confused as to why he chose to stay away.
She had had to suffer the looks and jeers of quite a number of her mother's
boyfriends over the years. She had grown up 'fast" as the old folks say,
having started her period at the age of 10 and having her breasts come in
when she was 13. And my, did they come in! The flat chested girls could not
imagine what a curse it could be. Boys never looked you in the eye. Some of
them even would just come up and grab at them.
Men gawked and didn't even try to hide their lust.
all-girl tap-dancing lessons his mother made him go to. But he did not cry
during the classes. No, that would have been too humiliating. It was bad
enough to have to wear that leotard and those shiny black shoes with the
little ribbon as a shoelace without bawling like a big baby about the whole
thing. The real reason Buck kept it together was simply out of respect for
the little girls in that class, especially Teddy, the daughter of the
Minister at the church he went to. Buck always looked forward to seeing
Teddy there. Teddy was Buck's first love. Tap-dancing lessons may not have
made him a dancer, but they taught him that sometimes love is just hoping to
see someone, and keeping it together for them when you do.
A few years later, in the second Grade, Buck would walk home from school
with Donna for lunch everyday. And everyday he would split the baby
Snickers bar his mother had given him with Donna when they met on the corner
for the walk back to school. One day when his mother gave him his usual
Snickers bar, Buck asked if he might have TWO snickers bars today.
'Why do you need two today?” his mother asked.
And Buck explained to his mother that everyday he split his candy bar with
Donna, and that today he thought maybe Donna might like one of her own.
"Oh yes!" His mother beamed as she wiped her hands on her Watermelon Apron
and reached into the pantry for another Snickers. "You certainly may!"
These two events would form Bucks attitude towards women that he kept for
the rest of his life.
It was also why he felt a bit nervous and uneasy about the effect that his
step-sister Betsye had on him, all the while hoping something might happen
between the two of them.
******
Betsye was 16 years old. She had a father somewhere that sent a birthday
card to her on her birthday for the last 14 years. She loved her daddy like
all little girls do, but stayed confused as to why he chose to stay away.
She had had to suffer the looks and jeers of quite a number of her mother's
boyfriends over the years. She had grown up 'fast" as the old folks say,
having started her period at the age of 10 and having her breasts come in
when she was 13. And my, did they come in! The flat chested girls could not
imagine what a curse it could be. Boys never looked you in the eye. Some of
them even would just come up and grab at them.
Men gawked and didn't even try to hide their lust.
She didn't quite know it, but she was more than breasts. She
was also very
pretty and sweet, it’s just nobody had ever really told her that.
She had never really had a boyfriend, she stayed to busy just trying to
defend herself at school, and on the walks home, and when she and her
girlfriends would get cornered by some boys down at the Bellaire.
pretty and sweet, it’s just nobody had ever really told her that.
She had never really had a boyfriend, she stayed to busy just trying to
defend herself at school, and on the walks home, and when she and her
girlfriends would get cornered by some boys down at the Bellaire.
So when Fightin' Joe Jarmack, the toughest guy at school,
showed an interest
in her and asked her out, it made sense to her to say yes. Nobody messed
with Joe, and nobody would dare mess with Joe's girl. She was scared and
vulnerable, and she did whatever Joe asked, but she wasn't really afraid of
Joe. Joe liked her too much to ever hurt her; she sensed that. He
represented protection, and it seemed like a good trade, her affection for
his protection.
But recently, since her mom had married Bum Boopman, she had taken a liking
to her step-brother Buck. He was kind and gentle, and had always showed her
a great deal of respect. He smiled to see her in the mornings, and she found
herself daydreaming about him during class, and at night before she fell
asleep.
*******
No one was home , so Betsye took a shower, wrapped herself
in a towel, painted her toenails while she sat on the edge of the bathroom
countertop. She didn't hear when Buck came home until she heard him gasp
"Sorry" as he rounded the corner and into the bathroom.
"That's OK" she said as she hopped down from the counter to face him head
on.
Buck fought the urge to look at his boot tops and just stood there, looking
into Betsye's eyes.
Betsye knew it was up to her. She was tired of the affliction, tired of
playing the role of Joe's girl.
She smiled her best smile and let the towel drop, and Buck stepped into the
bathroom, pulling the door shut.
in her and asked her out, it made sense to her to say yes. Nobody messed
with Joe, and nobody would dare mess with Joe's girl. She was scared and
vulnerable, and she did whatever Joe asked, but she wasn't really afraid of
Joe. Joe liked her too much to ever hurt her; she sensed that. He
represented protection, and it seemed like a good trade, her affection for
his protection.
But recently, since her mom had married Bum Boopman, she had taken a liking
to her step-brother Buck. He was kind and gentle, and had always showed her
a great deal of respect. He smiled to see her in the mornings, and she found
herself daydreaming about him during class, and at night before she fell
asleep.
*******
No one was home , so Betsye took a shower, wrapped herself
in a towel, painted her toenails while she sat on the edge of the bathroom
countertop. She didn't hear when Buck came home until she heard him gasp
"Sorry" as he rounded the corner and into the bathroom.
"That's OK" she said as she hopped down from the counter to face him head
on.
Buck fought the urge to look at his boot tops and just stood there, looking
into Betsye's eyes.
Betsye knew it was up to her. She was tired of the affliction, tired of
playing the role of Joe's girl.
She smiled her best smile and let the towel drop, and Buck stepped into the
bathroom, pulling the door shut.
THE
VIEW FROM THE SMOKING AREA
“Howdy do...yeah, I got somethin for the head!
Come on, come stand over here, it’s the best spot on Campus. Want a hit? Yeah, its Oaxacan and it is good. See, from here you can see down the side of the building both ways and if Potter or Coach Dibble show up, we got a runnin start to the Parking Lot. They'll never know what hit 'em. Lobo is out there with all her girls. See that “72 Civic, the Purple one with the smoke comin’ out the rear window? Theres more pussy packed into there right now than a Future Teachers of America Convention. Sometimes they let you party with em, but you gotta wait for the invite. Won't take long, man.
When the wind is just right, comin out of the lot, you can get high just standin here, and seein’ as how jus’ ‘bout every other car is packed with Freaks all tuned in to KZEW its like were getting’ “Smoke on the Water”… in Quadraphonic too. Pretty cool
From here we can see everything. We got a better view of the Parking Lot and the Drivers Ed course over there than Mr. Turcell up there in the tower. They put that in last year, looks like something out of a Yogi Bear vs. The Park Ranger episode. Turcell thinks from up there with his Binoculars he’ll be able to see whats goin’ on inside the vehicles while everybody’s practicing driving.
Say again? Yeah, it looks like something a Boy Scout Troop made. He climbs three flights of ladders every day to get up there.
No, you’re right, they didn’t spend much money on it and it don’t look real safe.
Uh oh, there goes Fightin Joe. Looks like he's on a mission. Looks like they are headed to Drivers Ed. He’s got Tiny Fontanadana with him too. They’re probably lookin’ for someone for Tiny to beat up while Fightin’ Joe holds ‘em. Tiny is little, but he’s a coward and that makes him dangerous, especially since he’s Joe’s only friend besides Betsye.
But don’t look now cause here comes Cross-eyed Myra in that Rabbit Jacket of hers. 88 degree's in the shade, Myra has gotta wear that jacket. Her mommas REAL French, barely even speaks English, but Myra is from Brooklyn. She likes to think she's French though.
Listen! Hear that squeaky sound?
Its that Patent Leather Ultra Miniskirt she wears. Man she’s really truckin’ ain’t she? Check it out, she’s gonna want a light for her cigarette…she’ll let it dangle until she decides to make Gentlemen out of us, and ask us if we ain't gonna light her cigarette.
Hey Myra whats happenin'?!
No, ma’am, I do not know what Joe and Tiny are up to besides no good. Lookin for who? What do they want with Buck? He did what? You don’t mean it! He and Betsye? But she’s his Half-Step Sister. Yeah, I guess that don't plug no holes. Aren’t I gonna what? Oh sure, here you go…man I need a cig too after hearin’ that shit.
Buck and Betsye! My my!
Ok, catch ya later!
Man! Buck has been makin' out his own step sister, Betsye, which just happens to be the most notoriously bad-assed’ dude in the world's girlfriend. Fightin’Joe must be wiggin’ out. Someone's gonna get hurt, I guarantee you me.
Buck better keep his ass well hid.
Whats that? Me and Cross-Eyed Myra?? No, not me…everyone thinks I am but the fact of the matter is I’m the only one thats not.
Yeah, it gets pretty intense around here for sure. Whats your name? Good to know ya, Stan-man…
They call me Bulletholes. See ya ‘round”
Come on, come stand over here, it’s the best spot on Campus. Want a hit? Yeah, its Oaxacan and it is good. See, from here you can see down the side of the building both ways and if Potter or Coach Dibble show up, we got a runnin start to the Parking Lot. They'll never know what hit 'em. Lobo is out there with all her girls. See that “72 Civic, the Purple one with the smoke comin’ out the rear window? Theres more pussy packed into there right now than a Future Teachers of America Convention. Sometimes they let you party with em, but you gotta wait for the invite. Won't take long, man.
When the wind is just right, comin out of the lot, you can get high just standin here, and seein’ as how jus’ ‘bout every other car is packed with Freaks all tuned in to KZEW its like were getting’ “Smoke on the Water”… in Quadraphonic too. Pretty cool
From here we can see everything. We got a better view of the Parking Lot and the Drivers Ed course over there than Mr. Turcell up there in the tower. They put that in last year, looks like something out of a Yogi Bear vs. The Park Ranger episode. Turcell thinks from up there with his Binoculars he’ll be able to see whats goin’ on inside the vehicles while everybody’s practicing driving.
Say again? Yeah, it looks like something a Boy Scout Troop made. He climbs three flights of ladders every day to get up there.
No, you’re right, they didn’t spend much money on it and it don’t look real safe.
Uh oh, there goes Fightin Joe. Looks like he's on a mission. Looks like they are headed to Drivers Ed. He’s got Tiny Fontanadana with him too. They’re probably lookin’ for someone for Tiny to beat up while Fightin’ Joe holds ‘em. Tiny is little, but he’s a coward and that makes him dangerous, especially since he’s Joe’s only friend besides Betsye.
But don’t look now cause here comes Cross-eyed Myra in that Rabbit Jacket of hers. 88 degree's in the shade, Myra has gotta wear that jacket. Her mommas REAL French, barely even speaks English, but Myra is from Brooklyn. She likes to think she's French though.
Listen! Hear that squeaky sound?
Its that Patent Leather Ultra Miniskirt she wears. Man she’s really truckin’ ain’t she? Check it out, she’s gonna want a light for her cigarette…she’ll let it dangle until she decides to make Gentlemen out of us, and ask us if we ain't gonna light her cigarette.
Hey Myra whats happenin'?!
No, ma’am, I do not know what Joe and Tiny are up to besides no good. Lookin for who? What do they want with Buck? He did what? You don’t mean it! He and Betsye? But she’s his Half-Step Sister. Yeah, I guess that don't plug no holes. Aren’t I gonna what? Oh sure, here you go…man I need a cig too after hearin’ that shit.
Buck and Betsye! My my!
Ok, catch ya later!
Man! Buck has been makin' out his own step sister, Betsye, which just happens to be the most notoriously bad-assed’ dude in the world's girlfriend. Fightin’Joe must be wiggin’ out. Someone's gonna get hurt, I guarantee you me.
Buck better keep his ass well hid.
Whats that? Me and Cross-Eyed Myra?? No, not me…everyone thinks I am but the fact of the matter is I’m the only one thats not.
Yeah, it gets pretty intense around here for sure. Whats your name? Good to know ya, Stan-man…
They call me Bulletholes. See ya ‘round”
Turcell looked up the three flights of ladders that led to his perch. It was like the worlds biggest Deer Stand, 30 feet up from the blacktop, and situated smack dab in the center of the Drivers Ed Course. From here he could keep an eye on the 15 year old Hoodlums that were learning to drive in his program. Years ago, he felt like he was doing the Community a real service. These days he didn’t know.
Something had changed.
The kids were different, that was for sure. The kids today had changed everything. They had changed in the way they acted, especially towards any authority. They acted so oppressed, like the National Guard had been to their School, fired M-16's into their mob, cut their classmates down, hit their heads with nightsticks and blinded their eyes with tear-gas.
None of that had happened to these kids, so why did they act that way?
When he reached the top and settled in to his chair, he put out the Green Flag indicating the course was open. He fired up the radio with which he could communicate with each car. There was always some joker out there that thought they could get away with something, like smoking a cigarette, or worse, fire up a Reefer, and the CB Radio was there to let the kids know Turcell was on top.
“On top, darn right I’m on top, I’m more on top than that gook sniper that took out my best buddy in the ‘Nam” Turcell thought to himself.
Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out the little silver flask.
It looked like it was gong to be a long morning.
With his Binoculars, he could see Bulletholes up on the hill, right on that blind corner of the building where the gooks, I mean, the kids, could get away with murder.
Bulletholes! That kid was too sharp to be a slacker, but that’s what he was allright. And now, he and that new kid, blacker than the Ace of Spades, are cutting class and smoking that shit.
There goes the neighborhood.
Whoa! Whats this? Theres Cross-eyed Myra, always lookin' for some trouble. She's found it with those two!
That slut.
Turcell licked his lips and refocused his binoculars for a better look and muttered to himself:
"Every boy in school must be bangin’ that. Every boy but me. What are they lookin at?
Oh shit… Fightin’ Joe and Tiny. Shit, they’re headed this way.
Whats this?
Car 17? Thats Perk, Hogshead and Buck!
They’re pullin’ Perk Perkins out of MY car!"
Turcell took a quick swig from his flask and reached for the Red flag that signaled "All Stop".
(Radio Static)
Turcell:
“Perk, you get that car under control or your ass is grass!
(static)
"Perk, I want your butt back into that drivers seat now!"
(static)
Hogshead, can you hear me? I want you to make Fightin Joe leave Perk alone, and if you can’t do that I order you to gain control of that vehicle!”
(More Radio static)
Turcell gulped hard as he watched Fightin’ Joe wrestle Perk the rest of the way out of the drivers seat. He saw Buck Boopman exit from the rear passenger side door and run for his life. He saw Hogshead exit the passenger seat, go ‘round the rear of the vehicle and try to sneak up on Joe. Hogshead was a big ol boy, but a peaceful, slow-movin' kind of guy, no match for fightin' Joe.
The whole time, Car 17 was idling along in a slow wide arc, driver-less, but still in gear. But all eyes were on the hand-to-hand combat taking place on turn #3 of Turcells beloved Drivers Ed course.
It looked like Joe was about to remove Perks head, and Perks upper left arm was bent in a most unnatural way having been both broken and dislocated from his shoulder while being extracted from the vehicle. Why Joe went after Perk the driver instead of Buck in the backseat has been a subject of much conjecture for many years now.
Blind rage coupled with mistaken identity seems as likely an answer as any.
Maybe it was just Perks lucky day.
It was only during the investigation the next week that Buck's affair with Joe's girl Betsye came to light.
But now, Turcell could only watch in confused amazement from his Tower.
At the last second, Joe saw Hogshead approaching from the rear of the car.
Joe let Perk go and Perk sat there, holding his arm and trying to keep Tiny from pummeling him more with those little fist’s.
Joe squared off and met Hogshead head on with a straight right that would have stopped one of Rucker’s High Performance jobs.
It would have stopped a tank.
In his Binoculars, Turcell could see Hogsheads face flatten, and his ears bulge out. Hogshead sank to his knees and kissed the asphalt.
The fight was over, but Turcell felt a hole in his middle. He could taste the coppery flavor of some impending doom.
What was it?
What was that sound?
What was this screeching, crunching, scraping, noise?
And why was his tower leaning now as he watched the parking lot get closer and closer to his window?
Crap! Car 17!
Turcells day suddenly seemed to have gotten significantly shorter.
WHERE ARE THEY NOW?
‘Ol Bulletholes cannot speak for any of the
characters, unreal imagined or conglomerated into his story about fightin’ Joe.
He can however, speak for himself.
Bulletholes resides in Bedford, not far from the old Boys Ranch for Orphans. He works a job as a Shipping and Receiving Clerk.
Bulletholes is a very grateful Recovering Addict with 411 days of clean time. He spends his time spreading the message to the still suffering addict:
“ANY ADDICT CAN STOP DOING DRUGS, LOSE THE DESIRE TO USE AND FIND A NEW WAY TO LIVE”
Bulletholes resides in Bedford, not far from the old Boys Ranch for Orphans. He works a job as a Shipping and Receiving Clerk.
Bulletholes is a very grateful Recovering Addict with 411 days of clean time. He spends his time spreading the message to the still suffering addict:
“ANY ADDICT CAN STOP DOING DRUGS, LOSE THE DESIRE TO USE AND FIND A NEW WAY TO LIVE”
Saturday, February 21, 2015
SO DUMB
I rented a movie last week. The Equalizer, with Denzel Washington. He plays an employee at an Home Improvement store named Rob who also happens to be an ex-CIA agent.
Denzel is always good, right?
It was weird. The producer tried something new I guess. In between all the dialogue, they had a narrator. The narrator would say things like "Rob checks his watch and gets up from his table. The girl at the corner table watches him as he goes to the pay phone. He drops a quarter in the slot" then the narration would end and Rob would be talking on the phone.
"I've done some bad things in my life, Nicolai... Things I'm not proud of. I promised someone I love very much that I would never go back to being that person... But for you, I'll make an exception."
Next, the narrator would say:
"Rob hangs up the phone, leaves a tip at the table and approaches the waitress"
Next, the narrator would say:
"Rob hangs up the phone, leaves a tip at the table and approaches the waitress"
The dialogue between he and the waitress, Teri, would start.
Teri: [about his book] What's your new one about?
Robert McCall: Oh, it's about a guy who thinks he's a knight in shining armor. The only thing is, he lives in a world where knights don't exist anymore.
Teri: Sound like my world.
And the narrator kicks in again, telling the audience that Rob smiles, pats Teri on the arm, walks out the door and down a darkened street with his reflection in the storefront windows revealing him to be deep in thought.
Man, after about 30 minutes ithe constant chatter was totally on my nerves. Driving me nuts.
Robert McCall: Oh, it's about a guy who thinks he's a knight in shining armor. The only thing is, he lives in a world where knights don't exist anymore.
Teri: Sound like my world.
And the narrator kicks in again, telling the audience that Rob smiles, pats Teri on the arm, walks out the door and down a darkened street with his reflection in the storefront windows revealing him to be deep in thought.
Man, after about 30 minutes ithe constant chatter was totally on my nerves. Driving me nuts.
I thought "If I was at a movie theater, I'd have to leave right now."
After an hour and a half, with 20 minutes left in the movie, I finally figured it out.
Somehow I had activated the feature for the "Vision Impaired".
God, I'm so dumb.
"Rob wipes bloody brains off of the baby sledgehammer he used to bash the side of Nicholai's head in, and returns it to the shelf in aisle 10"
After an hour and a half, with 20 minutes left in the movie, I finally figured it out.
Somehow I had activated the feature for the "Vision Impaired".
God, I'm so dumb.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
AT THE CHINA DRAGON TODAY
The waitress takes my card to pay.
“Are you see your?” she asks.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you seen goo?”
I hold up my left hand, no ring, “Yes, I am single!”
“No,no,no,no….seen ger, seen ger” she says.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand” says I.
She turns the check over and writes:
“S-E-I-O-R”
“See your” she says again.
“Oh, I get it. Senior. I’m 57. How’s that?“ I say.
“No, you no see your” she says and off with the check she
goes.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
THE LOVE BIRDS OF LUMINARIAS
We did great business those first 3 years, even though it was hard to find down that lonely stretch of road. but that's not why the business went away. We lost business because it was horribly mismanaged.
Luminarias Restaurant was bastard child away from its mama.
Corporate didn't want to make trips to Fort Worth...there was nothing here...they came to inspect but never quite made it west of the two Dallas stores, Baby Does and 94th Aero Squadron.
At the beginning of the end, one of our bright managers decided that money could be saved by installing a washer and dryer in the employee break room. The Employee break room was only 10' by 10', and also housed the cashier. So, after a busy Friday night there were about 500 napkins and tablecloths that had to be laundered.
It wasn't long before there was a huge pile of soiled linens built up that was never going to go completely away.
It wasn't long from there before we discovered that the plumbing system couldn't take all the extra water. Drains backed up. On a Saturday night we might be running out of clean napkins, and the washer would be going, and the dryer too, and the cashier is sweating their ass off, and 8 waitresses are trying to take a smoke break, and the drains are backing up. It was hell.
One of the drains that would back up was in a glass atrium behind the hostess stand. It had a tropical plant and two love birds in it.
Prior to the Washer-Dryer, customers at the Hostess stand would coo at the Love Birds in the Atrium, and the Love birds would rub their necks together and coo back.
The Atrium was about the size of a phone booth, and when water began to rise in there it would come up about 3 feet high, and the birds would get nervous, and it would start to laek at the Hostess stand, and run like a river right out into the dining room.
Yeah, the business dropped off pretty quick.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
THE KIND OF BROTHER I AM
MY SISTER PASSED AWAY JANUARY 21, 2015.
My first memory of Lisa was riding our tricycles around the kitchen table while my mother howled with laughter, then playing in the sandbox, and later that day, inexplicably and for no apparent reason, breaking one of her toys on purpose.
I guess that’s the kind of brother I was.
As we got older I remember being at home with the measles -- we both had the measles at the same time—waiting for the soundtrack to Mary Poppins to be delivered so we could sing along to it. Then a year later giving her an album for her birthday. It was “The Monkees” and we sang to that one as well.
We lived in Detroit, and during the winter when it snowed, the snowplows would come by and leave a huge mound of snow on either side of the road. When kids walked during these times, we walked on top of these mountains everywhere we went, as though we were traversing the south ridge of Everest. One day after school I had beat her home. I went in the garage and got a shovel. I went to the end of the driveway where there was a mountain of snow. I was sure she would come this way. So I dug from the top, straight down, and made a 4 foot deep hole for her to fall in. I covered it with a piece of cardboard, and covered that with snow.
My trap now laid, I went across the street to get my buddy Pete, that we might hide and spy her as she fell in the trap. But once at Pete's, his mother brought hot chocolate and cookies, and soon we were playing Monopoly, and I had forgotten all about my trap and my little sister Lisa.
When I finally left Pete's and got home, a distraught and freezing Lisa had been rescued from my trap by my mother, who had heard her cries for help from inside the house.
Dad wore me out that night. I guess that’s just the kind of brother I was.
Back in Texas, when she was a 5th grader and would have her friends spend the night, they would gather around her phonograph. In strange cabaret-esque voices they would sing:
“Those were the days, my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we'd choose
We’d fight and never lose
Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days”
In my minds I can hear them now, just as you might be hearing them too.
I would think to myself “OK, they are in the 5th grade right? What do they think they are singing about? ”
Then the next song would be Cher’s big hit “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” and I would wonder “Is it possible they really know what they are singing about?” and the thought occurs to me now and I have to wonder did I really know what they were singing about?
That’s the kind of brother I was I suppose, and the fact is Lisa was way more hip and way more popular than I. It was Lisa who talked to me for hours and finally convinced me I should wear bell bottoms, something this son of a Republican wasn’t too sure was a good thing to do.
Later in High School we had drifted apart. She was Partridge Family, and I was Black Sabbath. She was Pep Squad and I was Parking lot. I shared a bathroom with her for 17 years, and it had got to where when we passed in the hall in the morning there was a two word greeting we had for each other.
“Hello Face” I would say
“Hi Freak” she would reply .
It was like our Pet name for each other. I guess that just the kind of brothers and sisters we were.
I never really knew what to get her for Christmas or birthdays. Her tastes were so much more refined than my own. But in 1985 at Christmas I found something I thought was nice. It was a ceramic goose head, with a long elegant neck. It hung on the wall in the kitchen, and you could hang a kitchen towel on it.
She hated it. She hated it the second she opened it up. And since I liked it so well, she let me keep it. I was delighted. And so in 1986 when I was Christmas shopping for Lisa, I bought another one. She hated that one too. So now I had two goose heads in my kitchen and when Christmas 1987 rolled around, I also had a ceramic pigs butt to hang towels from in my kitchen.
Because that’s just the kind of brother I was.
Despite all this, sometime in the last 20 years Lisa confided to me that I was her hero. I never figured out what I could have done to achieve that status. For me Lisa had always been someone to play with, someone to tease, someone to set traps for. A target. Maybe it wasn’t 20 years ago. Maybe it was 6 years ago when I finally got clean and sober that she said I was her hero, but don’t think that’s when.
Then two years ago Lisa had a neck surgery. I went to see her in the Rehabilitation Center.
“They are kicking me out of rehab” she said.
‘Why?” I ask.
“Because they are a bunch of horses asses here. They are not taking care of me. This bed is uncomfortable. The pillows are like bricks. They locked me into the bed last night without telling me. They keep changing my medicine without telling me. They made me eat broth because they said I was constipated. The broth was cold. I asked for water, and they won’t bring me any. I can’t get any rest here, so I can’t do the therapy exercises.”
I’m thinking what a tough and demanding princess and the pea of a patient she must be, but then she says: "The doctor ordered a soft neck brace for me three days ago, and they haven’t brought that to me yet. He said it would be more comfortable for sleeping than the one I have now, but they haven’t brought it for me because they are idiots and just don’t care, and I can’t get any rest in this Frankenstein neck brace”
My ears kind of prick up at this. Three days?
I looked at this neck brace she is wearing.
Its huge!
It looks like something you would put on a mule getting ready to plow the back forty.
So I go to the nurses station.
“My sister needs her soft collar neck brace”
“We don’t have one”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was ordered Monday right, yes?”
“Yes, but they keep them in storage downstairs, and no one is here with a key tonight.”
"But its Thursday today. What happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?"
"They didn't get the brace."
I look around over my shoulder. "They? Who is they?"
"The day shift."
“Is this some specialty item?”
“No, Mr. Renfro, you can get them at CVS.”
Holy crap! Now the short hairs on the back of my neck are singing “woo-woo-woo” and I say: “So if I go get one of these, you can put it on her, and she will experience some relief, and get some rest so that she can do the physical therapy and wont have to be kicked out?”
“Sure!”
So off I go to CVS to furnish the million dollar hospital with rehabilitation supplies they have, but just can’t seem to deliver to my sister. And the whole way there and back, the old chef, the crazy killer intolerant son-of-a –bitch that resides in a shallow grave in my head, he starts to rise up.
What I don’t want to do is go all Hells Kitchen on them. I’m thinking to myself “Don’t stop at the nurses’ station, just walk on by.”
I was almost past the nurses station with the neck brace when I hear the nurse “Oh, you got it! You got the neck brace! You are such a good brother!”
And that’s all it took.
I wheeled around and slammed the new brace down on the nurses station counter.
“No. I’m not a good brother. I suck as a brother. But she has laid there for three days waiting to get this brace the doctor ordered for her. There must be thousands of these in your little neck-brace closet downstairs that nobody has a key to, and all I did was show a little empathy and take a 5 minute drive around the corner to get a medical device a doctor ordered 3 days ago for YOUR patient that cost a whopping big 14 bucks, and I think that is ridiculous. This is a Rehabilitation Hospital right? That’s what it says on the sign out front. I'm sure I saw a sign that said Rehabilitation on it. Does rehabilitation mean what I think it do? Isn't this where you help people get better?”
She gulped, but another nurse in the station turns and tries to help. She says “You know, you sound just like your sister.” And she laughed.
Holy shit. I got two of them now. So I said:
“I know my sister is difficult. She must be a royal pain in the ass. But I love her, and if ya’ll here at the Texas Rehabilitation Hospital can’t supply her with the medical rehabilitation supplies that a doctor has prescribed for her to help her with her recovery, even after three days, then you incompetent dumb-asses deserve everything you get from her. I don’t think it’s fucking funny at all.”
They didn't even flinch, but went back to staring at their computer screens. I said all this outside the earshot of my sister, but I said it plenty loud.
I opened the door to Lisa’s room. Her face lit up when she saw the bag. “Oh Stevie, thank you” she said, almost in tears “You are the best brother in the whole world”
“Well Face, I guess thats just the kind of brother I am!”
My first memory of Lisa was riding our tricycles around the kitchen table while my mother howled with laughter, then playing in the sandbox, and later that day, inexplicably and for no apparent reason, breaking one of her toys on purpose.
I guess that’s the kind of brother I was.
As we got older I remember being at home with the measles -- we both had the measles at the same time—waiting for the soundtrack to Mary Poppins to be delivered so we could sing along to it. Then a year later giving her an album for her birthday. It was “The Monkees” and we sang to that one as well.
We lived in Detroit, and during the winter when it snowed, the snowplows would come by and leave a huge mound of snow on either side of the road. When kids walked during these times, we walked on top of these mountains everywhere we went, as though we were traversing the south ridge of Everest. One day after school I had beat her home. I went in the garage and got a shovel. I went to the end of the driveway where there was a mountain of snow. I was sure she would come this way. So I dug from the top, straight down, and made a 4 foot deep hole for her to fall in. I covered it with a piece of cardboard, and covered that with snow.
My trap now laid, I went across the street to get my buddy Pete, that we might hide and spy her as she fell in the trap. But once at Pete's, his mother brought hot chocolate and cookies, and soon we were playing Monopoly, and I had forgotten all about my trap and my little sister Lisa.
When I finally left Pete's and got home, a distraught and freezing Lisa had been rescued from my trap by my mother, who had heard her cries for help from inside the house.
Dad wore me out that night. I guess that’s just the kind of brother I was.
Back in Texas, when she was a 5th grader and would have her friends spend the night, they would gather around her phonograph. In strange cabaret-esque voices they would sing:
“Those were the days, my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we'd choose
We’d fight and never lose
Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days”
In my minds I can hear them now, just as you might be hearing them too.
I would think to myself “OK, they are in the 5th grade right? What do they think they are singing about? ”
Then the next song would be Cher’s big hit “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” and I would wonder “Is it possible they really know what they are singing about?” and the thought occurs to me now and I have to wonder did I really know what they were singing about?
That’s the kind of brother I was I suppose, and the fact is Lisa was way more hip and way more popular than I. It was Lisa who talked to me for hours and finally convinced me I should wear bell bottoms, something this son of a Republican wasn’t too sure was a good thing to do.
Later in High School we had drifted apart. She was Partridge Family, and I was Black Sabbath. She was Pep Squad and I was Parking lot. I shared a bathroom with her for 17 years, and it had got to where when we passed in the hall in the morning there was a two word greeting we had for each other.
“Hello Face” I would say
“Hi Freak” she would reply .
It was like our Pet name for each other. I guess that just the kind of brothers and sisters we were.
I never really knew what to get her for Christmas or birthdays. Her tastes were so much more refined than my own. But in 1985 at Christmas I found something I thought was nice. It was a ceramic goose head, with a long elegant neck. It hung on the wall in the kitchen, and you could hang a kitchen towel on it.
She hated it. She hated it the second she opened it up. And since I liked it so well, she let me keep it. I was delighted. And so in 1986 when I was Christmas shopping for Lisa, I bought another one. She hated that one too. So now I had two goose heads in my kitchen and when Christmas 1987 rolled around, I also had a ceramic pigs butt to hang towels from in my kitchen.
Because that’s just the kind of brother I was.
Despite all this, sometime in the last 20 years Lisa confided to me that I was her hero. I never figured out what I could have done to achieve that status. For me Lisa had always been someone to play with, someone to tease, someone to set traps for. A target. Maybe it wasn’t 20 years ago. Maybe it was 6 years ago when I finally got clean and sober that she said I was her hero, but don’t think that’s when.
Then two years ago Lisa had a neck surgery. I went to see her in the Rehabilitation Center.
“They are kicking me out of rehab” she said.
‘Why?” I ask.
“Because they are a bunch of horses asses here. They are not taking care of me. This bed is uncomfortable. The pillows are like bricks. They locked me into the bed last night without telling me. They keep changing my medicine without telling me. They made me eat broth because they said I was constipated. The broth was cold. I asked for water, and they won’t bring me any. I can’t get any rest here, so I can’t do the therapy exercises.”
I’m thinking what a tough and demanding princess and the pea of a patient she must be, but then she says: "The doctor ordered a soft neck brace for me three days ago, and they haven’t brought that to me yet. He said it would be more comfortable for sleeping than the one I have now, but they haven’t brought it for me because they are idiots and just don’t care, and I can’t get any rest in this Frankenstein neck brace”
My ears kind of prick up at this. Three days?
I looked at this neck brace she is wearing.
Its huge!
It looks like something you would put on a mule getting ready to plow the back forty.
So I go to the nurses station.
“My sister needs her soft collar neck brace”
“We don’t have one”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was ordered Monday right, yes?”
“Yes, but they keep them in storage downstairs, and no one is here with a key tonight.”
"But its Thursday today. What happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?"
"They didn't get the brace."
I look around over my shoulder. "They? Who is they?"
"The day shift."
“Is this some specialty item?”
“No, Mr. Renfro, you can get them at CVS.”
Holy crap! Now the short hairs on the back of my neck are singing “woo-woo-woo” and I say: “So if I go get one of these, you can put it on her, and she will experience some relief, and get some rest so that she can do the physical therapy and wont have to be kicked out?”
“Sure!”
So off I go to CVS to furnish the million dollar hospital with rehabilitation supplies they have, but just can’t seem to deliver to my sister. And the whole way there and back, the old chef, the crazy killer intolerant son-of-a –bitch that resides in a shallow grave in my head, he starts to rise up.
What I don’t want to do is go all Hells Kitchen on them. I’m thinking to myself “Don’t stop at the nurses’ station, just walk on by.”
I was almost past the nurses station with the neck brace when I hear the nurse “Oh, you got it! You got the neck brace! You are such a good brother!”
And that’s all it took.
I wheeled around and slammed the new brace down on the nurses station counter.
“No. I’m not a good brother. I suck as a brother. But she has laid there for three days waiting to get this brace the doctor ordered for her. There must be thousands of these in your little neck-brace closet downstairs that nobody has a key to, and all I did was show a little empathy and take a 5 minute drive around the corner to get a medical device a doctor ordered 3 days ago for YOUR patient that cost a whopping big 14 bucks, and I think that is ridiculous. This is a Rehabilitation Hospital right? That’s what it says on the sign out front. I'm sure I saw a sign that said Rehabilitation on it. Does rehabilitation mean what I think it do? Isn't this where you help people get better?”
She gulped, but another nurse in the station turns and tries to help. She says “You know, you sound just like your sister.” And she laughed.
Holy shit. I got two of them now. So I said:
“I know my sister is difficult. She must be a royal pain in the ass. But I love her, and if ya’ll here at the Texas Rehabilitation Hospital can’t supply her with the medical rehabilitation supplies that a doctor has prescribed for her to help her with her recovery, even after three days, then you incompetent dumb-asses deserve everything you get from her. I don’t think it’s fucking funny at all.”
They didn't even flinch, but went back to staring at their computer screens. I said all this outside the earshot of my sister, but I said it plenty loud.
I opened the door to Lisa’s room. Her face lit up when she saw the bag. “Oh Stevie, thank you” she said, almost in tears “You are the best brother in the whole world”
“Well Face, I guess thats just the kind of brother I am!”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
