Archive for June, 2013

Previously: Why do I bother listening? Why do I hang around this place? Why? Why?

And Now: That was a damn good question. I had to get out of there and now. I didn’t care if Ahmad had the best falafel, everything else was about to do me in. So I booked.

But where would I go? Church? Not hardly. Not since Sister Mary Angela Bucco caught me screwing around with one of the Goldberg-O’Brien twins behind the sacramental wine rack. (That’s where the priest kept the good stuff.)  Which sister I can’t remember, they DID look alike after all. And what you’re probably asking is up with the Goldberg-O’Brien name? Yeah, Irish and Jewish. Go figure. Lust knows no boundaries and neither did their parents. Being a good Catholic and a good Jew, they had the best of both worlds: six kids by three sets of twins. Why buy retail, right? So church was out.

2701993985_e3e5065a57                                    And this is why.

So was home. I ran away four times and this time it looked like it was finally going to stick. Where to go?

I’d been to all the halfway houses, quarterway houses, and a few of the all-the-way houses. Suffice to say, I have an interesting history. I’m pretty clean now that Hostess is out of business. I was up to a five pack a day habit on Twinkies. You know when you’re doing the good stuff, Ding Dongs and Ring Dings, scoring Little Debbie stuff just doesn’t cut it. Thankfully, it never got that far out of control. Hey, I can stop anytime I want. All you have to do to realize that is look at my weight. It’s a strapping 165 lbs. of rippling flab on a 6’3” frame. Good metabolism I guess. Sorry, that went off a little bit. Just a little TMI for you guys, but understand I’m going crazy here.

I would normally have gotten into my car and headed out to parts anywhere. But due to the damage done during the PETA dust-up, that car wasn’t going anywhere. Hitchhiking was out of the question. The last time I did that, I almost wound up getting married to a Paula Deen impersonator. No, I won’t be thumbing it for a long time.

So that leaves the rails or the bus. The bus affords more opportunity to get off anywhere and quickly and I opt for that. It’s time to leave the driving to them. Them being a sordid bunch of rum-soaked, caffeine-addicted, chain-smoking, former long-haul truckers who maintain a modicum of civility. A very small modicum.

134402237_f62c730185                  My life is in their hands!

Buses are the one of the last bastions of true democracy. Sit anywhere but be careful where. It’s the United friggin’ Nations on wheels. And there is a hierarchy to the seating “plan.” It’s not really official, but it resembles your old classroom seating. The law-abiding, butt-kissers sit up front looking to curry favor with the “teacher”. It also allows them the opportunity to get off fast. Something to always keep in mind on a bus trip. If this is the way you roll, better get on first, because of those sentenced to this mode of travel, it’s as welcome as a fart in church. As you move down the aisle, the bus gets a little and then a lot messier until you reach the back of the bus where all the kids who sat in the back of the classroom now reside. Certainly more interesting and definitely more pungent. Always decisions to make.

These are the people I normally associate but in the interest of rapid escape, I choose the front of the bus. What a mistake!

64785450_35f9c29e36

Next stop…off!

Previously: It wasn’t going to be pretty. And that was before his scholarship idea.

And now: Not pretty at all. Truth be told, I’m not a big fan of anything Billy Bob, Thornton or other wise. That’s probably why I like Angelina. She got out when she saw the handwriting on her arms. But, getting back to the issue at hand – a musical of Sling Blade? Really? I’m still asking myself that. I can only hope that this too eventually will be stillborn and quickly forgotten. Kippy can be like a dog with a bone though. Who knows how long this insanity will continue? And then I ask myself, does it really matter? If not that, then something else. And sure enough, here it comes. The scholarship idea.

It seems like Kippy was watching an inordinate amount of crap TV, you know like American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance?, and my favorite, America’s Got Herpes. Kippy penguins over to me and offers in his best clandestine stage whisper, “Fog, you’re going to love this.”

4040171378_362068b127 Yeah, that American Idol.

No, I-am-not-going-to-love-this! No, not at all.

But he persists. “Do you ever watch that program, American Idol?

No, I insist.

“Sure you do. I know you like to look at all the girls. Old ones. young ones, skinny ones…”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop already.” He did have a point, but I wasn’t going there; restraining orders and all that. “OK, Kippy, what’s up?”

“Fog, I want to help the kids.” I hate to air dirty laundry, well no, not really, but that’s what got Kippy into trouble last time. No, it’s not what you think. He was just handing out strange treats at last year’s neighborhood Halloween party. Most people give out candy bars, Snickers, that kind of stuff, right? Not Kippy. He was handing out those little containers of faux coffee creamer, all flavors. For those kids he thought were too robust (his word, mine is fat), he was giving out packets of Splenda and Sweet ‘n’ Low. You see how some parents might get just a little bit upset? The cops came and told him that 1. he had to stop that; and 2. he had to be out of town on all subsequent Halloweens. He was a little bit crushed but then realized he could go to all the non-stop Rocky Horror Picture Shows he wanted to. And he didn’t have to buy anything for the sniveling little beggars. (Again his words.)

1517086501_336887effe Just one of the kids, I guess.

Sorry, that was too much but when I hear Kippy talking about kids I get a little worked up.  He continued. “Fog, look with all the cuts to school budgets, the music programs are getting tossed out. That’s not fair. We might miss the next musical genius, might be the next Brittany, er, Bieber. You know, what’s her, uh – his name? Never mind. My idea gets around those cuts. We won’t even need musical instruments anymore!”

Wait for it, wait for it, here it comes.

“Are you ready? This is so great. We’ll get the junior community college to start awarding acapella scholarships. Any kid with a voice can apply. Well, a good voice, we must have standards you know. Before long I can see this as a sort of farm club for Broadway!”

Why do I bother listening? Why do I hang around this place? Why? Why?