Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

Previously on The Bruce: So the mystery of the envelope was solved; the mob was dispersed; Ahmed was back to polishing the same frigging glass; in short all was as it should be. But not for long. Barry came in looking for his weekly order of baksheesh.

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And now: For those of you out there who don’t know what baksheesh is, here’s a brief explanation. It’s thought to be Persian in origin and means a tip or some such gratuity. It more recent years, it usually mean bribery and that’s what Barry was looking for. And he was looking right at Ahmed and that damned glass. Ahmed was doing his best not to notice Barry which in itself would be an incredible feat to pull off. Barry is, how can you say this diplomatically, (something I’m not really known for), unusual looking. If while under the influence of any number of mind-altering substances, Ovaltine included, one could describe him as the illegitimate love child of a seven foot tall Jeff Goldblum, Sally Struthers, and A-Rod. If not under that kind of influence, that description is still pretty accurate, but nothing would explain the red hair. Don’t ask, but it ain’t my family!

Barry wanted his money, now. Ahmed feigning concern over his falafel grill, was still trying to ignore Barry. With Barry’s shadow looming ever larger, Ahmed was losing his battle. Finally, he gave in, turned and promptly dropped the glass he had been so dutifully polishing for probably 6 years. Well, all good things must end and a new glass started, right? And as far as ending goes, Barry was looking to end Ahmed right then and there. What were we into now?

“Ahmed, you haven’t been behaving. Why haven’t you been returning my calls?”, Barry wanted to know as if he didn’t know already. Barry knew and Ahmed knew he knew and couldn’t stall him any longer. For too many years, Ahmed had been paying Barry off and while I knew it was happening, I didn’t really know why. That was about to change. Dumb-ass me, I never saw the connection. Yeah, Fog Calamari couldn’t figure out some marriages were arranged and others, well, they were ARRANGED if you catch my drift. Only this one involved my half (and half-wit) sister, Polly. Yeah, the same name as our mother. Polly, my Sterno-huffing mother, gave birth to my sister fathered by cheating on Pops with some Electrolux salesman. Yeah, it sucked and in more ways than one. During one of her huffed-up binges, she decided to name her new daughter Polly as if it was the cutest thing in the world. In the family, daughter Polly was called Po as if we were prescient about her life to come. Hell, all one had to do to suss that out was to look at her mother. I didn’t learn this until many years later after I’d been calling Ahmed “Uncle” for the whole time. Now it was time for Ahmed to say “Uncle.” Karma, man.

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For a not small amount, Ahmed, who was later revealed as the Electrolux schmuck and father to Po, paid Barry to marry her. What Ahmed didn’t count on was Barry expecting a regular payroll check for his efforts. In Barry’s favor, he was kind to Po, but not particularly loving or faithful, but then neither was Po to him. Ah, love, right? Barry’s latest visit was due to Ahmed being more than a little late in his continuous dowry. Who knows how long Barry’s kindness would last without his stipend? This had to end now or sooner. If Barry “took care” of Ahmed, I’d never have a falafel again. I had to get involved.

Goodbye, dear Yorick…

Posted: May 29, 2012 in Love
Tags: , ,

For all our readers, I have something to share with you and it saddens me to tell you this. Yesterday, Bruce lost a connection near and dear to him. It wasn’t totally unexpected, but that still doesn’t make things easier. They knew each other their entire lives and when one loses a loved one so close and so dear, the pain is palpable. And knowing this is gone, leaves only emptiness – a bleeding, gaping hole of pain.

(howmed,net)

The hole this love leaves behind can’t be replaced by another. Oh, I suppose it could be replaced by another, a surrogate, but it would be artificial. It’ll never be the same. The original is always the best and the one you remember and favor most.

I can’t even begin to tell how close and Bruce and the departed were. They were thought to be inseparable. Bruce could not say anything without this loved one knowing every word. Really, it seems, no, it was that way – they were never apart. And never a cross word between them, until perhaps near the end when the fear and frustration and pain of losing someone you love so much becomes real.

And now, when Bruce gets up every morning, he knows he ‘ll never see his beloved again. His smile will never be the same. It will convey the emptiness Bruce now feels. And the world will know.

Right now, Bruce needs all the comfort and compassion all of you can bring him. Pharmaceuticals will be of great help. Losing a tooth at his age hurts like hell.

(wisdomteethout.info)

Alcohol can make you do things you would never consider when sober or at least not under the influence of some mid-altering substance and that includes love.

However, and this is a very big however, is that when under the influence (UTI for this discussion, although in looking at it, that is the same acronym for urinary tract infection – an equally uncomfortable state of being) country music starts to make sense. All the heartbreak, the missing dogs,  stolen guns, and blown-up pickup trucks are real. The wife/girlfriend/lover/best friend/partner, whatever are all real as well.

This is what heartbreak looks like.

This is something with which we can all identify. C’mon – you know you agree. The music even sounds good and meaningful. Ehh, maybe there was too much to drink after all.

The truth, however distorted by alcohol (or love for that matter) is there. Through the substance induced haze, one can find real meaning in this music. We’re on the road to hell now! All that remains now is to start using chewing tobacco (“just a little pinch between the cheek and the gums” the ad says)… a thought that at this stage is not without some charms, but none that be explained without any amount of lucidity.

Heartbreak, deceit, perfidy, (Class, today is being brought to you by the word perfidy), all have meaning and truth at this time. If a child were to be born tonight, it undoubtedly would be named Garth or Shania.

What then when sober, is the attraction of country music? Twanging steel guitars (perfected when young on back porches and pickup truck beds ); nasally singers (not from the Bronx); and rampant testosterone, flowing from amplifiers pleading, begging for some sort of low-rent salvation, and finally the love of a good “NASCAR” woman are just a few of the many the elements of this “art-form.” And don’t forget, there is also a don’t-get-in-my-face attitude as well. Independence is important here.

Don’t get in my face, y’hear? (Courtesy Guanabee)

“In vino veritas.” In Drambuie veritas! In beer veritas, we say! Drink enough and the truth shall appear. And it will set you free. Or some such semblance thereof. But, is this behavior true? Only to the extent it removes whatever moral boundaries we set to prevent us from acting like total fools. Karaoke is an example of this. Do not drink and think you sound like Billy Joel. Oh, you’ll drive like him alright, but you will not sound like him. Ever. And Christie Brinkley will never, ever go out with you. Hell, the Dixie Chicks won’t go out with you either!

So, sober up and be grateful that you couldn’t order anything from Amazon while in this state. The last thing you need is the Greatest Hits of the Oak Ridge Boys. Because quite frankly, they won’t go out with you either!

They really won’t go out with you. (Courtesy The Boot)