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Thursday, July 28, 2011

YOU'LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP. HEARING'S GONE. LONG STORY. GOT THESE THINGS CRANKED UP TO THE MAX.




Diane, 7:30 am, February twenty-fourth. Entering town of Twin Peaks. Five miles south of the Canadian border, twelve miles west of the state line. Never seen so many trees in my life. As W.C. Fields would say, I'd rather be here than Philadelphia. It's fifty-four degrees on a slightly overcast day. Weatherman said rain. If you could get paid that kind of money for being wrong sixty percent of the time it'd beat working. Mileage is 79,345, gauge is on reserve, I'm riding on fumes here, I've got to tank up when I get into town. Remind me to tell you how much that is. Lunch was $6.31 at the Lamplighter Inn. That's on Highway Two near Lewis Fork. That was a tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat, a slice of cherry pie and a cup of coffee. Damn good food. Diane, if you ever get up this way, that cherry pie is worth a stop


I hear that you're really good at what you do...Well, that's good. Because normally if a stranger walked into my station talking this kind of crap, he'd be looking for his teeth two blocks up on Queer Street.

Harry, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just let it happen. It could be a new shirt at the men's store, a catnap in your office chair or two cups of good hot black coffee. Like this.

COOPER, YOU REMIND ME TODAY OF A SMALL MEXICAN CHIHUAHUA.




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Monday, July 25, 2011

Combs

When I was around kindergarten-ish age, my mother worked across the street from our house at the local bar as a cook/bartender. There were a lot of locals and truckers that came in and out throughout the day to have a few and spend their disability dollars...or whatever it was they were using while still being able to go to the bar on a weekday.

Anyway, the owner's son, Beaver (not the funny part), told me that the machines in the bathroom that I asked about on several occasions held combs. You know, "combs." I distinctly remember really wanted a comb, but my mother wouldn't let me get one. I can remember thinking, "What's the big deal? It's only a comb. Why can't I have a comb?"

It wasn't until SEVERAL years later that I found what these magical machines actually dispensed. Actually, it was probably way too many years later that I realized what these machines were for. Where was I when all of the bad kids that sit in the back of the bus and talked about inappropriate things that they didn't really know anything about (or worse, they actually did know something about)?

Anyway, I was at a local bar on Saturday night and I saw one of these "comb dispensers," that could've very well had the image that I saw when I was a youngster.

All I can really think is: how could I possibly have thought that this was a comb dispenser? She must REALLY like to have her hair combed. That's all I can figure.
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Sunday, July 24, 2011

Tom


...We used to beat on the wall for long-distance phone calls...
...You ate the whole cake and left one triangle: like in the movies...
...I was all, "Play some Duane Eddy," and then you did...
...You used to bum the girl cigarettes from Gram and then break off the filters...
...You gave us an entire wheel of cheese. What the frick could we do with an entire wheel of cheese...
...I'll probably remember those glasses, more than anything...
...The last thing that you said to me was, "Thank You."...


Uncle Tom, tell Gram I said "Hi," okay?
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