9 thoughts on “2635

  1. Reblogged this on richwrapper and commented:
    You never told me you had a rich aunt. Am I ‘elderly’ enough? My not-rich not-elderly aunt used to get a windup alarm clock. this’un could make a cool movie. Got any arsenic?

  2. I hope you are getting all your misadventures in one doc. I’m still musing over you could’ve skated nam on the strength or lack of it on your eyeballs. .The gods let you live because you can write and you have tales to tell.

  3. I am trying to mis-spend my no-longer youth, good sir, and please refer to my taka-takkata-beep as a meager attempt to prove Shakespear had not the bananas enow to replicate Grantland Rice much less Dan Jenkins. We all gots tales and some’um swing sweetly to quote Lord Buckley. BTAYQ, no. I have not yet compiled the correct much less finished th e chronicles of WTF am I doing here in front of all those teenagers with guns pointed at me as I walk down a tunnel of green wavy bamboo with all the horrors those bastards back in Pendleton told me were full of scheiss-dipped punji stakes and maylay swinging gates and bouncing you-gots-no-balls now-boyo betties. (Which we most assiduously have terraformed into Improvised Explosive Devices and not actual name of Improved Limp-Dickmakers. But before I discorporate I will attempt the said compilation, good Lance Generalissimo. Your orders are my Submarine Sandwich! Sirrrr!

  4. You man console yourself, MasterGunneryPrivate with the sure knowledge that just two wars removed it was $27 Simeloens per period. I mowed lawns professionally – and talked to cute daughters who were classmates – for up to $2.50 (if they were Dad’s enlisted puke Navy pals and $3.50 (but alas, not daughters to practice my way out of terminal introversion). Those yards were left to gungle up for weeks at a time however and I got all my weightlifting in by shoving the movwer forward through the tall grass – evoked by memories ahead of time of your trenchant three-liner read just this day – and then walking forward until the handle touched my heaving lower chest and upper belly and like the song said, wash, rinse, repeat. But I blew all that coin on cheap but only one trashy paperback books at Larry’s Mart, a fine furniture emporium on The Black Street called Sanford Avenue which before The Big Fire two centuries and about a hundert-n-forty years ago was the main drag of White Snaffurd which now is returning, albiet a snark or seven asides cast but few non pinks involved in teturning via gentrification (with gubbmint grants given to minorities and wimmin who somehows still show up as “owners,” which we know will not flesh out any Thanksgiving hog you want to split and smoke righteously – depending of course on how many papers you have to use and whether they be gummed or no.

  5. I made more than a few mis-types in my reply to this sterling confession of yours, MasterGunneryPrivate, in the ‘ply about gathering all my wall-and-roof nuts in order for my estate executor – Ewe, yur hone-seff – to make us both someting we manifestily will deny wanting while counting how-muches mentally without moving lips, which I am convinced is the real test of an educated man of the south: does he move his lips when reading Hustler?

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