....in the first of an occasional series, we join America's finest living composer as he waits for the notoriously unpunctual Teri Garr to show up for a dinner date....
Tuesday 15th April, 13:45 - ...heck where in 'tarnation's she got to? Shoot, I've been waitin' for her so long, dreamin' of her lying there hanging off the side of a bale of hay in old man Hueberknicker's barnyard, practicing signing her name upside down on the old orange plumper pillow Mrs. Neiberkrantz made up outta one of Great Aunt Henrietta's army surplus bloomers when she heard they were leaving Skeeter's Heckler Point to head back up to Blind Fairy Watchman's Drift the year before they razed Gauze Winkle Bluff to the ground to make way for the Hoover Dam....
...her dress and camisole ridin' up her legs - coy, sassy and demure as a convoy of farm hands full of Stout Leroy's Old Whorin' Belly Burn and Cordial, out to raise a hell and a hollerin' with the Sleuthmeyer girls.... heck, I been waitin' here so long and the thought of her lyin' there's got me so dang aroused and all, even the worn-out, wrinkled up, boss-eyed waitress in the sidewinder-skin stilletos with a love bite the shape of a half-chewed twinkie runnin' down her gizzard starts to look like a good each way ticket to happiness. On a cold night, with the lights down and half a gallon of Wrinkly's Merry Wedding Tackle homebrew percolatin' up inside yer and three layers of heavy duty hemp sacking over her head, I guess there's worse company.... Ah, there's nothing wrong with her that a ratchet and a quart of brake fluid wouldn't fix... Oh Miss.....?
Wednesday 16th April 21:38 - ....I guess she's just popped in to pay a visit on some old friends or somethin' -
- yep, most like she'll be helping her old friend Elvis lay down the finger click tracks on his 1964 hit Roustabout. Sure 'nough, Raquel Welch'll be there too lookin' like a clenched-ass Illinois Temperance Society matron with her sonic blue Alice band, matching waistcoat and a bow-tied collar spillin' out from between her tits like a 5 legged spider the size of Cleveland. Ahhh, fill 'er up bajaysus and pass me that ol' nose flute will ya Wilma? D'I ever tell you I knew a monkey out of Dutch New Guinea looked the dead spit of you after a couple bracers and a punch in the eye?? Name of George Louis Brakeneck III. Geez, of all the things....I never thought I'd ever find myself layin' one on a monkey called George Louis Brakeneck III after a couple bracers....Still, sumbitch could handle himself, the little primate was dead eyed as a pool hustler on the eight ball. Why, George musta rolled me for 368 bucks in used navy rum rations before they finally got him back on the SS Waltzing Iguana in time to inventory their shipment of quarantined inflatable pimp simulacra. Still sends me a Christmas card every year from Iowa does George....
Friday 16th May 13:58 - .....or am I wrong? But I seem to recollect her sayin' somethin' 'bout callin' in on her old pal John down Denver way and helpin' him take the first step on the road to recovery...? Jeez, I like a drink, but you'd never have to fish me out of a vat of Colorada Stunt Pistol Sour Mash on New's Year's Eve, still beggin' for a shot of Wise Henry Ginkelmann's Spleen Rot Black Label, even with enough of that poison still swillin' in me from last night to start a forest fire with a half breath from half a mile away in Dixon's Crack...he looks so pure - like butter wouldn't melt an' all...Wilma, you'll come back to my trailer, won't ya? I can get a couple of the fellas from the Arcade to form themselves into a bed of dwarves and I'll take you to the stars and back and dry clean your smalls in between.....go on Wilma, whaddaya say???
Love on y'all,
Bob
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