Arrogant Al 6183

We started off the morning with a bang that led to a productive session that found us all on the same page. When we took a break, I pulled out a DVD and asked for the band’s attention. “Hey guys I need to show you something, so direct your attention to the television and watch this program,” I said. The band did as asked and waited for the show to come on.

“You know what, Dick, I’m so intelligent, graceful, coordinated, and handsome that sometimes I feel bad for the rest of the menfolk, who are merely average.” “Now, Al, that is not becoming of a gentleman, and I’m certain Frisco Steele will take umbrage with your lowly assessment of him.” “Dick, please don’t concern yourself with the likes of Frisco Steele, who is nothing more than a two-bit punk whose about to get what is coming to him.” “Frisco Steele is an up and coming contender, just like you!” “Don’t you compare me to that half a man!” “Arrogant Al, you are out of line!”

The crowd then cheers as Frisco Steele comes running down the aisle to where Arrogant Al and Dick are standing ringside.

“Why don’t you talk this trash to my face,” Frisco hollers, dressed in a suit. “Look at those threads, I bet you paid top dollar for them at K-Mart,” Al replies. “This is a fine suit!” “Yes, for the likes of Frisco Steele whose mother was a washerwoman and his old man shoveled coal until his back gave out,” Al continued. “How dare you, you arrogant scum!” “You’re just jealous because you can’t be me, which is a tragedy for the rest of the male population. I tell you, being me means getting all the ladies and having them wait hand and foot on me. Of course, most of these broads around are lacking in class, but just being with Al is enough to raise their stature to a high level.” “How dare you talk about these fine ladies like that,” Frisco protested. “Frisco, look at that low-class gal just one step above a strumpet and tell me you mean that,” Al replied, pointing somewhere in the audience. Frisco looked and when he did Arrogant Al attacked him and gave him a beating before hitting Frisco with a chair that knocks him out. “That’s how you deal with a ruffian like that,” Al said. Dick, the scrawny announcer, looked rattled and Al then asked the ladies when they were going to clean themselves up to a chorus of boos.

Arrogant Al was a wrestler in the Continental Wrestling Federation, or CWF, a small wrestling company that was headquartered in Murray, Kentucky, and whose wrestlers worked the circuit that consisted of Southeast Missouri, Northeast Arkansas, Western Kentucky, and Tennessee, and Southern Illinois. The company was in existence from 1979 to 1993. Some of its wrestlers included: The Carnivore, Big Jim Walker, Dino Dervish, Chop Chop Hawkins, Black Jack Robinson, Ernie the Conqueror, and Smooth Lou Roose. It paled in comparison to the WWE, or WWF, as it was known back then, but what it lacked in resources, it made up for with crudity and outrageous behavior and political incorrectness that would never fly today. I had never heard of this wrestling federation until this morning.

Oh yeah, Myron Baggs played the part of Arrogant Al.

I looked at the pianist who shook his head. “Where did you dig that up,” he asked me. “Robin found it and showed me this morning. “Damn, you were fucking ripped,” Kirby told Myron. “I had just graduated from college and was still working out. How did Robin find this,” Myron asked again. “I have no idea, but it sure is a find,” I declared. “I look like an idiot with that pompadour and gold tights.” “I think you look snazzy, and I love your character.” “Scragg, this is embarrassing.” “Why you say that?” “Scragg!” “That’s how you deal with a ruffian like that,” Fergus mocked Myron. I bet you paid top dollar for them at K-Mart,” Kirby continued. “We’re just jealous we can’t be Myron, but I reckon the rest of the male population is as green with envy as us,” I cracked. “Alright, they offered me a job after college and told me I got to travel and act crazy, which sounded too good to pass up, so I signed on for a year,” Myron pleaded. “Why did you leave,” Garland asked. “The owner of the company wanted bigger wrestlers and told many of us smaller guys that ou contracts wouldn’t be renewed, so that was that.” “That’s cool, Myron, I especially like the haircut and smarmy attitude,” I said. “Shit, I’m never going to live this down,” the old pianist groaned.

And he’s right.

 

 

 

Published in: on March 26, 2019 at 12:29 am  Leave a Comment  
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Giving Ordinary Folks A Shot At The Big Time 6182

We had a good practice day that found all of the band members focused and at the top of their game. Since we started at six in the morning, I cut the guys loose at noon. Blake and I then went to pick up Amy, and then get something to eat.

We stopped at Subway and brought the subs home. Blake asked me about Myron Baggs, and I told her that he was a music teacher for many years and a great pianist, too. “Do you know he rushed for over a thousand yards two seasons in a row while he was at Southeast Missouri State,” Blake asked. “No, I didn’t know that,” I replied. “He was quite the ballplayer and apparently he didn’t cause any problems at school. According to some of his teammates, Myron was more interested in music than football, but he always gave it his all. Why did he play if he didn’t like it,” my wife then asked? “Myron’s old man was a prick who always questioned his son’s manhood, and by playing football, he couldn’t do it as much because Myron Jr. was a good ballplayer. It also was his ticket to college, so he tolerated it.” “When he scored a touchdown, the scoreboard would blare ‘In the Baggs’ which is corny, but it still must have been cool for him,” Blake said. “Where did you get all this info,” I asked. Robin dug it up off the computer.” “Oh, what else did she find?” “That’s about it other than he’s a good musician and seems to have nothing bad in his past. Why did he go home after college if he didn’t get along with his father,” Blake then asked. “Because his father died while he was in college and his mama needed some help.” “You’ve never mentioned him before, so you must not have had a lot of contact with him,” my wife then asked. “Not really, Myron was a teacher and had a reputation to keep up. I played with him a few times.” “But you never gave him much thought until now?” “Yeah, pretty much, but he seems appreciative and ready to get it done.” “How are there so many characters in McSwain,” Blake asked. “Look at all the characters back in Warren and Jackton,” I countered. “True, but they were thugs, McSwain has a lot of talent.” “Yes, but it’s finally getting a chance to shine. There are a lot of talented people who go through life unnoticed because they never caught a break, or didn’t pursue it.” “That’s true, but it seems that musicians are everywhere in McSwain.” There used to be a lot more,” I replied.

I gave Blake’s observation some more thought and then realized that I’ve had a big hand in shining the light on some of McSwain’s great players, and it has given me much satisfaction to give ordinary folks with musical ability a chance to make a living at it. Seeing my fellow McSwainians rise to the top of the music world has made me proud because those guys were just working slugs and troubled souls before they hit the spotlight. Giving ordinary folk a shot at the big time is far more rewarding than giving it to the spoiled brats of rich people who don’t appreciate shit.

Oh yeah, us McSwainians can also play our instruments with a high level of skill and personality.

Published in: on March 25, 2019 at 5:30 am  Leave a Comment  
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Crawling Up From The Shaft 6181

Myron Baggs came aboard and proceeded to play every song right and with a certain flair that put his stamp on it. All of us were familiar with the retired music teacher who resembles David Johansen. “Weren’t you Buster Poindexter in the 80s,” Fergus cracked. “I’ll admit that I have some similarities to David, but we hardly look alike,” Myron replied. “Then why can you sing, “Hot, Hot, Hot” with such authenticity,” I asked. “So, it’s all going to be about how I look like David Johansen?” “Who is David Johansen,” Robin asked. “He was the lead singer for the seminal punk group, the New York Dolls before going solo. He became Buster Poindexter in the 80s, which he played a lounge singer,” I replied. I had introduced Myron to Robin and Caroline, which seemed to rattle him some. “Is everyone a star around here,” he asked. “Up until you came along,” I quipped. “Thanks, Scragg.” “You’re welcome.”

I then got a call from dickhead.

Brian sounded like a hungover hump as he cleared his throat and tried to find something to say. “Aah, aah, aah,” he stammered for a minute before I screamed at him. “I’m in the Horry County Jail,” the idiot then said. “Congratulations,” I replied. “D.U.I., drunk and disruptive, destruction to personal property, assault, and indecent exposure; I took a piss in the middle of the road,” Brian clarified. “You satisfied with yourself,” I asked. “No, but I didn’t call to ask you to bail me out, which I knew you wouldn’t, and besides, I’m in here for 72 hours because I pissed off the magistrate. I just wanted to let you know to find someone else.” “I have. I replied. “Cool, then I guess our business is done,” Brian said in a curt tone that pissed me off. “Yep,” I replied before clicking off.

Fucking asshole.

I told the band what Brian relayed to me, and they merely shook their heads. “The boy better get some help,” Garland said, a sentiment echoed by all of us. “I’m sorry I’m here under these circumstances,” Myron said. “Don’t be, now do your job and don’t put me in a bind and I won’t have to kill you,” I told Myron. “I won’t do that, Scragg.” “Good, but remember what I just told you.” “I don’t drink, smoke, do drugs, or engage in any risky behavior,” Myron then rattled off. “Damn, no wonder everyone thought you were gay,” Fergus cracked. “Okay,” the retired music teacher pleaded. “Of course, you did marry Suzette and lost,” Kirby then told him. “Okay, that was cold, cruel, and brutal.” “You were so far down that shaft that I didn’t think you’d ever be seen again,” I added. “Alright, I guess this is part of being in the band,” Myron said. “No, we’re just cruel and sadistic bastards who like making fun of hapless husbands,” Fergus replied. “Well, I’ve been single ever since, so I’m good.” “Good for what,” Kirby asked. “Oh boy,” Myron said in despair.

We all then laughed.

Myron was dealt some harsh blows in his life, but he came back and got back on solid footing again through hard work and a sense of purpose. He’s a year younger than me, so we have some of the same experiences and memories. He was the youngest of Myron and Mary Baggs. His two older sisters tried to run his life while his mother constantly fawned over him. In Myron Sr. eyes, Jr. could do no right. A maintenance supervisor at brick plant, Myron Sr. had little use for the arts and thought his son a fairy for loving music. Fortunately, Myron Jr. had some gumption and showed his father he was tough enough. Myron played on the championship football team with Rocky Rococo and was a valuable contributor. He played a number of positions before settling on running back his senior year. He was good enough to get a scholarship from a school in Missouri, where he started for three years. At six-feet and weight one-hundred and seventy pounds, Myron doesn’t look overly impressive, but back in his day, he could bench-press over four-hundred pounds, run like a deer, and jump through the roof, and yet, put him in a room and you might not know he’s there. Music was and always will be his first love, and he doesn’t like talking about his athletic prowess.

And I’m counting on him to fill out our sound.

Published in: on March 24, 2019 at 9:55 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Myron Baggs 6180

The Samurai Sword must have gone stealth last night and remained fixated on his target because he didn’t show up for rehearsal this morning, which sealed his fate. “I am not a long-suffering dingbat who can indefinitely put up with bullshit, so Brian is out, and someone else will be taking his place,” I told the band after being on the phone for twenty minutes with a guy who can play, is mature, and is actually respectable. “Did Brian stay down here last night,” Garland asked. “Don’t know, don’t care,” I replied. “And all that shit he talked yesterday,” Kirby scoffed. “I saw him driving around town yesterday evening, and he looked ready to get toasted,” the bassist continued. “I hope it was worth it to him. I should have listened to Bobby Dell who told me that he didn’t think Brian could handle an overseas tour, but hell, I wanted to give the boy a shot; well he got his shot and fucked it up.” “Who did you call out there,” Kirby asked. “Someone who won’t fuck up and pull ignorant shit like this,” I replied. “And who might that be?” “Myron Baggs,” I answered with a grin. “Goodness gracious, that actually has potential,” Fergus hollered. “Yeah, I can see it,” Garland added. “I think it’s perfect, Scragg.”

Myron Baggs is a former music teacher who taught for thirty years in the system before getting the boot for lack of funds. The subject of much gossip over his sexual orientation and nighttime activities, Myron is a character who understands what I need and want. A gifted pianist who wanted to eventually join a band and make a living that way, which was derailed when he married a woman right after he got the job teaching at one of the elementary schools. Unfortunately, the marriage only lasted two years, and Myron got stuck with the majority of the bills that his wife incurred. “I remember it took him years to pay off the bullshit she ran up on his credit card, which was some dirty shit she pulled on him, but he didn’t know at the time. It also started the rumors that he only married her to prove to the folks of McSwain that he wasn’t gay,” I said. “Who was that woman,” Garland asked. “Suzette Rollings,” Fergus answered. “That’s right, she was a good-looking woman, but apparently, she liked to live beyond her means.” “She ended up north and pulled the same stunt on some other slug,” Fergus said. “How do you know all this,” Kirby asked. “My boss lived next door to her parents.”

I called Myron because he has stage experience with an oldies band that he played in for several years and kept his summers occupied. He’s also active in the theater and has done some solo shows with just he and his piano. “Myron also has a good voice, so that is an added bonus. I believe he also plays guitar, which also might come in handy,” I said. “If I’m not mistaken, Myron also lost his home in Hurricane Fran, which wasn’t insured at the time, or something,” Fergus then said. “No, he didn’t have flood insurance and his house got flooded out. He was in the same predicament as my brother,” Garland said. “Oh yeah, a lot of folks got screwed over in that storm.” “When does Myron start,” Fergus asked. “He’ll be down this morning,” I replied.

Myron Baggs has been dealt some bad cards over the years but seems to have weathered them while getting his shit in order. I told him that I don’t need a bitter man recalling the past. Myron laughed and said that this is the greatest day of his life and began to recall when we played together for the first time. Myron and I didn’t often play together, but when we did, we always had fun.

Now I need Myron to step up and get the job done for me.

Published in: on March 24, 2019 at 2:05 am  Leave a Comment  
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Turning A Wet Noodle Into A Samurai Sword 6179

We got grim news from Beck this morning, which tossed a big ole wrench into our plans. “Damn, Scragg, I went to see you son-in-law yesterday and got some shitty news. I didn’t know my blood sugar was 547, which is a tad high,” the old pianist said. “It’s lethal, Beck,” I hollered. “Well, my cholesterol ain’t good, either, and Michael thinks it’s a bad idea that I go on tour.”

Shit.

I wanted to be mad but understood that Beck’s predicament could be mine in the not-too-distant future, so I kept my emotions in check. I told him he was a lying cocksucker because Richard would have caught that, too, had he gone to him like he said he was doing. “You insisted I go to the doctor yesterday, Scragg,” Beck then said. “You’re right because you were drinking an awful lot and the promoters like the members to have physicals before they hit the road. Well, the search continues, I grumbled. “I took the liberty to find you a replacement,” Beck informed me. “Who, I asked. The old pianist pulled out his phone and told the person on the other end to come on down. “Scragg, I need to use the restroom,” Beck the said. “Don’t drive us outta here,” Kirby snarled. “Go fuck yourself, I’ve got issues.” “Beck, you shithead!”

Thirty seconds later, it sounded like an air raid was going on in the studio bathroom. “Jesus H. Christ, it sounds like a fucking disaster in there,” Kirby scoffed. Beck let out a groan followed by another boom, which made us all cringe. “You might need to blow this place up after Beck gets done with it,” Kirby continued. “He’s under stress, so cut him some slack.” Beck let loose another bomb, and suddenly his not being on tour with us seemed like a blessing.

Until his replacement showed up.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” I screamed. “Fuck this shit,” Kirby said as he slapped the replacement. “Goddamn, things really are fucked up,” Fergus growled. “Well, at least the boy has no sense, which might be better than having a little,” Garland remarked. “What kind of logic is that,” Kirby snapped. “At least he’ll keep things interesting,”m the bassist replied.

Brian Dawson smiled at me and said he was back. I smiled back before frying his soft cheeks. “You asshole, you’re putting us behind, so this shit had better not happen again because I swear that I’ll fuck you up if it does,” I yelled. “It won’t, Scragg, I see the error of my ways and the need for me to grow a pair, so here I am.” “Yeah, the one that we loathe,” I groaned. “Is that a reference to the Air Supply song,” Brian asked. “You scumbag, you know about Air Supply?” “Yeah, they were big back in the eighties.” “You weren’t around in the eighties, Brian.” “No, but I played “Lost in Love” for a girl hoping to get lucky.” “And what happened?” “She kicked me in the nuts and called me a pussy and a loser,” the young man replied. “Do you know who Bill Evans is,” I asked the fool. “Of course, he’s one of my favorites.” “Alright, what about Art Tatum?” “Of course, along with Bud Powell, Thelonius Monk, Count Basie…” “Okay, Okay, you listen to something besides Air Supply.” “What did Beck tell you,” Garland asked. “That I needed to grow a pair and not fuck up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” “Right, Brian, so are you ready?” “Yes, Sir.” “Damn, we’re fucked,” Kirby said. “No, this wet noodle is going to transform into a samurai sword,” Brian said, who sounded utterly ridiculous. “What the fuck,” Garland blurted out. “Oh God,” Fergus mumbled.

I screamed at Brian to get behind the piano and start playing while I imagined the worst, which was pretty fucking horrible.

Published in: on March 23, 2019 at 3:38 am  Leave a Comment  
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Guys Of Suspect Lineage 6178

The presence of Beck made the proceedings go smoothly, and not only because of his formidable piano skills but also because he’s not Brian and griping all the time. We didn’t mention the dingleberry’s name because I banned it from the studio, which wasn’t a problem with any of the guys who wanted to get the songs down pat and put on a good show.

We took a short break after an intense opening to the rehearsal. Beck looked comfortable in his sweatpants, sandals, and a Hawaiian shirt. “I’m glad you took the casual dress policy to heart,” I told the old pianist who grinned. “You should see what I have for the road,” he replied. “That’s what I was afraid of.” “Scragg is envious of my sartorial elegance and impeccable style,” Beck told the guys who merely shook their heads while laughing. “Yep, you’re a fashion plate, Beck,” I said while looking at his outrageous outfit. “Some of us have it, and some don’t,” Beck declared. “I reckon, Beck,” I replied.

Beck then noticed my shirt.

“Where did you get that,” he asked. “Online, I saw it and thought it was cool.” The shirt had a pic of Bill Evans on it, who is Beck’s favorite pianist. “I also have one of Hank Mobley and Fats Waller,” I added. “He was one of the greats,” Garland remarked. “Yep, too bad he was a junkie,” I lamented. “Painful, but true,” Beck replied. “I don’t remember him for how he died because while he was alive, he was a fantastic pianist. I listen to his Live at the Village Vanguard frequently and always hear something unique from him. Actually, the title is Sunday at the Village Vanguard, but it doesn’t matter, the recording is amazing,” I said. “Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian were the other players. Scott was killed in a car wreck about a week later after the recording. Music is filled with tragedy,” Beck said somberly. “It’s part of life, so of course it does,” I replied. “You know his brother committed suicide,” Beck then said. “Bill’s brother,” Kirby asked. “Yes, he was also a pianist, and like his brother, he suffered from a variety of mental issues.” “I bet his upbringing sucked,” Kirby then said. “Yeah, his father was a violent drunk.” “Gee, that sounds familiar,” I quipped. Kirby laughed and then shook his head. “You ever consider offing yourself,” he asked me. “I reckon, but never with a gun, knife, rope, or pills. I figured I would do myself in with booze and drugs because for a spell there I didn’t give a fuck,” I replied. “I know what you mean,” Kirby replied. “You do,” Beck asked in horror. “Yep, sure do.” “What the fuck?” “Asshole was hard to kill, so here he is,” Kirby continued with a grin. “Yep, now I live a clean life, but damn, look at you guys, I really should be associating with folks of better pedigree,” I cracked. The guys laughed and lauded my fine lineage. “Yes, it’s a fucked up mess, but hey, it’s getting us a tour of Russia,” I said. “Shit, all of our lineage sucks, but look at us now,” Garland declared. “That’s right, so let’s hit it and show the world the guys with suspect lineage can jam like no one else,” I said.

And we had a blast doing just that.

Published in: on March 22, 2019 at 3:38 am  Leave a Comment  
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A Soft Young Man With No Plan 6177

We had just started the rehearsal when Maire informed me that Elise had her baby this morning, a girl who they named Zoey. I told my daughter to give my regards to Elise and Jackie before walking onto the studio.

Brian was a lot better this morning, which made the proceeding go smoothly. I could see that he was still nervous, but as long as he gets the job done, I don’t care. We performed another song without any glitches.

Brian then opened his mouth.

“I’m under a great amount of duress, which could cause me some ill-effects,” he then told me. I looked at the numbskull and decided that he was joking and told him that we need to get back to work. “I’m serious, Scragg, it’s nerve-wracking working with you.”

I almost lost it.

“Brian, this is big business, which means it’s a big deal. If you can’t handle the pressure, then you need to leave right now because I’m not going through this anymore.”  “I’m going to leave,” Brian said. “Do you know the opportunity you’re passing up?” “Scragg, I got a big inheritance coming up, and I have a gig down at Myrtle Beach that pays good, and I don’t have to be away from my girlfriend.”

I suspected there was also a woman involved in this.

Kirby, Garland, I warned the young man about making rash decisions, but while Garland and Kirby gave him one final lecture, I stepped outside and called Beck, who seemed surprised and delighted that I would call. “I must say, Brian continues to confound, but that’s his business. Russia sounds incredibly interesting, so count me in because I’m on my way,” Beck replied.

I wished Brian well and then told him to disappear. I then informed Kirby and Garland that we have a new pianist who doesn’t have all of Brian’s bullshit. “You call Beck,” Kirby asked. “Yep, and he’s on his way. I’m not messing with Brian anymore because it always ends like this. If the boy is coming onto money, then he needs to invest it and then find a career to his liking. He’s a good pianist, but the boy never had any want to,” I remarked. “That’s true, but that’s on him,” Kirby remarked. “It’s amazing how those humps can pass up opportunities because they don’t feel like doing something. You helped a lot of people, Scragg, and tried to help those who won’t help themselves. Fuck it, let’s keep moving and make this memorable for us,” Garland said. “Amen to that, let’s keep jamming now.

I then look at Fergus, who was relaxing at the drum set.

“You were mighty quiet,” I said to him. “I knew this was coming because Brian told me yesterday that he has several million dollars in the bank with more coming and wasn’t going to put up with anyone else screaming at him. I also heard him talk to his parents who told him to get out of here because it could be dangerous up here with your violent temper. Brian said that he worried about you exploding and killing him,” Fergus said with a straight face. “You have to be kidding,” I replied. “I wish I were, Scragg, but Brian Dawson is one pussy-whipped punk looking for the easy life, which he found with his girlfriend.” “Who is she,” I asked. “Amber Stellmer,” Fergus replied. “Is Lionel Stellmer her father?” “Yes.” “Okay, the boy has it made financially, so I wish him luck and a hearty good riddance,” I declared.

Brian will regret this decision; however, it’s all on him as we tried to tell him the opportunity he was passing up. Perhaps he won’t have any regrets and will find a delicate balance in his life.

What a soft young man with no plan.

Published in: on March 21, 2019 at 2:48 am  Leave a Comment  
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Wet Noodle In The Morning 6176

We started rehearsing at seven and sounded like shit, thanks to Brian, whose head was up his ass. I told him to take a deep breath and then focus, which did nothing to help the dingbat. I had given the dingleberry the songs I planned to do in concert, yet, they all seemed foreign to him. “Goddamnit, get your shit together or else,” I screamed at the young man who finally pulled it together.

With Brian now playing as -part of the band, I could hear the potential of this group, and that gave me hope. Kirby worked hard and learned his parts well. Although not a gifted musician in the technical sense, Kirby has a knack for sounding, which is more valuable than playing something difficult and sounding like shit. He also is much better than given credit for and can flat out play. Garland is a top-flight bassist and all-around professional. Fergus, like Kirby, knows how to play and sound good. Brian, a gifted pianist, and world-class dingbat is still young and therefore, ignorant and annoying, but he’s a good boy.

I like the makeup of this outfit.

We took a short break, and I asked Brian if his head was clear. “Yes, sir,” he practically whispered. “There’s no secrets here, you can speak up,” I told him. The young man gave me a puzzled look, and I questioned the wisdom of him being here. “I’m alright,” he then said. “You sure now?” “Yes.” “Alright.” “Cut the boy some slack, Scragg, he’s still green,” Kirby said. “You’re right, he’s just pining for his boyfriend,” I cracked. Brian gave me a stunned look, which made me laugh. “What’s wrong, thinking about Tom, Dick, and Harry got you all worked up,” I asked him. “I’m not gay,” he declared. “Shit, you sure as hell don’t have a woman, either,” I sneered. “No, but I ain’t queer.” “You might as well be.”

Brian then hung his head.

“Knock it off, I’m just joking, and you know it. I realize you’re a dickbrain with no sense, but you’ll be one with a sense of humor,” I snarled. “I can’t do anything right,” Brian fired back. “Right, because you’re a lazy, shiftless fuck-nut who needs a boot up his ass, which is what you’re going to get.” “I’m not a fuck-nut.” “Is he a fuck-nut, Garland?” “The very definition of one,” the bassist replied. “Well, there you have it, Brian is a worthless fuck-nut looking for compassion in the wrong places, which one day will get him something he ain’t gonna like, but who knows, he’s such a dickhead he might,” I said. “Fine, I’m a fuck-nut,” Brian hollered. “Didn’t we just get done telling you that?” “Fine!” “I hate that word, so don’t use it again.” “Is my life going to be hell,” Brian then asked. “Shit, no more than you’ve already made it.” “I’m happy!”

I walked over and slapped Brian silly, which felt good.

“There is no way I’m listening to a wet noodle like this, so drastic action was necessary. I hope you have learned your lesson, Brian.” “Are you going to hit me again?”

I slapped Brian again.

“Alright, I’m good, let’s get back to work,” the fool pleaded. I ask for some gumption, and I get a wet noodle in the morning. What kind of shit is that,” I asked the band. “It’s the first day, Scragg, perhaps there is hope,” Garland replied. “Alright, let’s do what Brian says and get back to works so he can fuck things up,” I said. “I won’t fuck up,” he pleaded.

Brian then flubbed the opening of the song.

Published in: on March 20, 2019 at 1:24 am  Leave a Comment  
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A Tale Of Two Dramas 6175

Blake and I watched Maire do a little dance for Francesca, whose hearty laugh could be heard from inside our house. Maire then picked up her niece and gave her a hug. As I watched the two embrace, I also noticed Cary watching from the porch in a transfixed state. He was undoubtedly admiring his wife, and his love-struck eyes told the story better than any words could.

And my heart warmed to see such a show of affection.

While Robin looked on, Maire and Francesca laughed and exchanged kisses for a spell before my daughter put my granddaughter down. They then did another little dance that captivated Cary from the porch. Both Blake and I broke out in smiles as we watched the scene unfold.

I worried that coming from a drama-filled home where everything was blown out of proportion that Cary would tire of Maire and her nutty SoCal ways, but that didn’t happen because Maire understood what she had and knew she couldn’t bring that kind of bullshit to the marriage. “She’s a character in the best way possible,” I told my wife. “Yes, she is, and it’s obvious that Cary is still under her spell,” Blake replied. “I hope he always is,” I added. “He will be, Elmer.” “I’m glad I got to see this. I’m also thinking that going to Russia is a bad idea.” “You’ll be alright, Elmer, but don’t agree to anything else.” “I don’t want to do what I already have.” Blake laughed and told me that I know what I’m doing.

Shit, that’ll be the fucking day.

Alan called Blake, but she didn’t answer because she was watching Maire and Francesca interact. After a few minutes had passed, she played the message that Alan dramatized to zero effect. “Norma just told those parents how it’s going to be and then threw them out of the office. I tried to explain to her that we have procedures to follow, but she told me to shut the fuck up and be grateful someone around here knows what they’re doing. I’ve never been so insulted in my life! I’m not her lackey, it’s the other way around. Do you hear me, it’s the other way around!”

I clicked off the phone and continued to watch my SoCal daughter play with her niece while her husband watched with a mixture of awe and desire. “See what you would have missed if you helped out that dipshit,” I told Blake, who agreed. “Yes, Elmer, I wouldn’t want to miss this, either,” she then replied. “But you would have had you gone up there and did Alan’s job for him.” “Esther’s, too,” Blake clarified.

Alan then called me.

I listened as the idiot made Mount Everest out of a pile of shit. “I was so mortified that I forgot a meeting with a teacher. I can’t deal with Norma, she’s too cold and unpredictable. Do you hear me, Scragg? I know you don’t care, but I have responsibilities here; I’m in charge, and I need to be in charge, not Norma! She looks at me with contempt. She treats me with contempt. I’m not contemptible, Scragg, do you hear me! I know what I have to do and it isn’t taking orders from Norma!”

I clicked off my phone.

Alan will continue to do what he’s told, which is working out swimmingly for all involved, even the dingleberry, but I put that aside to finish watching Maire and Francesca.

“Talk about a tale of two dramas,” I told Blake, who laughed.

Published in: on March 19, 2019 at 9:17 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Joys Of Being Cruel, Cold-Hearted, And Utterly Indifferent 6174

Blake got a call from both Alan and Esther this morning about parents insisting that the curriculum at the schools is too demanding and doesn’t allow for the other facets of learning. “What do they want you to do,” I asked. “Some pointers on dealing with them,” Blake replied. “And what are you going to tell them?” “I’m sick of this, Elmer,” my wife replied. “So am I, ” I added while making a call.

And Norma picked up on the first ring.

“Hello,” the enforcer barked. “Norma, how is it going,” I asked. “Oh, Scragg, this is a nice surprise, what can I do for you?” “Those parents coming in today to complain that the work is too hard at the school for their precious offspring, well, I want you to handle that as you see fit,” I said. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” she replied. “Nope, those pansies need a boot up their ass, so smile and give them one and if they pull their kids out of school, it’s no loss,” I said. “Excellent, but what about Alan and Esther?” “Patch me through to Captain Clunk now,” I replied.

This is how you deal with bullshit.

I told Alan the deal and tried to tell me that he had a plan, which was a lie, and if he did, it wasn’t worth a fuck. “Put all those fucking parents in a room with Norma and let her deal with them. This issue won’t take long to be resolved because they’ll either agree to her terms or get the fuck outta there.” “Scragg, this is brutal, even by your standards,” the fool blubbered. “Shut up, Norma will take care of this, and you just go about your day.” “Scragg, one of the parents, is asthmatic and could have issues because she’s high-strung,” Alan pleaded with me. “Maybe she’ll vapor-lock, and you’ll be done with her forever.” “That’s just wrong.” “Fuck it, are we clear?” “Yeah, we’re clear.” “Good.”

I then clicked off.

Naturally, Blake found my method barbaric and without any shred of decency, empathy, or kindness of any sort. “You’re just like a ruthless crime boss,” she scoffed. “Yep, now can we go riding?” “Elmer, Norma Dorsey delights in inflicting pain and torment of those parents!” “Good, I hope she leaves them all traumatized.” “Elmer!” “Anything else?” “And that crack about hoping someone vapor-locks was appalling,” Blake continued. “Whatever, let’s go.” “This is just awful,” Blake said. “They’re twits; don’t worry about it.” “Someone needs to worry about it because Norma is a psycho!” “Look, give lack of empathy a chance, it usually produces the desired results.” “Yeah, by turning everyone into cold-hearted bastards,” Blake snapped. “That’s what I want to hear.” “Elmer!” “Can we ride now?” “I’m ready,” my wife replied.

Hey, sometimes you have to be cruel, cold-hearted, and utterly indifferent to the wants of pampered twits if you want to have a fun morning.

And Blake had a blast riding her bike all over the county.

 

Published in: on March 19, 2019 at 4:07 am  Leave a Comment  
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