Tell Me Another Story That Goes Nowhere, Grandpa
About 75 years ago, I say, 75 years ago, I went down to Americaland with my mammy and pappy for some business my pappy had with an engineer from Tulsa who then lived in Cameron, Louisiana. He was a tall man, heavy set, with a slight limp in his right foot. He got the limp from kicking a Nazi to death with his foot. At least he told us the guy was a Nazi, but many folk still believe he was just an ordinary mailman who liked to wave alot, and Carl, the engineer, went off on him after Carl drank a bottle of Valu-Rite Vodka and sniffed a large bottle of Elmer’s Glue. He got the glue from an actual glue factory and not from a retail operation, something we could do more-so back then when we could make purchases direct from the manufacturer. But now you have to go through certain channels to make your purchase, which in turn drives up the price, and that’s one reason we don’t see penny candy at our neighbourhood mamma and pappa shops. But if we did, I would snap up all the C. Howard Lemon Mints and a handful of Chick-O-Stick’s. But I actually couldn’t grab a handful as both my hands are riddled with the arthritis. But I would try my best, even if it meant that I’d have to unfold my wrinkly fingers and stick them in a small container that houses those delicious candies. You have to watch out when you stick your hand in small containers, you should ask my uncle Willie about that. Damn near lost two fingers after he stuck them in a small container when he was searching for a golf tee that his son placed in the small container six months previous. Turned out there was no damn golf tee in the small container, but rather a 14′ Reticulated Python. Funny thing is, he was so mad losing those fingers, yet later, that python became his best friend. He loved that python like a son. Actually, he hated his son, so ya, the python definitely was number one. Then one day he lost the python in a card game. Texas poker. He lost the python and his house, and his car. Damn sad that. But that’s a tough lesson to learn, you should only gamble what you can afford to lose. Actually, Sal, the guy I had coffee with twice a week at the McDonald’s by my house, says you should only gamble what you can afford to win. Damn Sal is one funny guy. And considering he lost his family in a boating accident 55 years ago to the day, it’s amazing Sal still has a sense of humour. He doesn’t have a windpipe, but he does have a sense of humour. Unlike, Mrs Crumpet from down the road, let me tell you….