He was chubby & plump, a right Monday old elf.
Dec 18th, 2006 Posted in Fiction | one comment »Southpaw Jones presents
First Lines
Introductions to classic works I will never finish:
Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. She knew it was me; my knock is sharp and distinct. The neighbors must have known it was me, even in the darkness; my dress is distinguished, individualized, and very expensive. Our dog knew it was me; my odor is a well-thought-out combination of man-made fragrance and natural superiority. The pup scratched twice on the other side of the door for each declarative blow I rained down. It had been a long day for me.
Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. I pressed my face against the draftiest gap where the door was supposed to meet the frame and said loudly, “Adult relationships are tangly webs, my dear!”
No human response. Just one scratch then another.
“Isn’t our relationship the least tangled and the most comfortable?”
Nothing.
“Comfort is not cheap, darling, and not without sacrifice. If you want to feel the cold wind against your shoulders you might have to donate your coat to charity. And you hate charity!”
Silence.
“Did we marry too young, Blanche? Have I bored you to the point of insanity? Is it the fleeting satisfaction of some ‘other’ that you seek? Some marvelous man or woman who looks nothing like me and appeals to parts of you that I simply don’t see?”
A car passed slowly with its lights off. I turned, gave a strict look, and obnoxiously bobbled my imaginary breasts until they turned on their high beams and sped up. I glanced over at Blanche’s silver sedan, its cracked window a mocking smirk.
“You didn’t have to go through with it, you know. Our fathers were business partners! Just because it was easy doesn’t mean it was wrong!”
“And just because it’s difficult now doesn’t mean it’s wrong!”
I heard a bit of a whimper from inside the house. Could have been the dog, could have been Blanche.
“Why shouldn’t our relationship have some modicum of disappointment in it? Parents disappoint! Friends disappoint! Careers disappoint! This life is nothing but the story of growth and decay, and let me tell you, darling wife, WE ARE FINISHED GROWING!”
Another whimper. Definitely the dog this time.
“I wish that I could be perfect for you. I really do. Why did you marry such a mediocre clod? You never sufficiently explained that to me, and I’ve always been curious. Why does anyone marry anyone? I give up, dear. The world has whittled me down to a toothpick. I’m going to start walking. Maybe I’ll walk to Utah and dissolve amongst the salt flats.”
Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. I was crumpled on the porch when a tan mini-van pulled up and let Blanche out.
“Did you lock yourself out again, Bernard? Patty and I went to the outlet stores, and I got you one of those huge pretzels you like!”
I raised up on one elbow as she waved good-bye to Patty. She then leaned over, kissed my cheek, and said, “Nothing like a little shopping to kill the winter blues. Massage my feet, baby?”
“But you don’t like the way I massage your feet, dear.”
“I don’t like anything about anything, Bernard. And yet, I will go to sleep tonight and wake up next to a man who is willing to put up with that.” She paused knowingly and smiled. “I may hate God, but it’s obvious he doesn’t hate me. He pummels me with gift after gift after gift, and you are my favorite one. Every day, I wonder why you haven’t left me. And when I think about the day you inevitably will, I imagine that I’ll walk to a field in Mississippi and just dissolve into nothingness.”
A scratch from the inside of the door awakened me from a long stare into my wife’s eyes. “What other life but this one?” I thought. It’s too good a thought to keep to oneself, isn’t it?
“What other life but this one?” I said, “Let me help you with those bags. I’ll get the lotion.”
Southpaw Jones presents
More verbosity with velocity and viscosity:
Here are the lyrics to one of my favorite Xmas tunes, Fairytale of New York, by the Pogues.
It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I’ve got a feeling
This year’s for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true
They’ve got cars big as bars
They’ve got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It’s no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you
Southpaw Jones presents
Scared of Santa!:
Southpaw Jones presents
If I Had a Million Dollars
Unnecessary products that inexplicably tempt me:
The Lonely Back Massager
$55.00
For those cold, tense nights when your girlfriend is out-of-town.
Southpaw Jones presents
Freshly-picked quotes from the ol’ reference collection:
Boys are always the worst when it comes to pain-they moan so much, especially if they’ve only got a cold.
Cat Deeley
Thank you, come again!
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