BUTCH's BOTCH

It was my birthday. It rained. One of those July downpours that they call 'buckets', come in off the lake, and requiring buckets for a summer cabin with a roof compromised of poor old shake, and holes through which you see the sky But there wasn't a bucket among us. Read on, and you won't be surprised.

Didn't bother us much. We were 'away'. Twelve of us in all. All six cabins occupied, We wondered why, what with the Fourth upon us, and all?...but, the roofs immediately leaked the answer to the question, and now drenched, we understood how we got in...so sneaky cheap.

“Saps! We was taken!”

But, in reality, it didn't much matter, Hell you're only young once. You need stories to tell. This is where they start. Something to laugh about when you go back to work. Something to tell the kids when they are born, if ever...and memorable, only if you can remember, by making it so. But now wasn't the time to think of that...no...not the time to think at all. Fall would be here before you know...somberness arrives... with oh-so dreary, Winter...and his bitch-wife, Snow....no. This was summer …ours…and this was to be a Vacation to remember.

We had just arrived the day before...old Pontiacs, Chevy's and Fords. Rainbow-parked in an arc to shed headlights on the our new homestead. Six shacks. We unpacked and had one heck of a party. Six packs of hot dogs, and buns...eight cans of beans. Plenty of salty treats. And it seemed no one wanted to be caught short of hydration....the most beer I've ever seen…at least at that early age. So, maybe now, you get a sense of the scene.

A couple of the brew-plied fella’s got surly and the rest broke it up. A few of the girls gone tipsy, ran out to the woods and puked. A ritual first night.

The sky was a lovely, starry canopy... but down below, wasn't so pretty at all. And there could be some truth to the rumor that the dogs were bad because we all were called at some point into the night, even those that abstained, and that don't seem right.

Ruth Ann, the girl that came with me, had some great expectations of what our lives were going to be. I did not harbor those same dreams, but she was willing to accommodate readily, eagerly willing to seduce me, and do to me whatever I desired! 

“I love to ‘obey’…” she was quick say.

And yet...

She was naming and numbering children:

"Number One is a Boy...Alden."

“Number Two…naturally is a girl named after me, only she will be Ann Ruth...isn't that cute?"

....and on she went, until finally naming and explaining, all 'seven'. So you see what I mean? If this was foreplay, for the way it's going to be, then I needed more beer immediately. 

So I got a little drunk.

But on an 'often Torrential...eternally Humid' night, no stars in sight, the cabins a blight, we all took to our vehicles.

Windows steam. The wet sweat of body heat. Some cars rocked, while others sat still in the night. Me and Ruth Ann...? She took care of me by hand, but I was in no shape to share…so her night wasn't grand. She wanted "off"...or out...so I opened the door.

"Benny this isn't funny. I don't want to see you anymore."

She crawled in back and went off to sleep. Me upfront with a beer...so sufficiently Relieved.

That's when I saw the flash go by. Something white, caught quick in lightning's light. Switching headlights on, I saw her run into cabin number One. Which one was she? The blonde? Who'd she come with?...where's she from?

Oh yeah. Butch. One of the brawlers. Natch'... Drunk and belligerent, probably tried to maul her.

Butch was now bellowing, like some rutting elk stag in the dense woods. (I can only imagine...never heard one.)

Now he came into my ‘brights’…he staggered and covered his eyes.

 "Hey!? You saw her! Where'd she go?!"

I switched my wipers on, pretending not to see clearly. He approached and slammed my hood with his brick fist.

"Hey! Excuse me...!" It was on. He caught me with a hook coming out the door, but I held to the handle and didn't take the fall, instead faltered back, gathered some slack, then swung the door hard and it smacked him flat. Dumped him in the car with Ruth Ann...no, not in back...then went off  to look for the girl. He might have hurt her…I sure hoped not. I got to One, and knocked gently on the door. Didn't want to spook her anymore.

"It's not Butch." "Who is it?"

"You don't know me."

“I don't know anyone. I shouldn't be here. I owed a favor to my brother...”

“If your brother set you up with ‘the Butcher’, he's some sick sibling.”

“…Whole family is…not fair to single him out.”

“I see...and you?

“What?”

“Will you open the door? You realize that beast could dismantle this place with his bare hands? And I 'knocked' …politely.”

“It's still raining...”

“I am standing proof.”

“Why don't you go back to your car. Leave me be. Stay out of it.”

“Too late. I’m in it. Butchy's in my front seat...out cold....same as in the back, with my date, asleep.”

She opened the door...finally.

She WAS young. Seemed almost a girl. A waif. Wet, washed by rain, clean, hair plain and straight…barely a teen. The ceiling drained countless falls from above, and not mere trickles at all. She had found a corner in which to huddle. Wasn't much left to wonder, through that wet white dress, nothing not to be seen.

“We can't stay here.”

“I got the keys.

“That's why he's so angry!”

“Do you want to sit in he car?”

“Do you want to go home?”

“Are you serious? Steal his car?”

“We swap cars. He's in mine, I'll leave the key on the seat.”

 “You'd do that? …to HIM!...for me?”

“I'll deal with him. I have my own reasons to leave... “

“I see.”

She was not as young as I had perceived... least that's what she claimed. Deirdre was her name. She was two months short of eighteen. So we were close in age. Close in the car. Rain stopped shortly....windows down...still muggy, still steamy. We drove and listened to the radio mostly.

By dawn we were back in town. I bought her breakfast. It seems, between the weather and melodrama, neither of us had eaten the night before. And, now, when we did, we both ate like we’d been starved, and relished the appetite in the other. Fellow food-wolves, ravaging plates with gusto. She slapped the ketchup bottle toward her hash brown mound, but found..splat! ...too hard!…me splattered...like I'd been raked by rapid fire. I fell to the floor. A woman screamed but we calmed her, and said we were sorry. We all had to laugh. People were soaking napkins in water and offering to blot, but my Florence Nightingale knelt beside me and blotted out each bloody spot. I was saved.

I was also as mess. As was she. We'd been beaten, while camping, and stomping through muddy bottoms, on wet cots, shoe rot...stunk a lot…we needed to bathe. She couldn't go home that way. I had a place to stay. We paid and slipped away.

“You shower first.”

“You shower with me”, and held out her hand.

“You're not eighteen...”

“No actually I'm twenty two, No one believes me...I know.”

I was now with an older woman. “You...what?…”

“I didn't trust you?...would you? ...being me? ...with that crowd? Was I right or was I wrong?”

“Agreed. With that clown...! Wow. So, you're really twenty two?”

“Do you have 'conditioner'?”

“For…?”

“Hair.”

“I'm sure. Somewhere in there.’

“Show me.”

“It 's a small bath. You shouldn't have trouble.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I should. It's exactly what I need.”

Simply put...we did the deed. It plainly…memorably…has conditioned me.

Prologue –

...the moral being? 

Butch and Ruth Ann, married, with seven off-spring…awaiting eight. So, who are we...to question Fate?

To this day, I get their Christmas cards, and they never fail to thank me.

Deirdre married some oil guy...lives and thrives in Dubai.

Me? I’m still a happily-single-sorta-guy. 

THE MEAL EXCHANGE

I'd like the beef barley soup to start...tuna on wheat toast...potato salad...with a fruit plate side. I'll need coffee...lots of coffee. Yes, when it comes to  dessert - I'll have chocolate cake, and milk with that, please. Probably finish with coffee… Thank you.

First off, let me thank you for sharing this food with me...for offering me this meal. I do willingly offer up my story, and I will share that with you for whatever it's worth, and hope you don’t  feel cheated or disappointed by the time the cake disappears. If you feel this grub is payment enough, then we have struck us a deal.  A deal is only good if you keep it.  Deal like this is blind, I respect you for that. You ever find that to be true in your life? Bad deals? It's been true in mine. More broken than not. More people happier to see me goin’ than comin'.

Before I get too far down that gloomy highway, I would like to speak my name and explain. My god given name was Errol Lloyd Boyd, but truth be known ‘god’ didn't give it to me. Two kids that got themselves into some trouble, they gave it to me, as I was their trouble. Her daddy, his daddy…Boyd. The kids started calling me ELBO, which is logical given the letters, but then their logic has become lost on me long ago. I simply can't recall who coined it originally because it's always been there for me. Like a shot to the ribs.

I never had a story that didn't involve a woman in some manner. I don't know why that is. Maybe it's a weakness, maybe a form of injury that I rely on a female to mend my wounds...help me mend my ways. Seldom turns out that way and sadness is usually their legacy, which is self-fulfilling and most would say I was full of it to begin with. My crutches break, my saviors desert me. I am left with a profound sense of abandonment.

Now that’s good soup. Just, wish they’d cut back on the salt, though…

"Back in my day" ...as they say, and I surely don’t lay claim to even liking the terminology...well…back in my day was a long

ways away. And if that was ‘my day’ then what does one call Today? Is this not my day too? I AM occupying this day, am I not? Are we not speaking…am I not eating, and yet…this is NOT my day! How is that? Hell, this is one of my GREAT days! Or is my day gone? I know I was plenty capable at some things. I could hit a baseball a country mile but failed to connect with that damn sphere often enough, and was easily fooled by trick pitches with spins from another orbit entirely, so my talent lay dormant…whatever talent I seemed to have…whatever talent that could arise within me often enough to meet the numbers…that talent dozed off from boredom, escape, or a total lack of commitment…so I can't blame no one but myself. But I will. I will blame the women as I will blame my own poor judgment. They lied. Each and every damn one of them.

I could talk a lick and sell just about anything until I began to hear myself talking and couldn't buy a word I said. People sense that hollow tone when you know you're talking to no one…you're all alone even though they might be two feet away, you lost ‘em. You don't ring true.

“I know I just kissed you, but I'd like to spend my life with you.”

 I said that to woman and I meant it sincerely, as stupid as that sounds, but not as stupid as I felt when she laughed in my face and left me. I was naive and trusting…so foolishly so, I didn't know and thought that's how it's done. Put your heart on a plate and hand it to someone. Some men know and some never learn. If I am rattlin' on you feel free to interrupt. Stop me from getting off course. Put me back on track as my mind does tend to wander. It would have been a great assist in life if I had myself such a flagman to guide me along.

Point the way, pull the switch should I be heading down the wrong path or some dead end. Never met that that flag man. Hoped a woman would be that but in all cases the relationship is what ended up derailed.

 I served time in an ugly time...fought in an ugly war. Senseless loss, and a role I cannot reconcile no matter how history spins. You do not drape the loss of lives in some sack cloth flag of glory and claim victory, when Loss is Loss. Get it? Don't believe the books...don't buy the politicians, They already been bought. You listen and you can hear that hollow sound coming from their mouths. Puppets. Ventriloquist dummies. Once you been raped by that gang your dignity is shot to hell and you blame yourself for buying their bullshit in the first place. Like some school girl who knows better but runs off  with that boy who buys her booze, even though she knows better ...she goes, she knows! but she goes....her virginity his and her's to lose. 'Toulouse Latrece' as the French would say in such matters of the heart.

What else? Had two children. See one on occasion. Less and less. No regrets. Kids turned out better than their old man so maybe the mother gets the credit…both of them.

Sure, I got screwed up. OH MAN did I get screwed up! I was institutionalized. Do you believe...? ..ya, sure you do...but I was and it was some gruesome institution I'll tell you that. Only the rich can afford the good ones, but in the end they too get screwed.

You begin to see the future and it ain't pretty. You DO wonder what this world is coming to and you know you have no control. The next generation…then the next…then who knows? Not me. Not even a bright guy like yourself...knows. So, yeah, a profound sense of abandonment. Why not? Is that not what happens? Is life ever fulfilled? I would hope so but doubt...and the doubt way outweighs the hope.

I was an attorney for awhile. Sounds good. Passed the bar. No jokes. Got bored and passed on. Other peoples lives had become a petty nuisance in mine, at least the clients I had earned or attracted.

I was too smart to stick around, yet so stupid to have left. You live with it.

I like my potato salad on the drier side, with chopped veggies and real chunky with a touch of mustard for tang  – like my Mom made - not this much mayo and mashed, but hey, it’s a free meal and I am obliged. Not complaining. I hope you’re getting some value here.

Mercy was probably my Mother-Mary. Ironic ain't it. I think I sought her out all my life. When I found her and I asked her, she said "I am Mercy..." they say romantic stuff like...the heart takes flight, but geezus christ if it didn't. But even saints ain't what they used to be. She sensed the desperation in me and fled. She did not want the burden I had become. Who can blame her. She righted me for awhile, before I wronged her. A profound sense of Loss.

Never felt entitled to anything. ...You? I always figured I got what was coming, earned my own fate, got what I was due. The hit and the misses. Inadequacy.

Right now I am seeking out a compassionate and capable Dr. Do you know of one? One that treats people like me? With my expense account? Which is nothin'...and my needs, which are plentiful.

Sorry….I mean, you're buying me this meal just to hear me whine?

There's no story here. 'Move on down the line…stop wasting my time'... that's what I would be sayin'. Buy someone else a lunch. Hear what they have to say. I appreciate your generosity but I doubt I've earned mine.

A profound sense of guilt.

I could make something up, but like I said before, I’m a bad bullshitter.

That was damn good cake. My compliments to the chef, Miss. Do I have any crumbs? No? Mustache? Good. Thank you, ma’m.

See here’s the sealer. On our deal…breakthrough for you because I do NOT discuss it without medication, so it’s your lucky day you got it for tuna salad on toast.

I killed a man. I killed him, sent his eldest daughter into an eight year comma. Critically injured his wife, who will have to live with long crippling injuries…and mentally scarred a young man I actually SAW entering the facility on the day I was exiting. Swear.

I was drunken under such influence it’s impossible to elucidate. Eluding the cops in a full-on pursuit. I was screwed. Red lights don’t matter when you got nothing to lose. …Janis…

Fucking airbag saved my life, not theirs. 8 months into state detox. 8 month’s…3 in solitary, 2 weeks strapped to an iron bed. I did the crime…did the time. Outa my mind. I mea culpa my weak ass to bed each night and wake up to a crash in my head about 4. You can do everything right in life until some asshole comes along and destroys it. It…them…everyone connected but the asshole that created the fucking mayhem. Sitting upright, eating fresh fruit…right from a can.

You don’t want to go there. Look at your face. Look at mine. My stark reality just nicked yours. Nicked! You safe-ass-mother-fuck…You have no idea about a full frontal attack. But, thank Jesus…(or in your case HAY-SUS…) I AM medicated, and tuna salad is like a climax on acid in my condition. It’s all glandular. Write that down. Or a crash at midnight. Sorry. Climax is a bitch no matter how you spell it.

        Sorry to see you go…any questions?

                                              Thought not.

                                                         You tip her well?!!

                       Atta Boy! You set your sights high, son !

Oh. Thank you, Dear. Yes, delightful….That was a very troubled young man…offering to buy me lunch if I heard him out. Simply to listen. Sad what we’ve become. Some people can’t face the truth within themselves…reaching out to strangers.

By the way, did my friend take care of you?

…or shall I?

LATTE LUST

I am jammed. Sipping my coffee, strong, but still not lighting up any bright lights. Had to get out of my dreary room and into the world. The coffee shop is comfy, has wifi , casual ambience, and people, so why not? She came in and, oh my, I couldn't take my eyes off Her. I decided to capture this moment, perhaps the inspiration I needed to get something ‘going’. She was certainly interesting enough. Have to be discreet, don't stare, long legs, high heels, tight jeans, firm round rump, tank top defining breasts, pert and high …oh my god....nipples! Was she glancing at me? Did she catch me staring? I hid behind my tablet, like a grade-schooler behind a textbook. Quick write....get it all down, this stunning vision...the earrings some kind of dangling delicate stone, hair piled tight and high, accentuating an exquisite

neck...a tapered nose with a cute bob tip, and small mouth with plump lips, so naturally pouty...the beauty mark on her right cheek between nose and mouth and a angular jaw. Strong, not severe, the eyes I could not tell... the shades adding mystery. Write this down, it just may lead to something.

"Are you photographing me?" She now towered over me as I sat low in my club chair. She was removing her sunglasses...they were green…deep green. Of course they were gorgeous, what else would one expect?

“What...no. I 'm writing, not taking pictures. I'm not like that. I wouldn't...” I held up the tablet to show her the text.

You’re no voyeur? You don't snap ‘Candids’ with that thing? Just writing....

I see that. Quite active...Are you writing about me?

Why would you say that?

You stare, you write...you're lips move.

Am I doing that again? Bad habit in public. Don't write in public that much…mostly my room.”

“When Mum and Dad aren’t looking?”  Her tongue, acerbic?

Had to get out ...find some inspiration ...going a bit batty. Just had a thought is all…need to get it down once it happens, can’t get distracted or I lose it altogether.

Did you lose it or find it?

What?

The thought. Your inspiration.

Oh. No. Yes. The Inspiration…I think so.

Am I your inspiration.?

I....

I did inspire something, didn't I? Mind if I sit?

Are you kidding? It would be my pleasure...please.

What do you write?

Fiction.

Novels?

Oh there’s an idea in the works, but new territory for me. It’s quite trendy…don’t know if I can write “trendy”.

Then why chase the trend? It will probably be over by the time you end.

I doubt that, not this one.

What about the others?

Way too many go unfinished ...now it’s mostly short stories. Poetry...lately.

That must be very lucrative.

Ha! Hardly. I actually am a photographer by trade. Food. Tabletop. My specialty. Advertisements… boring things mostly…condiments, dinner plates, hamburgers...unexciting but  pays the bills. It’s what I do, not who I am, and it gives me time to write between assignments.

So what exactly do you write?

Pardon?

Topics…genre?

Oh....

Yes?

Well I'm trying my hand at ‘intelligent erotica’.

She laughed loud and hard. Other patrons took some notice but went back to their lattes and devices.

Sorry. It's just when one is trying their ‘hand with erotica’ it's usually not in public.

Funny.

What exactly is ...you know...’intelligent erotica’? Porn for smart people. Titillation for techies?

Not prurient…not smutty. Some sense of style and taste. Are you mocking me?

Sorry, yeah,  it might sound it.  I can be a smartass. But wait! Having a smart ass might apply to intelligent erotica, wouldn't you say?

You are witty.

But then ‘dumb ass’ or ‘smart ass’, it's still an ass and I suspect just as erotic given the occasion. Does my ass look stupid to you?

I wouldn't know,

Yes you would. What did you write about my ass?

I didn't notice.

Oh, bullshit. Come on!

Firm round rump.

That's nice of you. And the rest?

I slid the tablet across the coffee table to her side without words. She accepted it, lifted it, smiling, brow arched...curious, she took

a sip of coffee and began to read. It seemed to amuse her. She giggled here and there. " You DO have an eye for detail. ‘Mr. Photographer’.”

Phil.

Well Phil, I see the descriptive but where's the story going?

I don't know, just got started, need some direction.

Since I seem to have inspired something...maybe I can help with that…

Oh, yes, don't get me wrong. You're quite beautiful I just can't say where I'll go from here.

A smartass might respond “my place", but I'm not that stupid. Just a joke...can't resist.

I see. That’s a cruel trait coming from a woman like you.

Can you?

What?

Resist?

I....

I like shy men. I tease…

Quite the invitation…

Would you like to? You've been looking hard enough...would you like to?

Very much.

Oh! Not so shy! Do you shoot nudes or do they have to be on a tabletop, too?

I have, yes...in various circumstances.

So have I, not professionally mind you....and I have modeled as well. I'm not shy about it.

No, nothing shy about you...

Am I coming on too strong for you Phillip? Would you rather I not disturb you?

No!…and, no.

But I do disturb you don't I?

You know what you are doing, and, yes, I do find you disturbing, but in a good way.

Good, so what say we do something bad? You and me, am I ‘intelligent’ enough for you? I hope you don't find my ass to be asinine, or my tits dim, …and, oh, my stupid little cooch...poor dear.

My, you do speed ahead, don’t you? Somehow I doubt each of those.

Good, because, fact is, I'm fucking brilliant at what I do. Is that intelligent enough for you?

Beyond words.

Which is exactly where we go next.

So we did, and believe me,  it was.

LARS' LAST LAUGH

I met with Lars Knowlund just weeks before he died. He was quite

agitated about it all. He did not ask for this trouble. He most certainly

resented the attention. He never felt it was his personage that

deserved the credit, but rather his mind...don't ask him why, because

he claims, "no clue" that the mind had a mind of it's own and doesn't

belong to him at all, but instead, chose him to transmit that which was to be

dictated to him...through him... nightly. It was, at first thrilling and

electric...he channeled with great energy, and enthusiasm rippled

through him. They flew through the words, ripped through pages,

strode through volumes of uncanny verse. Strident, daring, head on

A bravado assault in the pairing.

Symbiotic brothers, belting them out

Fish to water...current take me where you will.

But...

Time can turn the exuberant into the expected ...with more expected

from each party, each passing night.

“Don't think. Just type. TYPE!”

The voice began to bitch.Their nightly rituals gone stale. Lars was not channeling properly. They grew to doubt one another, Lars and the voice. Night after night, the battle, the fight.

Listen to me damn it!

Then Lars' mind finally locked...he was, he moaned, "oh so Deathly

blocked."

Consciousness overruled the “sub-”... and Lars felt vacated. Nothing

lived in his attic. No one came knocking. No one shook him awake.

Just, Quiet, Cobwebbed coherence.

Coherence? Blasphemy!

Incomprehensible as it seem, the dream stopped.

"That can't be," he told me, "that just can't be! How could we possibly

have separate ideas, he was part of me...but not mine. He had the

thoughts, I had him, at least for as long as he determined to stay. But

you don't leave me barren with nothing to say!"

He raged that day. Shaking a fist at a sky growing darker than he and full now of it's own Energy.

“Damn you! What have you left of me? Hollow as hell,

thoughts I can't swallow. Myself a self doubter! Damn you. Better that

we never conjoined, than to have shared and be left barren. Ignorance-is-

bliss can kiss my ass, it's fucking boring!”

He slammed the door on me. Smack in my face. Now it was my turn to

pace and there was no better place than this lush pine grove. Who would not appreciate this glenn? So, I strolled the meadowed field hoping the weather would hold. I had to connect with my own thoughts. Get some perspective on what I had

just experienced, the words I heard...

"What are you thinking?" He asked sneaking up behind, or perhaps I

was just distracted by the distractions in my mind to notice. He had

calmed. His face not so troubled and lined, but his complexion quite

pale as if he'd just reached a reckoning.

"...no, no, tell me...the thoughts...the words. I'd like to know. Speak to

me as you think them, aloud so I can hear. I won't use them I swear,

they'd be your thoughts, not mine, I 'd just love to hear...words strung

together, and take some joy in here."

I rambled on for several hours...bits and pieces of work and interviews...

"Ha! That's crap," he'd say, and rightfully so.

Sometimes his eyes would light up like he could see it before him, his finger fidget as if tapping it out, like code...feeling the sense, the smell of it formulating...before

the shade draws back down again and he fades.

The storm finally mastered him, I hear. Oh, not the piddling one that

we experienced, but it's big, big brother, who took no time to pay the

man it's mind as it barrelled inland. “Excuse me while I blow this bare-ass old buggar to oblivion.” He railed back at the storm, "Go away !!"

And so he was, in an instant...within a flash. Gloriously Gone.

Lars' last laugh.

BYE, BUD.

My brother…step brother, actually…but we don’t think twice about the fact, having been the same age, and raised in the same household…a good household, with solid, loving parents who had made huge mistakes on the first go-round, but learned their lessons and gratefully made up for them on the second, thereby forming a formidable couple. So, knowing that we had both won the parental lottery, we bonded quite naturally, at a very young age, in a warm, secure place. We were certainly as close and competitive as any blood brothers, and still get together every few months and ‘shoot the shinola’, as Bud likes to say.

Smug? You find me smug?

No…well…Yes. Excessively proud of your own success?...then, Yes.

I see. And this is your sincere POV?

Certainly.

What’s wrong with that? We’re all just people trying to succeed. So, then, what’s wrong with me taking pride in my Achievement?

You’re an Elitist.

Am not. Stop labeling me….just jealousy. I have earned everything that’s come my way, and more, I dare say.

I agree to a degree. But Success, only the quest of Excess, is way beyond simple survival….How much can you gather, how long do you have to hoard?

Exactly.

LIFE is the reason for survival. If you don’t have a life then what good is success?

What good is success? Are you shitting me? If you can’t survive, you got no Life. Survival is the essence of life! 

If you are so encumbered by far surpassing simple survival…of excessiveness…you have no life either.

Are you kidding? Too esoteric for me, you romantic SOB. Ask anyone out there…him…or her…or maybe she…tell me dear, what would you rather be? Rich?!!…or…Loved.

She walked over to our table.

Am I the topic of your discussion?

Not personally…no. But in the general sense, as just an ordinary…ah..member of our society? Yes.

You mean ‘just anybody...a nobody? ‘An insignificant peon…'?

No! Whoa down, girl. We’re all of equal significance.

You really think that?

That’s the conversation we were just having….and, I think he really  meant to say ‘random sample’, by the way…but, then I postulate that Humber, here, (Bud had assumed his father’s name…why? I could only guess it made a nice marketing 'hook')…Humber, here, is an extreme Elitist…

Humber?

Bud Humber…

Bud Humber the Humberburger King?!

Does that impress you?

Sure, what’s Not-to-be-impressed?!

Well the point is, ….?

Brenda.

The point is, Brenda, you knew he was a prick from across the room, didn’t you?

That’s an unfair question, really. Don’t drag me into your fight.

We're brothers and seldom fight anymore, but we do enjoy quibbling.

Go ahead, say it. And don't worry your pretty little head, darlin’...
(Somewhere along the line Bud also bought into his marketing-persona and assumed that of a good-old-boy, even though we're from Wisconsin.)
...I'm a big boy and I can handle the truth. 

Well, since you put it that way, I’d have to say…yes.

Okay, fine. But now you know who I really am, you’re pretty damned interested...

Really?

I think she sees the Humberburger King Has No Clothes…

..ew.

I think. in her mind, she just caught a vision...

So whatd'ya say?

You, stay out of my mind. And you?…nevermind.

I can be damn convincing. I can change minds!

Not mine. You boys done?

Yep, we’re fine.

Hope you enjoyed it. Here’s the check. Take your time.

Suppose there was ten grand below that line?

What?!

You see what I mean?

Sure you got her attention, but then, are her intentions defined?

I like the way you talk. I’m off in half an hour. Can I buy you a drink so we can talk some more? …just talk...with those Intentions still undefined, mind you...

Sure. Bud? Bud? Don’t be sore…

Me sore? I ain't sore. The check and the chickee, they're both yours.

Then Bud got up and walked out the door.

You were right about him.

Can’t help himself…

NONIONIZED

Mad Apolologies

Yes there are nights like this

when he goes mad….

did you expect something else?

Perhaps you were mistaken 

Mad in his own mind

Maybe, too, in the view of others

But that seldom matters

with few exceptions

they know who they are.

In a bad state

Mad state,

right now

So…

fuck anyone who disagrees!

(…there he goes…such poor taste)

but why apologize?

no offense intended

just a head gone unattended

No apologies accepted

Not in this state

Of mine.