Mind Gone. Blown! Mandy’s of the World: Unite! Steer Clear of Lance A. Marcom! (Trust Me On This One Ladies)

My Fantasy Mandy:

Typical, Representative of The ‘Mandy’ Species

(In My Humble Experience Anyway)

It has been my life’s experience that ALL women named ‘Mandy’ are good and decent people:

Sweet and kind–if only just a little too innocent and blind. (to life’s Harsh Realities….)

But without that, that innocence, they would be named ‘Bertha’ or ‘Helga’ or ‘Broomhilda’

And they would not be ‘Mandys.’

***** 

(I have known a lot of Mandy’s. So Y’all can take this one to the bank)

I receive daily via email, updates from my bank.

Got one late yesterday informing me my balance was $666 and change.

My first thought was: Old Uncle Joe (He’s a-movin’ kinda slow Biden)

had sent me an advance on my WuFlu assistance.

I had not made a deposit.

Someone must have.

But Soft!

Wait!

This is a Joke, Right?

Everyone who knows me, knows I am an atheist:

NOT A SATANIST.

Six-Six-Six?!

Mark of The Beast!

It was a funny joke on me, and I do have a sense o’ humor.

But just to be certain, I called my Institution.

(Not the one I had escaped from:

The Financial One)

******

Got Mandy, who informed me my balance was closer to sixty-sixty cents than it was to $600. Glad I called, because I was about to go on a spending spree, not unlike our government.

Yes! I just had a recent encounter with a new-to-me ‘Mandy.’

It was a professional—not the oldest profession…

(Get your mind out of the gutter, but a professional—A bona-fide Professional Encounter.

And Strangely enough, she works at my bank and I needed her assistance for that–nothing more.

She did her best to help me fix ‘My Banking Problem’ but she could not, despite all her best efforts.

During several telephone conversations.

Seems having no money is something even the Best ‘Mandy’ cannot fix. No matter how sincerely she tried.

*****

I cannot help it if ‘Looking Glass’ screwed up the Title/Lyrics.

But they only fukked up one letter.

(Albeit, The Most Important One)

I emailed them, requesting they re-do the song–

Fix it.

Their response is not fit to print.

There are some things even I will not repeat.

But I can give a subtle hint:

It involved suggestions of where I could stick certain industrial objects into my anatomy.

They even offered to help.

(I declined Their Generous Offer)

Mind Gone. Blown! Mandy’s of the World: Unite! Steer Clear of One Lance A. Marcom! (Trust Me On This One Ladies)

My Fantasy Mandy:

Typical, Representative of The ‘Mandy’ Species

(In My Humble Experience Anyway)

It has been my life’s experience that ALL women named ‘Mandy’ are good and decent people:

Sweet and kind–if only just a little too innocent and blind. (to life’s Harsh Realities….)

But without that, that innocence, they would be named ‘Bertha’ or ‘Helga’ or ‘Broomhilda’

And they would not be ‘Mandys.’

***** 

(I have known a lot of Mandy’s. So Y’all can take this one to the bank)

I receive daily via email, updates from my bank.

Got one late yesterday informing me my balance was $666 and change.

My first thought was: Old Uncle Joe (He’s a-movin’ kinda slow Biden)

had sent me an advance on my WuFlu assistance.

I had not made a deposit.

Someone must have.

But Soft!

Wait!

This is a Joke, Right?

Everyone who knows me, knows I am an atheist:

NOT A SATANIST.

Six-Six-Six?!

Mark of The Beast!

It was a funny joke on me, and I do have a sense o’ humor.

But just to be certain, I called my Institution.

(Not the one I had escaped from:

The Financial One)

******

Got Mandy, who informed me my balance was closer to sixty-sixty cents than it was to $600. Glad I called, because I was about to go on a spending spree, not unlike our government.

Yes! I just had a recent encounter with a new-to-me ‘Mandy.’

It was a professional—not the oldest profession…

(Get your mind out of the gutter, but a professional—A bona-fide Professional Encounter.

And Strangely enough, she works at my bank and I needed her assistance for that–nothing more.

She did her best to help me fix ‘My Banking Problem’ but she could not, despite all her best efforts.

During several telephone conversations.

Seems having no money is something even the Best ‘Mandy’ cannot fix. No matter how sincerely she tried.

*****

I cannot help it if ‘Looking Glass’ screwed up the Title/Lyrics.

But they only fukked up one letter.

(Albeit, The Most Important One)

I emailed them, requesting they re-do the song–

Fix it.

Their response is not fit to print.

There are some things even I will not repeat.

But I can give a subtle hint:

It involved suggestions of where I could stick certain industrial objects into my anatomy.

They even offered to help.

(I declined Their Generous Offer)

Screw it! I am gonna Keep Re-Posting Shit, ‘Till I Run Outta Gas! F%@k it! Re-Visit It! m– m–Added Some Moray Joanie–Baez. “There’s A Hole In My Bed”

As God As My Witness Witness: This all aboutna A Broad I Once knew— Jessie! That wuz Her Moniker! This is All I Wanted/Needed! Needed in My Life! Needed in My Life! Please! “I was in Need of a Soft Woman” (Texan, if you please) But I’ll Settle for Oklahoma–Did that once. “Insanity” is Just a “Scare” Word. We are all Mundane & & & And Insane

Linda is so beautiful.

A treasure to be treasured.

I feel really sick. I am not well. I wish now more than ever that I had a Good Woman to lay (I know ‘lay’ is not the proper word but I refuse to fuck up the song lyrics with Grammar Police Bullshite)

down beside me, wrap her arms around me, comfort me and hold me tight as I fall asleep.

That is all I want at this moment: A kind, soft of nature, loving, caring gentle woman. (Linda would be my first choice, but Carly would suffice as well–if she be around and in town and in town and not too busy being around)

Vid Cred: Who Cares? I’ll Get to it ..

Maybe-Whom-ever it was just stole shit, as I am wont to do I

Or even my second wife: She was a good woman and she loved me. She was ‘soft’ and she truly loved me. Much more than I loved myself.

******

Linda, I’m gonna love you for a long long long time.

Even after I die.

For Jessie

She was One of the Boys!

What an Un-sung Swan!
Jessi Colter
!

Vid Cred: tarquin45

Fuck Me!

I need to Die soon!

Fired Marshall: Richard’s Lame-Ass Jeans, Chapter Six: FIRE! And Yes! I Shall Burn In Hell. For My Sins.

Did I Regurgitate. This Already?

Go Ahead!

Ask Me How many Fuks I Give!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=en1uwIzI3SE

Immediately after Madelyn and I had heard the radio broadcast from Bonham, we went back downstairs to join Daddy and Gloria for supper.
As we we wading through the ‘First Course”, the telephone rang. Gloria got up and answered, Returned to the table and announced, rather tearful,
“Madelyn has just lost her job.”
“How so?” Daddy asked.
“Richard’s Jeans was destroyed in a fire.”
Maddy and I exchanged knowing glances, subtly.
“Still on the line?” Madelyn asked Gloria as she went to the telephone.
“Yes,” said Gloria. Maddy went to the phone had some short conversation. Hung up abruptly. Returned to the table and cast me a sideways glance, meaning to say,

“Do NOT say a Goddamn Word.”

Message received.

Understood

Loud and Clear

About twenty minutes later there was a vociferous loud aggressive knock on the front door of Marcom Manor.

No “Friend of Marcom” Ever Knocks Upon the Front Door–Only Interlopers, and they could be shot.

Marcom Manor


I got up to answer.
It was the Fannin County Fire Marshall.
(Shit!)
“Is there a Madelyn Marcom here?” he inquired.
“Sure” I said. “What do you want?”
“I need to ask her a few questions.”
“We are at supper.” I said.
“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

I went back to our Norman Rockwell, sat down, poured some more ice tea…
“Who was that?” Gloria asked.
“Fire Marshall” I replied.
“Did he leave?”
“Naw. I parked him in the Parlor.”
“Dammit Lance! When were you gonna tell us?”
“As soon as we finished our supper.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants to talk to Madelyn.”
“Madelyn! You go talk to him. Now!”
Maddy got up and headed to the parlor.
Was I scared she would confess?
Oh Hell no!

Nevertheless, I got up and walked her to the parlor.

“Sister, don’t fuck this up.”
I got this,” was all she said.

******
To be continued.

*****

Hozier – Arsonist’s Lullaby

^^^^

Previously:

****

Bonus Just B’Cuz I’m a Texan Asshole!

****

Teaser for a Lil Sumthin’ I am Working On

Hud: Portrait of a Texas Heel

***

Something About Carly. I Adore Her! Always I Have! Always Shall! Yeah! I Fukk’up This Post!

Probably the no bra.

JUST KIDDING!

OKAY.

I lied.

Honestly, I think it was the hat.

OK. I just lied again.

It was most def, the bra-less-ness.

There! I fess’d up.

We good now?

 

 

There is just something about a poor little rich girl, with her hair blowin’ in the breeze at Martha’s Vineyard…

(And Yes, For all you Film Buffs Out There, the Not-So-Subtle Connection Between Martha’s Vineyard and Amity Island of ‘Jaws’ Fame, did Not Escape me.)

Something that says to me: Nineteen Seventies.

I do love it (and her)

She really did  not know no better…

After all: These are the “Good Old Days” ain’t they?

“Carly, You are a delight. You have Enriched my Life for so many years.

Thank you.”

Oh, and you too, JT.

You Lucky Bastard!

“Do the Walls Come Down When You Think of me?”

Yes!

Carly, Oh Yes!

Somehow Fuckin Related!

Doug Kershaw!

My Goodness Gracious!

::::

Carly is so Drop-Dead Beautiful!



CARLY! WHY’D YOU HAVE TO BE SO GOOD AND CAPTURE MY HEART?

Carly, You Don’t have To Prove to Me You’re Beautiful To Strangers;

I’ve Got Lovin’ Eyes Of My Own.

2021 Addendum:

If MS Muse, AKA ‘Katherine,’ Reads This,

I am in BIG Trouble

And Will, Most Likely, Be The Recipient Of Some Unhappy Words.

“Yes Carly. I want to marry you.”

–Lance

I Am Doll Parts, Or… “How I Came to Live in The Shit Hole Garage Apartment Which was not Really a Garage Apartment, but only a Shit-Hole Underneath a Garage Apartment.”

“I Fake it so real I am beyond Fake.”

“I Fake it so real I am beyond Fake.”

Redundant?

Yes, I Know

 

Memory fails, but I have pieced together something approaching honest fact. I lost my posh digs at Ponderosa Apartments, and was forced to down-size.

Madelyn My Sister (step-sister)

was living large in the ‘Proper Garage Apartment’ and was ‘in good’ with the Landlord. She informed me he had this ‘wonderful little apartment’ for rent, which was ‘just perfect’ for me. Read CHEAP.

I checked it out, paid my fifty bucks and moved in. The moving in took all of two minutes, for I had not much to move.

Working for Ruth at her Liquor store in Ladonia and making a solid three dollars fifty cents an hour (plus ‘benefits), it was indeed, ‘perfect’ for me.

Now mind you, I never complained about living in such a place. After all, it did suit me and no one would have cared anyhow if it didn’t. It had some kind of ‘certain charm (just like this place) to be sure.

How many folks could invite a guest into their home and lead them past the shitter before arriving into the living room/bedroom/kitchen/study proper? As far as I knew, I had the only such place in all of Commerce. It was special.

And truth be told, I did some ‘entertaining’ there a couple of times. The only person who I would invite over was my girlfriend. She never judged me. She was always happy to be with me, no matter the venue. (Yes, that sounds conceited, but there it is Gentle Reader—c’est vrai, or quel dommage, or… choose your own français).

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