“The Gnats Are Back” Or “Gnat Pool Party” You Pick Yer Own Title. (As It May Suit You)

The Gnats are Back!

Now… where did I put that DDT?

Bobbie?

Girl! Reach me that DDT!

BUGS!

Shared Vid Cred: benjichilders

So, I am tryin’ real hard

(Yes it is hard. Hey! Get Yer Mind Outta That Gutter!)

Tryin’ real hard to tone down on the drinkin’.

Poured me a ‘HALF-GLASS’ of wine, (Not much more than would fill a hen’s ear) into a ‘Normal’ wine glass as opposed to my usual, ‘Barrel Glass Runneth Over.’

NE-Way….

Phone started ringing (as it sometimes do)

Set my glass on the counter and waltzed over to pick-up the phone:

“Hello,” I said.

Voice on the line asked,

“Is this Lance Marcom?”

“Might be. What do you want?”

“Mister Marcom, I am Helga with Corporation Blah, Blah, Blah. Our records indicate you are two months in arrears. When may we expect a payment to your account?”

“Let me get back to you on that.

My Fridge is running and I need to go catch it before it escapes.
Bye now.”

*Click*

Remembered my ‘Left-all-alone’ wine glass.

Went back to re-capture it and take it hostage for my liver.

Discovered the Gnats were having a Gnat Pool Party in MY POOL. Doing back-flips, canon balls, and competitive diving off the rim of my glass.

I rescued my glass and drank down the wine along with the Fun-Loving Gnats.

“That’ll teach ‘em, by God!”
I said to no one in particular.

*****

Footnote to the Story:

After taking Inventory, Discovered I was Dangerously low-on-Booze.

Needed to go shopping next day.

Gonna go down and shop at

“The Tom Waits Booze Emporium & Bicycle Shoppe”

Cheers Y’all!

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part XII: “Back to the Real World”

With nothing else to do and still somewhat pissed at Shonnie for putting us both in a bad situation, I walked over to The Las Vegas Club just across the street from the Union Plaza.

My intent was to pass some time playing a relaxing game of roulette. I have always enjoyed roulette. The pace is slow and generally the game draws a more serene clientele. A quiet casual game of roulette would afford me the opportunity to calm my Shonnie-Generated anger and pleasantly pass some time.

The minimum bet was one dollar, so I bought a hundred bucks worth of two-bit chips and began scattering them about the table. Never really scoring big at roulette, I did not expect anything but a hundred dollars’ worth of entertainment and some free bottom shelf booze.

I had a few wins but mostly losses and as my initial investment evaporated along with about an hour and a half of time, I cashed out the remainder of my stake (about ten bucks which I used to tip the Croupier), drained my glass, stubbed out my Marlboro and headed back to The Plaza.

I discovered Shonnie face down on the bed, hair a mess, legs splayed out all akimbo, a forsaken cigarette burning in the ashtray.

Somehow I saw myself in that cigarette.

I sat down beside her.

“You awake?” I whispered, gently pulling some strands of hair from her cheek.

“Owwwie… Is that you Honey?”

“Yes Dear.” (I was aiming for a sarcastic, pissed off tone—failed—I just loved her too much to sustain my displeasure) “Yeah. It’s me,” I repeated. “You were perhaps expecting someone else? George maybe?”

“Huhhh? Who’s George?

“Never mind. How’d you come out?”

“Won ‘bout four hundred an’ change. Proud of me?”

“No,” I said. “You nearly got me into trouble.”

“Always about you,” she said, turning on her side to face me with suddenly awake and angry blue eyes.

“We did have a plan, you know. What happened?”

“I couldn’t get shed of that moron.”

“You mean ‘George’, yes?”

She sat up abruptly. Sincerely pissed off now. “How th’ hell you know his fuckin’ name? I don’t even know his fuckin’ name and I had to sit next to the asshole for four hours. I tried to run him off! Goddamn it!”

“How hard is it to walk away from a blackjack table?”

She looked down at the bed and added quietly. “I was having fun.”

“You’re drunk,” I said.

“Yeah, I am. Be my hero and light me a smoke.”

“I already did my hero bit tonight when I showed up to rescue you from George and the El Cortez.”

“It would’ve been awkward to just get up and leave with you. The casino dudes might’ve gotten suspicious.”

“Shonnie, they had gone way beyond ‘suspicious’ by then. If you had just accepted my offer of a drink at the bar…”

“I know. I know! I was acting like a little bitch. I wanted to find out if you were willing to fight for me is all.”

“Damn it Shonnie! You know damn well I will fight for you, but only if it is warranted and necessary. You created the situation. You could have ended it. Easily.”

She gave me a sorrowful, pouty look, then softly, sweetly said, “Cig?”

Whatever remained of my anger was melted away by her voice and her look.

I lit two Marlboros and handed her one. She took a long drag and asked for a cold beer. I fished two Bud longnecks out of the cooler, wiped them off on the bedspread and handed her one.

“You gonna be a gentleman an’ open this for me?” she said while aiming the longneck’s neck at my chest.

I took the bottle, twisted off the cap with one deft motion, tossed it at the television and handed her the beer.

 She drained about half, belched loudly and said, “Cotton mouth.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Fuck you. I have a wicked-bad headache.”

She laid her head back on the pillow with a groan.

I kissed her lightly on the forehead and said, “We need to head outta here tomorrow by noon. I have to be back on my boat…”

“Okay! Okay! I got it. What time is it anyway?”

“It’s later than you think.”

She sat back up, drained the rest of her beer, threw her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray, lay down, rolled over and went immediately to sleep. ‘Just perfect,’ I thought.

I took some minutes to finish my beer and my cigarette, then got undressed, curled up next to her and was soon fast asleep myself.

***

Next day we managed to check out of our room and hit the road by about twelve-thirty. I stopped for gas and a six-pack at Whiskey Pete’s, or as I prefer to call it,

“The Last Dance Texaco”

Fun Fact: Rickie Lee bears an eerily striking resemblance to Shonnie, though No Where near as beautiful as Shonnie, At least she can sing. Shonnie can’t sing. So there’s that. But, I’ll still take Shonnie any day. And every day. And in every way.

***

Whiskey Pete’s almost straddles the Nevada State Line. It’s the first, or last, depending upon one’s direction of travel, opportunity to make a charitable contribution to the Casino Industry’s Good Cause(s).

“Hey Baby, we got some time. Wanna see something really cool while we’re here?”

“I cannot look at another blackjack table for a while.”

“C’mon. This is different.”

I parked the car and led her into Whiskey Pete’s and straight to the Bonnie and Clyde car exhibit.

“Look at that! Isn’t that cool?”

“It’s just a car all shot fulla holes. I’ve seen a few already.”

“Baby, this ain’t just any car. This is the legit ‘Bonnie and Clyde Death Car’.”

“Oh.”

Sometimes even my very best efforts to impress my girl fall flat.

Other times, I don’t even have to try.

If I could just manage someday to find the key, my life would be so much easier.

And devoid of magic.

Nope, I’ll keep my mysterious, mystifying, disconcerting, and sometimes infuriating Shonnie over any predictable plastic boring version.

The Joni song below is about seventy-five percent perfect in illuminating the very complex relationship Shonnie and I shared.

***

“You know the times you impress me most

Are the times when you don’t try

When you don’t even try”

Credit for Video Montage: DJ Bayonic

***

We reverse-road-tripped westward toward San Diego, arriving about six in the evening. I dropped Shonnie at her mom’s and headed back to the Callaghan. I hit my rack and slept like the dead.

I had duty the next day, so I could not leave the ship. On Tuesday at sixteen hundred after liberty call I donned my civvies and hit the beach. Found a pay phone on the pier and called her up.

“Hello?”

“Hiya Baby. How Y’all doin’?”

“Why didn’t you call me yesterday?” She sounded pissed.

“You know damn well I had ‘the duty’ yesterday,” I shot back.

“Oh… Yeah. Sorry. I forgot.”

“Where do you wanna meet up?” I asked.

“Seaport Village. In the back of the parking lot. In thirty minutes. And don’t make me wait.”

“Make you wait?! That’s rich Shonnie, very rich, given our recent ‘make me wait’ experience. Make it forty-five and we’ve got a bona-fide rendezvous.”

“Okay!” Loud click in my ear as she not-so-gently ‘placed’ her receiver back in the phone cradle.

I laughed out loud as I gently returned my receiver to the pay phone.

‘Lance can be a ‘button-pushing’ little bitch too.’

***

I pulled into the parking lot at Seaport Village around five p.m. No sign of Shonnie. I killed the Toranado but left the stereo playing (Tom Waits: “Warm Beer and Cold Women…I just don’t fit in.”)

Pulling from a pint of Jim Beam, I lit a cigarette and watched some seagulls diving on scraps in San Diego Bay.

A haze-gray-and-underway-piece-of-shit was heading out to sea, black-shoe-sailors were manning the rails wearing dress whites.

Young happy couples were walking hand-in-hand heading toward the boardwalk. I began allowing myself to entertain some second thoughts about my relationship with Shonnie: 

Was it going anywhere?

Was it worth the risk? Was she fun? Was she great in the sack?

Was she not beautiful?

Didn’t I truly love her?

My mindless debate was abruptly and noisily ended as she pulled up alongside me, screeching tires and slinging gravel. 

Grand Entrance! 

She exited her ‘La Bomba’ and walked toward my vehicle.

She looked absolutely California Texas Stunning.

She was sporting tight faded blue jeans with some holes in them, à la Dwight Yoakam ‘cowboy hip’ style, a halter top, cowgirl boots, cowgirl hat, and carrying a fifth of whiskey and an attitude. She ‘runway’ sashayed over to my window and inquired,

“Hey Sailor, New in town?”

Aiming for ‘laconic’ I said, “I’m the ’Only’ Sailor for you Little Cowgirl and I’m Fair to mid’lin’. You?”

“Finer-n-frog hair,” she said.

“Don’t be mockin’ a good ol’ Texas Boy,” I said back.

(Yes! I truly did love her of course but even worse, I was In-Love with her: Madly and Beyond Redemption. There never really was any doubt.)

“I have a surprise for you Lover.”

“I’m not particularly fond of surprises” I said.

“You’re gonna love this one, and it’s gonna save you some money too.”

“Okay, go on. What’s the surprise? And please don’t tell me I’ll know when we get there.”

Enthusiastically she announced, “I’m ‘house-sitting’ my aunt’s condo in La Jolla this week. It’s all ours!”

“Your ‘aunt?’ ‘Condo?’ In ‘La Jolla?’ No way!”

“Yes! Way!”

“Well, ya know, I’m kinda partial to parking lots and sleazy motel rooms,” I protested.

“Don’t be an asshole and don’t be ridiculous,” she said as she climbed into the shot-gun seat of my Toranado. “Drive. I’ll show you the way.”

So I drove.

(With some anticipation tempered with some trepidation)

***

Previously:

***

Coming Soon:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife. Chapter XIII: La Jolla”

Update: Part XIII is Up.

***

If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below

And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Comments from the original post:

16 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE PART XII: BACK TO THE REAL WORLD”

LAMarcom October 8, 2020 at 04:22 Edit

Thank you John

johncoyote October 3, 2020 at 04:59 Edit

When Vegas, drink and road trip are together. Some hell raising days are coming. I liked the set-up of the story and Shonnie. Is a interesting lady. A very entertaining chapter my friend.

LAMarcom February 16, 2015 at 05:15 Edit

Reblogged this on Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics and commented:

Not sure why, but I thought I’d re-blog this. (Probably ’cause I like Tom Waits)

Oh! And I miss that woman: Shonnie

LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:37 Edit

Hehehehe.

Yeah, from Day One with Shonnie, I had that same bad foreboding.

Thanks Friend.

Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:53 Edit

Where on earth is this going? I’ve got a bad feeling about this…

LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 16:03 Edit

Shonnie was the one who ‘introduced’ me to Tom Waits and for that, I am eternally in her debt.

😉

Mélanie July 14, 2014 at 15:59 Edit

OMG! Tom Waits – a living legend… 🙂

lauramacky July 14, 2014 at 10:15 Edit

lol

lauramacky July 14, 2014 at 09:42 Edit

😛

LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 09:22 Edit

I completely agree with you on Roulette. I have ‘experienced’ Roulette all over the world from Europe to Africa to the Far East (and of course Vegas). Love the game and the atmosphere of it.

Exile on Pain Street July 14, 2014 at 06:21 Edit

Roulette really is the most elegant game in the house. You don’t have to concentrate the way you do with craps. And I like the accouterments. The wheel. The ball. The clakity-clack sound.

Lots of smoking in these stories. I get cotton mouth just reading them.

LAMarcom July 13, 2014 at 23:26 Edit

Just a ‘Tale of Two Cities: San Dog and Vegas…’

😉

LAMarcom July 13, 2014 at 16:17 Edit

Hi Sadie,

‘Captivated’ readers are the best!

😉

Thank you for the kind words.

Cheers,

Lance

LAMarcom July 13, 2014 at 16:11 Edit

😉

~ Sadie ~ July 13, 2014 at 14:18 Edit

Can’t wait for the next chapter!!! I think this series would make a great short story, or possibly novella 🙂 You definitely have me captivated! 😉

lauramacky July 13, 2014 at 09:18 Edit

You little dickens

Indigo Girl 2: Callen, “The One That Got Away.”

CALLEN!
My Girl!
I wished upon a Star

(But I Fell Too Far)

Vid Share Cred: Louis De Nennie

****

Not Callen, (Below) But almost a ‘Dead-Ringer’–Especially the Smile

(Ed. Note: Callen Was / Is More Beautiful)

Callen Look-Alike (Blake Lively, I think)

“It’s pleasure to try ’em; it’s trouble to keep them.”

“Snakes An’ Ladders”

“Breaks my Heart Just Lookin’ at Her”

If…

Jenna

was the ‘air-brushed’ perfection, professional beautiful angel,

 

thus it follows… yin and yang:

Callen was the unkempt, unsteady, unreliable, super lazy blonde stoner / juicer who did not give a fuck.

Half the times she showed up for work she was slightly stoned, or drunk, or a combination of the two.

And Of Course I fell madly in Love with HER. I really had No Choice.

Laws of Physics.

And she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. To see her smile was something I cannot begin to describe, but of course, I tried not to notice, because I was a “Professional Security Guard” (Licensed-to-Carry-A-Gun-But-Not-Licensed-To-Ever-Use-It)—and not supposed to be prone to emotion, nor feelings.

She had long blonde hair (have I ever mentioned that I have never had any luck with blondes? Pretty certain I have, but I seem to be drawn to them. Moth to flame, as it were.)

She was about five foot eight and just a little ‘chunky’ but a good kind of ‘chunky’. She really was a beautiful, kinda country-looking woman. She had a ‘soft’ look. This is hard to explain and probably does not look good in print, but she had a soft look.

What I am desperately trying to explain is that she just looked ‘comfortable’ and potentially ‘comforting.’ (I could fall safely asleep in her embrace) Unlike a lot of the women I have ‘experienced’ in my life; most of them were ‘uncomfortable.’ And NOT safe.

Oh fuck it. Let’s move on, shall we?

Yet trust me on this one folks, I have been with women from all over the world. I know women. I love them and I appreciate them. All manner of shapes and sizes of them. This one, this Callen, was ‘Top Shelf.” But moving on from my ‘sexist’ commentary over her looks:

Callen, being ever lazy would ask me to do things that were not in my wheelhouse nor in my mind to do. I was a Fucking Security Guard.

That was MY Job!

My ONLY JOB!

She would ask me (ever so nicely) to deliver towels or shit paper or coffee to some guest’s room. First few times she asked me to do these things I just invited her to fuck off (I did not verbalize it that way, but she caught the drift).

Now please allow me to explain something:

Hotel Indigo had a ‘gym’ of sorts. There were weights and a weight machine. I had eight hours to kill every night and I was big ‘Into’ lifting weights back then, so I took about an hour out of my shift every night to lift weights in their gym.

While sitting in my car one night, after finishing my workout, I had a ‘sudden’ epiphany. All Epiphanies…. Are ‘sudden’– Look it up–Whatever.

How could I refuse Callen’s simple requests of me to break MY Rules, when she did not call me out for breaking the Hotel Indigo’s Rules?

(I was not supposed to be using their ‘Fitness’ Center.)

I got off my ass, walked into to Lobby and had this statement for her:

“Callen, do you know what an epiphany is?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I just had one. I owe you an apology. You don’t say shit about me spending an hour a night working out in your fitness center. I enjoy doing that, and you never say shit about it. You would never ‘drop a dime’ on me FOR Doing it. This much I know about you. Certainly, if you need me to do something for you that is not strictly in my ‘Security Guard’ purview, from now on, I will do it. I owe you this. I am very fond of you. More than you know. You are good people.”

I extended my hand. She took it. And shook it.

“We good?” I asked.

“Yep. We good,” she replied.

And I was more in love with her at that point than was prudent.

“It’s pleasure to try ’em; it’s trouble to keep ’em.”

–Joni

Oh, in case anyone is wondering, Callen was probably twenty-eight and change, years-wise.

These kinds of details are not important to me.

But they may be important to the casual reader.

So there ya go.

******

Very sad footnote:

I discovered after we had known each other for some time that she had had some real tragedy in her young life:

She woke up one morning next to her dead boyfriend.

He had just died during the night.

She could not explain why nor how, but I am quite certain it fucked her up.

As it would anyone.

Her story made me almost cry.

Actually it did make me cry, but I waited until I got back to my car.

Then I tried to think up ways I could win this woman.

Came up empty.

Probably for the best:  hers and mine.

To be continued…

More on my recent

“Callen Remembrance Regret.”

I woke up with her on my mind–I suppose this is obvious, and I don’t really need to verbalize it.

But I do it anyway…

More Callen Found Here

Please Re-Visit This One–I Still Think of Her Often. “The Most Missed One: Indigo Girl 2: Callen, The One That Got Away.”

CALLEN!
My Girl!
I wished upon a Star

(But I Fell Too Far)

Vid Share Cred: Louis De Nennie

****

Not Callen, (Below) But almost a ‘Dead-Ringer’–

Especially the Smile

(Ed. Note: Callen Was / Is More Beautiful)

Callen Look-Alike (Blake Lively, I think)

“It’s pleasure to try ’em; it’s trouble to keep them.”

“Breaks my Heart Just Lookin’ at Her”

If…

Jenna

 

Indigo Girls Chapter One: Jenna

was the ‘air-brushed’ perfection, professional beautiful angel,

 

thus it follows… yin and yang:

Callen was the unkempt, unsteady, unreliable, super lazy blonde stoner / juicer who did not give a fuck.

Half the times she showed up for work she was slightly stoned, or drunk, or a combination of the two.

And Of Course I fell madly in Love with HER. I really had No Choice.

Laws of Physics.

And she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. To see her smile was something I cannot begin to describe, but of course, I tried not to notice, because I was a “Professional Security Guard” (Licensed-to-Carry-A-Gun-But-Not-Licensed-To-Ever-Use-It)—and not supposed to be prone to emotion, nor feelings.

She had long blonde hair (have I ever mentioned that I have never had any luck with blondes? Pretty certain I have, but I seem to be drawn to them. Moth to flame, as it were.)

She was about five foot eight and just a little ‘chunky’ but a good kind of ‘chunky’. She really was a beautiful, kinda country-looking woman. She had a ‘soft’ look. This is hard to explain and probably does not look good in print, but she had a soft look.

What I am desperately trying to explain is that she just looked ‘comfortable’ and potentially ‘comforting.’ (I could fall safely asleep in her embrace) Unlike a lot of the women I have ‘experienced’ in my life; most of them were ‘uncomfortable.’ And NOT safe.

Oh fuck it. Let’s move on, shall we?

Yet trust me on this one folks, I have been with women from all over the world. I know women. I love them and I appreciate them. All manner of shapes and sizes of them. This one, this Callen, was ‘Top Shelf.” But moving on from my ‘sexist’ commentary over her looks:

Callen, being ever lazy would ask me to do things that were not in my wheelhouse nor in my mind to do. I was a Fucking Security Guard.

That was MY Job!

My ONLY JOB!

She would ask me (ever so nicely) to deliver towels or shit paper or coffee to some guest’s room. First few times she asked me to do these things I just invited her to fuck off (I did not verbalize it that way, but she caught the drift).

Now please allow me to explain something:

Hotel Indigo had a ‘gym’ of sorts. There were weights and a weight machine. I had eight hours to kill every night and I was big ‘Into’ lifting weights back then, so I took about an hour out of my shift every night to lift weights in their gym.

While sitting in my car one night, after finishing my workout, I had a ‘sudden’ epiphany.

How could I refuse Callen’s simple requests of me to break MY Rules, when she did not call me out for breaking the Hotel Indigo’s Rules?

(I was not supposed to be using their ‘Fitness’ Center.)

I got off my ass, walked into to Lobby and had this statement for her:

“Callen, do you know what an epiphany is?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I just had one. I owe you an apology. You don’t say shit about me spending an hour a night working out in your fitness center. I enjoy doing that, and you never say shit about it. You would never ‘drop a dime’ on me FOR Doing it. This much I know about you. Certainly, if you need me to do something for you that is not strictly in my ‘Security Guard’ purview, from now on, I will do it. I owe you this. I am very fond of you. More than you know. You are good people.”

I extended my hand. She took it. And shook it.

“We good?” I asked.

“Yep. We good,” she replied.

And I was more in love with her at that point than was prudent.

“It’s pleasure to try ’em; it’s trouble to keep ’em.”

–Joni

Oh, in case anyone is wondering, Callen was probably twenty-eight and change, years-wise.

These kinds of details are not important to me.

But they may be important to the casual reader.

So there ya go.

******

Very sad footnote:

I discovered after we had known each other for some time that she had had some real tragedy in her young life:

She woke up one morning next to her dead boyfriend.

He had just died during the night.

She could not explain why nor how, but I am quite certain it fucked her up.

As it would anyone.

Her story made me almost cry.

Actually it did make me cry, but I waited until I got back to my car.

Then I tried to think up ways I could win this woman.

Came up empty.

Probably for the best:  hers and mine.

“Words of love won’t win a girl’s heart anymore….”

“Just Don’t misspell her name, ’cause she’s the one that got away.”

More on my recent

“Callen Remembrance Regret.”

I woke up with her on my mind–I suppose this is obvious, and I don’t really need to verbalize it.

But I do it anyway…

On MY Mind

We Five –

“You Were On My Mind”

I ‘Grew’ Up In The Sixties and Seventies–

This Was NOT My Fault

More Callen Found Here

The Gnats Are Back & Having A ‘Gnat Blast’ At My Personal Annoyance

Yeah, The Gnats are Back!

(They Had Flown South For The Winter)

Yet I had expected them much sooner than Today

They Musta Taken A Wrong Turn At Albuquerque

I Had A ‘Welcome Home’ Greeting For ’em

See What A “Nice, Thoughtful” Guy I Am?

Office Space

***

Now… where did I put that DDT?

“Bobbie, Reach me the DDT will ya Girl?”

***

So, I am tryin’ real hard

(Yes it is hard. Hey! Get Yer Mind Outta That Gutter!)

Tryin’ real hard to tone down on the drinkin’.

Poured me a ‘HALF-GLASS’ of booze. Not much more than would fill a hen’s ear–(Now, Y’all know I’m lyin’) into a ‘Normal’ booze glass as opposed to my usual, ‘Barrel Glass Runneth Over.’

NE-Way….

Phone started ringing (as it sometimes do)

Set my glass on the counter and waltzed over to pick-up the phone:

“Hello,” I said.

Voice on the line asked,

“Is this Lance Marcom?”

“Might be. Might Not Be. What do you want?”

“Mister Marcom, I am Helga with Corporation Blah, Blah, Blah. Our records indicate you are two months in arrears. When may we expect a payment to your account?”

“Let me get back to you on that. My Fridge is running and I need to go catch it before it escapes.”

*Click*

Bitch Hung Up On me; Didn’t Even Say “Goodbye”

I Cannot Even Imagine Why

***

Remembered My ‘Left-All-Alone’ Booze Glass.

Went back to re-capture it and take it hostage for my liver.

Discovered the Gnats were having a Gnat Pool Party in MY DRINK. Doing back-flips, canon balls, and competitive diving off the rim of my glass.

These Are The “New” Gnats.

They Developed Swimming Anatomies

See How Quickly ‘Evolution’ Can Happen?

Gotta Keep Up With ‘Current Events’

Life Always Finds A Way

Fu*kin’ Gnats!

Pool Party!

In-MY-Drink!

The Cajones On These Assholes!

I rescued my glass and drank down the booze along with the Fun-Loving Gnats.

“That’ll teach ‘em, by God!”
I said to no one in particular.

*****

Theme Song:

Bugs!

“Hey Look At Me… With The DDT”

Shared Vid Cred: benjichilders

*****

Footnote to the Story:

After taking Inventory, Discovered I was Dangerously low-on-Booze.

Needed to go shopping next day.

Gonna go down and shop at

“The Tom Waits Booze Emporium & Bicycle Shoppe”

Cheers Y’all!

Most of my Posts Are About The Vids–So Fuc8k-ing Watch Vids! “Slightly Updated”

“Officer, I did NOT Fall OFF that Wagon; I was pushed. Arrest the push-er, not the push-ee.” Or, “I got tired of waking up on the freeway driving ninety.” Or, “This Post is Not the Post You Were Looking For…”

New shit:

Fuk it!

(I’ll edit it later)

Goddamn it!

Git off my back!

Author’s Note (at the beginning… Yes. Yes. Fucking YES!! I know! Not Great Form!)

Fuck it!

Author’s Note:

Recent Au Courant events (Afghanistan) are bumming me out.

Charlie Wilson: “These things happened. They were glorious and they changed the world… and then we fucked up the endgame.”

Nuff said?

“Yes Lance. Now STFU and write.”

“Okay.”

Okay, but…

One last ed. note:

This lame-ass post has a lot (even by my sub-standard standards)

A lot of attached… Lancelot Links and Vids.

It is highly (and drunkenly) recommended you ‘experience them all’ to get the

‘Full Benefit’

Jes sayin…

***

Now I know.

Now I know why

Now I know all the reasons whey–why

(“Lance! There is ALWAYS a Fucking Song! Ain’t they?!)

(Fuck off! Voice in my head)

And fuck you too Muse!

Run tell all that!

****

Now I know why I get drunk

Now I know why I used to stay drunk

Now I know why it is a good thing

And good for one

To stay drunk

Simple logistics and meta-physics:

To avoid the hangovers!

“The hairs of some dogs”

As it were

The hair of Man’s Best Friend!

For lack of a reason

Hairs of dogs are in season

***

Time of The Reason-Season

“What’s your name? Who’s Your Bag-Daddy??”

“Me! C’est Moi!”

(Asshole!)

Who’s Your Daddy?

Street Cred for Vid: andrew91118

Tis reason enuff.

To dip snuff.

(And I love dogs)

Amen

P.S. This is a ‘temporary’ affliction. It too shall pass.

“How do you know this Doctor Marcom?”

“Because I have been to Drunken Med School Grasshopper.”

This Computer Has Been Drinking (Not Me)

Street Cred for Vid: MasterBiblicalMemory

***

“But, Dr. Marcom, none shall pass. Pass out perhaps, but ‘pass’? Naw.”

None shall pass thru this life unscathed.

“Oye vay of little faith!”

“Dr. Marcom, you are stupid.”

*heavy sigh*

“Some people, you just cannot reach.”

What we have here…

Communication

***

Cynthia-The-Housekeeper and my Only BFF here in Commerce Amerika…

She.

She is ‘on to’ me.

She knows me.

She came to my door.

Asked me if I wanted to strip my bed.

Freudian Slip?

(Tuesdays here at Lion’s Lair are ‘Strip Yer Bed-Sheets Day)

I replied,

“No Ma’am; I’m good, but thanks for askin'”

She gave me that ‘Black-Woman-All-Knowing-Look’

That ‘Look’

That look that telegraphs.

Telegraphs “I know you’ve been drinking again”

My Tell-All, End All Tell.

Tis a curse!

I have no skill at poker.

Nor do I possess a poker-face.

My Cynthia asked over those “I already know the answer” eyes:

“You Okay?”

“Yep. I’m okay,” I lied.

“I’m watching you,” she said.

“I know you are Honey, and thank you for that,”

I replied.

As she walked away, I said to her moving away from me back,

“I love you.”

She said over her shoulder,

“I love you more. Catch ya later Alligator!”

(Her favorite catch-all, end-all phrase. I never ask why. Why she likes it. She just likes it. And that is reason enough for me. Because I am in love with her. Love is just that way Y’all. It works in those mysterious ways. Kinda like the Invisible Spaghetti-Man-in-the-sky. Man. Oh man!)

As soon as I shut the door I heard my Motorola Phone speaking to me:

“Hello Moto!”

(Note to self: ‘Change name to ‘Moto.’)

“Fuck you Moto!” I said.

Then I did something very very uncharacteristic:

I answered the damn phone.

“Hello?”

“Is this Rance Marcom?’ (Heavy Indian accent)

“No.”

“I need to speak Rance. Is he there?”

“Are you from India Mister Moto?”

“I from Capitol One.”

“No. I think you’re from India.”

“Mister Rance Marcom?”

“English ain’t yer first language is it? I just told you, ‘Mistah Rance’ ain’t here.”

“I need speak to Mister Rance Marcom.”

“Sorry to say, he is in Kabul at this moment getting his ass shot at.”

Mister Moto / Capitol One hung up on me.

Cannot imagine why.

***

In closing

In trying to put a fine point on the point that is This Pointless Post:

I love booze.

I love what it does to me.

I love what it doesn’t me.

I love it when it does not kill me.

(Apocryphal: ‘Write Drunk. Edit Sober)

I love it.

(Did I say this already?)

Don’t cry for me Miss Dementia

I’ll be fine.

***

The (Still) Living

END

*static on radio*

“Houston. We have a problem…”

TBC…

j’espere

(Dat’s France-ish for ‘j’espere’.  Google it! Yu lazy-fair mo-fo’s)

***

In closing

In trying to put a fine point on the point that is This Pointless Post:

I love booze.

I love what it does me.

I love what it doesn’t me.

I love it when it does not kill me.

(Apocryphal: ‘Write Drunk. Edit Sober)

I love it.

(Did I say this already?)

Don’t cry for me Miss Dementia

“Objection Your Honor! The Witless Witness is Inebriated!”

“Sustained. Mister Moto, continue, but sobriety is the soul of wit. Please take some effort to remember that.”

“Yer honor…”

“Boom! Thirty Years! No Beers!”

It was at this point, Yoda spoke to me:

“Fucked you are.”

“Thanks for that Yoda.”