Here it is.....
There's a line in the the first Porky's movie that seems to be a reoccuring theme in my life.
"Everytime we go somewhere, you find a way to fuck it up." Yep. This is someting I am used to feeling the need to say. I'm just not sure whom to address it to. Hell, maybe it's Karma and I worked for Attilla the Hun in a previous life. I dunno. I just know the feeling. All week long me, Eric and George have been talking about going to the air show at Willow Grove Naval Air Station. Eric and I went last year and loved it, in spite of the fact that I pretty much hate stupid people, absolutely hate crowds, get phobic at the idea of crowds of stupid people and the fact that it kept sprinkling. Well, it's kinda rainy again this year, too. For starters. And, the idea of being around even one stupid person too closely is bad enough. Like being around a large crowd of mostly stupid people is enough. But, combine the two and your looking at two strikes and me wound up tight enough to deliver a fastball right through the concrete and steel construction of the stadium itself and half way down the damn block. Right now, I'm sitting here, trying to wake up enough to make sense and my stomach is slowly, yet tightly, knotting up. And, I'm beginning to feel the first stirrings of "Get .Me. Outta. This." (I'd prefer it to be 'gracefully', but it's not necessary.) The reasons for this are varied. And, multiple. I can handle the weather, the crowds and the potential for endless stupidity, but having to bring it with us at the last second is really making me just want to stay here, in peace and just finish reading Death's Door.Eric just stopped by to give me an updated on his schedule and when he'll be done so I'll know what time to shoot for to be ready. He also said that one of the guys who works here wants to go with us. Sigh. Why the...who the...Damn it. Now, I'm hoping for some act of God to prevent me from having to deal with this shit. I'll explain later, maybe, why I hate this idea. (Although the idea of spending the necessary time writing out the reasons why I feel like I do about him makes me want to quit writing.) Suffice it to say, there have been times in the not too recent past that I've had to keep myself from kickin' the old boys ASS, we've done this kinda thing with/for him before and regretted it, the car we're going in is a Firebird and the idea of him being THAT close makes me pre-angry, he smokes stinky-farkin' pipe tobacco CONSTANTLY (half his beard is YELLOW from it), he speaks half the time in this FAKE Irish brouge, he can't keep his fuckin' hands or opinions to himself and he always asks about if we're 'still going' to stuff like this. That is his way of guilt tripping Eric into asking him if he wants to go, too. Which, he usually does. Which, I wish he wouldn't.
Just now, Eric stopped by to tell me what he's up to and for how much longer and shit. Then he says "Oh...and Rick asked bwah, bwah, bwahbwahbwah." After 'Rick asked' my hearing registered his voice as being the one for the teacher from the Peanuts cartoons. I didn't need to hear the specific words. I knew where this was going. I sighed. My shoulders slumped and my head got all "Oh God. Oh shit. Now what do I do?" Things have enough of a possibility of turning into a clusterfuck trying to get three people to stick to any kind of 'same plan' as to how long to stay, where to go once you get there...that kind of shit. The last thing ya need at a thing like this is an extra, autonomous, brain-dead dickweed to have to consider. And, not lose in the crowd. (No matter how frickin' easy it would be and how BADLY ya want to.) Where is a child with the sniffles (Yeah, I watch the Brady Bunch, so what?) whan ya need one to use as an excuse to get outta doing something? Kids and cops. Ya never think you're gonna need one, then when ya do...where'd they all go? Wanna make one of either show up? Easy. Just start trying to do anything FUN. They'll be there before the first exhale, in my experience. Anyway...I guess I'd better go. Get ready. Drink about a half a bottle of Tequila Rose.....something. Sitting here is helping my stomach, but it's also garnering me some pointed stares, too. Yo, God. Could you distract that goofy old sumbitch long enough for us three to make it outta here? Please? If it becomes too much effort for you to mentally engage that braindead dipshit, how's about a well placed little lightening stroke? You do remember what I look like, right? Good. Just enough so that nobody'll give me a bag of shit for not going. IF he's gotta go, too. Okay? Thanks, God. I'll be back. I hope. Now, go read Death's Door. Read the archives. Read the crumpled up shit in this guys wastebasket. He is that good.
I sure as Hay-ell which I could...sigh.
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