So it is “Clay Week” by the mere fact that April is in a part of the country where the Internet, cell phone towers, land line phones, and running water are but a dream. So unless she sends me her posts via pony express or smoke signals, I’m filling in until she returns.
I’ve been rolling around in my mind what I can write that would keep you people moderately entertained and keep you from leaving this blog in droves. I’ve landed on “Clay’s life Pre-April.” Everyone loves history (yes?) and writing about my history gives me that opportunity to: 1) fake the truth so that I appear really cool and you people will love me; and 2) avoid repeating anything that April has already told you.
Anyway, to that end, here is installment number one of “Clay’s Life Pre-April”:
My best friend growing up was Gary. He lived right across the street from me and he was always good at a lot of things that I wasn’t: he was a better student, he was a better baseball player and even though he was six inches shorter than me, he was much better at pissing people off and not letting it bother him. He did that quite a bit when we were kids and suffered a lot of physical threats and actual head-locks because of it…usually with me standing a couple of paces off…usually not doing anything meaningful to stop the conflict. I was a great friend.
Among the pissed masses was a small band of kids that lived down the street from us. And when I say kids I mean they were a year younger. And by small band I mean about 30 of them. I never quite figured out why they had it out for Gary (and me by association), but Gary’s gift was a quick wit that had a way of getting under people’s skin. He liked to share his gift. So they basically hated our guts.
Their main hangout was a house halfway between the local IGA store and our houses and it was the scene of a lot of jeering, throwing of objects, and malicious stares as we rode our bikes past. It is so easy to strike terror in the hearts of your opponents balancing a quart of milk and a bunch of bananas on your knees when riding your dirt bike. Scary stuff.
On this particular day, Gary and I happened to be on foot. We got around the hideout and saw that one of the gang was sitting on the porch. This one was kind of a chubby kid and he and Gary had had a few run ins before and with only one sitting there, we had ourselves a golden opportunity to piss him off. Gary raised his hand and said “Hey Bubba.” Not so bad, huh? Well, apparently we killed his dog because the kid jumped off his porch, ran down to the sidewalk and got nose to nose with Gary. He spewed “Shut your @!#&^ [nicely proportioned] face” and “I’m going to kick your (%@ [rear end]” and “You’re a %&^# @@$% !@#!@ *&^( [generally lovely person]” at Gary for about 30 seconds.
I was preparing to stand silently to one side while they started to throw jabs. But Gary waited for the rant to end, stood there for a bit, leaned back to me and said “I think he’s been eating Doritos.”
We laughed. Heck, he laughed quite a bit and we walked on. Crises averted.
Is there anything Doritos can’t do?