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Buda, TX
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June 16, 1977     The Texas Sun
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June 16, 1977
 

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22 m One thing she said stuck in my toothpick in a BLT. Two-thirty was the l the mystery. Brilliantly I recalled that more than one two-thirty in any day. "Eat that chicken!" "Life is a stew -- Charles Mingus joker." seasoned by a practical --Lionell Sturgess ~/nd Charlie Mansons of society), I floated into Gordo's on a cushion of egO. pert little doorperson made me repeat my name three times and forced znel cover charge, my ego cushion was punctured. Still puzzling over her lack of recognition, I dropped my first game C&W writer Nelson Allen, before I regained my composure and second game. In the crucial third game I almost ran the table, only to eight ball. I then drank about 40 bloody marys while Marcia Ball conducted a marathon game that lasted a few eras. Take Me to Siberia It might as well have been a pitcher of icewater poured down my jockey shorts. Nothing stings any colder than a ringing telephone in the middle of a hearty burgundy- induced dream. She had a Russian accent (or was it Eastern European), but all I could think of was the time Mackey Fowler woke me up on a camping trip by cleverly emptying his canteen on my head. I chased Fowler half-way across the Davis Mountains, busting my scalp on a limb, before I tackled him and stopped short of total revenge. "Crossing the river at the Mo-Pac is a foot bridge. Please to meet me there at 2:30. It be very much matter life and death. Please to be alone. Yourself is my only hopes!" she panted into the receiver like a spaniel in August. I could almost smell the borsht on her breath. Borsht has never been my cup of tea, but I suppose it tastes better in Siberia. Actually I'm not very knowledgeable in your basic Russian food area. I assume the Ruskies cut lots of potatoes and, judging by recent purchases of American wheat, they must be fond of bread. Of course, any average numbskull watching the PTL Club could tell you that Russians drink vodka in unimaginable quantities. My most memorable encounter with vodka was back in those same Davis Mountains where Mackey Fowler caused me to bump my head. Jock Cranfil, Slade Muldoon, Travis Redfish and I had set out early one morning to scale a peak. Scaling a peak is quite different from scaling a pike, unless that peak is Pike's. Anyway, we started out with six canteens of water, four bedrolls, two lanterns, a current copy of Playboy, eight bologna sandwiches, two cans of fruit cocktail, one quart of cheap vodka, and (inexplictably) one can of hominy. When we took a lunch break, we discovered that Redfish had eaten seven of the sandwiches and drunk five canteens of water. Since the temperature was approaching the melting point, we were somewhat concerned. By the time we reached the top of the mountain, we were hot, tired and irritable. Jock and Slade indicated that our only hope for survival was to push Redfish off a cliff. Our water was gone. Our sandwiches were gone. Our good humor was only a distant memory. However, we did still have the fruit cocktail, the vodka and the hominy. Ingeniously we mixed vodka with the canned fruit and found it to be consumable. Unfortunately the fruit didn't go very far and thirst returned to haunt us like a bad check. Out of desperation, we opened the can of hominy and mixed the rest of the vodka with the sickly yellow nuggets and their obscene, sticky juices. One swallow was all any normal human could tolerate. Cranfil even ran behind a tree, making disgusting guttural noises after smelling the concoction. Only Redfish failed to be offended by this diabolical brew of Satan's court jester. Redfish drank the mixture, ate the hominy, belched loudly and wondered out loud what vodka and lima beans would taste like. We more or less survived the ordeal, but vodka lost its appeal, and if the mountains will just leave me alone I won't set foot on them. They can just stay there and I'll sit right here. Quick as a Wink All of this flashed through my wounded brain in the short time between the Russian (or possibly Eastern European) woman's last word and the operator's informing me that my receiver was off the hook. I stopped the ludicrous beeping of the phone by ripping it from the wall, taking it outside and placing it on a pile of cherry bombs. Gathering up the remaining wires and slivers of plastic, I forced them into the garbage disposal and ground them to smithereens, while I composed irreverent, bawdy ballads about the sex life of Alexander Graham Bell's mother. Later my Austrian analyst, Herr Doktor Lippz, would tell me that I must not suppress my need to communicate with other sick people. Having dealt with the telephone, I thought about what the Russian (or perhaps Eastern European) woman had said. Startled by my memory of the urgency in her voice, I resolved to think about it some more right after my nap. One thing she said stuck in my brain like a toothpick in a BLT. Two-thirty was the key to the mystery. Brilliantly I recalled that there are more than one two-thirty in any day. In fact, there are two two-thirties! If I could only deduce which two-thirty she meant and borrow a car, I could keep the rendezvous. Since she woke me up at three-fifteen in the afternoon, it seemed logical that she meant two-thirty the next morning. Operating on this theory, I renk~! a car, took a short nap, loaded my pellet gun, caught a few winks, had a couple of drinks, and got some much needed sleep. During my last slumber, I dreamed of a bulldozer driven by a maniac Russian (or perhaps Eastern European) woman wearing a fur cap and a buckskin dress, pushing an avmlNtche of snow toward me. Waking up with cold toes I called Herr Docktor Lippz, who told me to quit sleeping between naps. Information Please Since I was already on Sixth Street, I decided to check with some an effort to learn about the lady with the Russian (or perhaps accent. Entering Bag Of Chicken I spotted Freddy the Fowl Fellow. Freddy to eat more chicken than Buck Rindy or Charles Mingus. I hoped chirp while he gobbled his bird. Unfortunately, Freddy was in the order of gizzards and would reply to my questions by scratching the floor his boot and tapping his nose on the table. Refusing to give up, I purchased the juiciest wishbone in the kitchen front of this bird-brained glutton. Amazingly enough, he began to flap his arms and make shrieking noises deep in this the table and hopped about on one foot in a rather eccentric manner. Freddy was aroused by the plump wishbone, I waved it just out of his reach him with a chant of: "Fatty, Fatty Two by Four Can't get through The Bathroom Door." At this point Freddy's greed seemed to take a peculiar twist as his face he grasped his throat and fell forward onto the floor. Apologizing for limericks, I rolled the obese ornithologist over on his back. It was onl'. realized the cause of his distraction. An entire drumstick was lodged Freddy had finally bitten off more than he could chew! Poor Freddy was unable to speak before he expired, but he did note in the catsup that covered his french fries. The first part phrase rang clear: "{or perhaps Eastern European)." Somewhat shaken by Freddy's final statement (not to sought the counsel of Corner Joe--that wizened old character that may b~ time on almost any street corner in Austin. Approaching Corner Joe of Sixth and Brazos, he waved his walking stick in my direction Freddy the Fowl Fellow. You had a bone to pick with Fred but he Enraged by such a disgusting pun, I grabbed Joe's cane and rapped his shins. Before I could continue to educate him, a small army of {more than one) were on me like ducks on a June hug. A cane is no and they defeated me through superior firepower. When I came to, someone had transported me into Antone's Home Through moist eyes, I could make out the image of a tall, dark sle gown handing me a stiff drink. Blues notes and honey-coated syllables lips as she spoke in her hoarse tones of rampant sensuality, Beegbouy. She no worth eet. Yew come back to club tonite right. Yew see my pretty bullfrog." Back on the street I cleared my head and thought about what she said. i called me a bullfrog, or did she intend to show me her pet? I didn't the question. A pay phone was ringing right beside me. ImpulsiWly I my favorite one-liner: "Mulligan's Butcher Shop, which ham do you Before I could respond to my own wit, her voice froze my first eoiglottis. It was her. She of the Russian (or perhaps Eastern me BagBuoy," she whispered with the innocense of an asp, "so sorree, rendezvous tonite. Please to give me raincheck. Oh, by the bye--have you Scientology?'I couldn't believe my ears. I stared at the telephone like it sore in the palm of my hand. "It could really help your hangovers," she continued, as my and my saliva turned to sawdust. A verbal response was in order. However, such was impossible since the phone into a stack of rabbit pellets. And she was gone. What did it all mean? Would I ever hear from her losing what's left of my mind? Would Cincinnati repeat? All these around my brain while I drove to The Hole In The Wall for sustenance. for certain, the eternal flame burns in my throat and my quest is cheap whiskey and cold beer. B.B.'s NBA All-Stars 1977 First Team Guard--JoJo White, Boston Guard--Doug Collins, Philadelphia Center--Kareem Abdul Jabber, L.A. Qu/ck Forward--Julius Erving, Philadelphia Strong Forward--Maurice Lucas, Portland Sixth Street Shuffle I~ and thirsty I sought the mystic insights of slmt~flobaard reality at Madison Garden. Following the hypnotic slide and spin of the pucks, life ,seemed to be Italian booze, broads and ~. Of course there was merci There s also drugs, ~g the shuffleboard match to a blind dwarf who threw a hanger during the midst ofN ~Dilepti seizure, I staggered down the street to lend my presence to Gordo s Ce~ Pool Tournament. Feeling somewhat cocky about being classified as a ~(a title generally reserved for the Dean Martins, Liz Taylors, Billy Sol Esteses, -,-~ ~ ,iii ~ i '~I .... , ,',,,, ~ ': ~ ....' .... Second Team Guard--Pete Maravich, New Orleans Guard---George Gervin, San Antonio Center--Bill Walton, Portland Qu/ck Forward--Rick Barry, Co]den State Stro tg Foru d---Moses Malone, Houston Honorable Mention David Thompson, Billy Knight, Bob Lanier, Elvin Hayes, Adrian Bobby Jones, Norm VanLier, Slick Watts, Paul Westphall, IRon Boone.