Sometimes, out of boredom or vanity, of even purely by accident, I revisit some of my earlier writings. I often think the same thought whilst perusing.
“I can’t believe I wrote this shit.”
The marriage was consummated in an aggressively confrontational manner over a period of several days in Hildy’s cabin. During the night she would ride Ken like a mechanichal bull while, during daytime hours, his head was chained to a wood stove with a bicycle lock while she left on training exercises. She proclaimed her undying devotion to him in an elaborate ventriliquist’s performance after which she enacted a bizarre menage-a-trois involving herself, Ken and the dummy, heedless of her husband’s incessant weeping. This was more than enough to break the spirit an already weakened man and Ken found himself slipping into a profound dementia, drooling and constantly mumbling that he’d “gone to Fantasy Island…” and he wasn’t coming back. For a time he would only answer to the name Vee-Garr and would eat nothing but oyster crackers. To Hildy, it was the honeymoon she had always imagined and she spent her days in a state of unbalanced bliss.
I still sometimes accidentally sign a check “Vee-Garr” once in a while.
Host Ned Beatty wonders why the fairer sex would even want to be involved in a game the sole point of which is to inflict mind numbing agony to an individual’s scrotal sack and it’s precious contents. “Do they have any idea what being in the game entails? The price that is paid? Do they want to walk around all day with swollen, throbbing testicles? Listen, I’m sure childbirth is an uncomfortable, even unpleasant sensation. Whatever. Trust me, though, it’s the minor leagues compared to the feeling of the white hot supernova exploding from your crotch to your brain when one of these animals lands a shot on your boys.”
Ned Beatty. Always an enthusiastic quote.
The mourning has begun here at the Ken Socrates World News Organization as we remember seventeen fallen comrades who lost their lives when the school bus transporting them to the annual Socrates Booze ‘n’ Badminton Bonanza veered off the highway and flipped down an embankment in Limerick, Maine. Investigators on the scene report that speed was most definately a factor in the crash and that, although seventeen fatalities were reported, one individual was assuredly dead hours before the incident, most likely due to alcohol poisoning. The vehicle’s driver, one Bill “Leadfoot” Castillo, 84, possessed a spotless driving record, although many would point to the fact that this was because he was never actually allowed a valid driver’s license due to various mental, visual and auditory impairments. To us, however, he was a man who surmounted massive disabilities to become a valuable member of our team and remained so right up to his final, screamingly horrific moments on earth.
R.I.P. forever, Bill, you crazy old fucker.
