Rich’s Blog de Sexy

When the Eagle was just a young baby Eagle, he celebrated the holidays just like we all did.  His family would get together and decorate the tree, hang stockings on the chimney, make 2 batches of cookies, one with razor blades in it just incase there’s an imposter Santa again, and lighting off fireworks at the church during 12 o’clock mass.  Just like the ones you read about in the books…about the Eagle. (2422 books written on “The Eagle”)  This year, the Eagle had just turned 6, they don’t know what date the Eagle was born on exactly, but they figure it’s sometime in the month of Awesome, on a leap year.  He told his mom he wanted nothing more than a coffee and a carton of cigarettes.  His mother shook her head, and rubbed his hair, and said “We’ll see what Santa brings, I already told him you wanted coffee and cigarettes, hopefully they make them in the North Pole.”  So, Christmas eve came, and The Eagle laid in bed waiting for the arrival of the one, St. Nick.  The Eagle, smoking his last cigarette, looked concerned as it had just passed midnight, and he hadn’t heard a russling from the rooftops.  He decided to make his way down to the kitchen to whip together a nice bedtime roast coffee.   As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed the cookies were gone, but no cigarettes or coffee was left for him. 

The Eagle ran into his parents bedroom, only to be shocked to see their bedroom empty.  There was a letter, and it read:

Dear The Eagle, 
     Your father and I have run off with Santa Clause for a crazy 3 way love fest that I can’t see ending any time soon.  We’re leaving in…” 

The rest were just scribbles, showing that there could have been a bit of a struggle.  The Eagle went back downstairs and fixed himself another coffee, extra strong, and just stared at the baron empty christmas tree.  He knew he was going to start crying if he didn’t stop himself, so, he poked himself in the eye with an ornament hook from the tree to make the pain more bearable.  Which lead to him spilling his coffee all over himself and the electrical sockets near the tree.  The tree caught on fire almost immediately sending flames into the walls and curtains.  The Eagle ran into his bedroom and grabbed his famous “The Eagle” poncho, his lighter, and his coffee cup, then ran out the door.

Staring up at his childhood home, watching it burn to the ground, and knowing that, that same night, his parents left, and Santa never showed up, pushed The Eagle to the breaking point.  The ambulance, and firetrucks showed up with horns blaring, and lights flashing.  They grabbed The Eagle and wrapped him in blankets to keep him warm, and seated him on the back of the ambulance and asked if he needed anything.  The Eagle looked up, shiverring and cold, and said “I need a cigarette, and a coffee.  Black coffee.”  The medic smiled and brushed off the child as if he were just immature.  Until The Eagle grabbed the back of the medics pants as he was walking away and, and when the Medic turned around, The Eagle was standing on a stack of 3 medics he had just knocked unconsious, he looked at the medic and said “I need, a cigarette, and one black coffee.  Please!”  The medic gave The Eagle his cigarettes and ran off to grab The Eagle his coffee.  When the medic returned, The Eagle grabbed his coffee, took a drag from his cigarette, looked at the medic and said “Thanks, you’re a real chum.”  then just walked off. 

The police searched for The Eagle night and day through the holiday season, but to no avail.  When January 2nd came around, the police started getting word of a small child two towns over, who saved 8 people from a burning hotel while drinking his coffee and smoking a cigarette.  And went to go look to see if that child was, in fact, the boy who left last holiday season.  When the police got to the town, they blew through a red light, and hit a propane truck, flipping over a guardrail, and right next to the “Mo & Lesters Daycare”.  Writhing in pain, Officer Light, the passenger in the vehicle, looked at the driver, sniffed, and said “I didn’t know you smoked!”   Just then, a small, yet strong hand, reached in through the window, and pulled the man out.  That same hand would reach in and grab the driver as well.  After saving the two drivers, the hero flipped the gas truck back over, siphened the gas from the tank, and went on to fill up all of the townspeoples cars with regular unleaded. 

Once it was all said and done, and the smoke cleared, a young The Eagle, smoking a cigarette, made his way towards the officers.  “You!” the driving officer exclaimed, “It IS you!”  The Eagle just sipped his coffee and smoked his cigarette.  “We thought we’d never see you again.  You…you’re a hero!”  The Eagle takes the last drag off of his cigarette, flicks it, looks at the officer and says  “The Eagle is many things.  A hero, he is not.”  A couple of the townsfolk came over holding a cake and some brownies, and offered them up to the Eagle for saving the town, and the children.  The Eagle stared at the townsfolk and said “What I could really go for is a coffee, and some cigarettes.” Almost instantly, the Eagle had a tall hot coffee in his hands, and a new pack of cigarettes.  The Eagle nodded at the crowd, and walked off to his next adventure.

Hi boys and girls, the holiday’s are upon us, and it’s time again to start baking.  So I figure, let’s start the season off with a recipe for holiday goodness that has helped out my family through years of high cholesterol and diabetes.

Granny’s Cloggin’ Cookies

1 bowl
1 cookie sheet
1 roll of cookie dough (store bought)
1 tub of crisco
3 sticks of butter
2 cups of cooked hamburg (undrained)
3 cups of frosted flakes
2 sticks of butter

Preheat deep fryer on high.

Sparingly rub the butter onto the cookie sheet, make sure to conserve, yet cover the whole pan.  We’re going to need that butter for the cookies.

In a bowl, mix the roll of cookie dough, 4 sticks of butter and 2 cups of cooked hamburg.  Once you get an oil like consitancy, it’s time to add more butter.  Add the remaining stick of butter, and the 3 cups of frosted flakes, mix with your hands, but make sure to wear latex gloves, or the mixture could eat the flesh off of your hands.  (but apparently latex is safe)

Once the mixture has reached it’s crunchy, yet greasy, oily and jello like texture, form them into little balls.  Approximately 2-3 inches in diameter.  Place them with equal distance on the cookie sheet.  When the sheet is covered by these “cookies”, take the cookie sheet, tip it sideways and dump them into the deep fryer for approximately 3 minutes.

Remove them from the deep fryer and place them onto plates covered in paper towels.  When the the excess grease is removed from the “cookies”, drink a pint of liquor, preferably whiskey, smoke a cigarette, and throw them back into the deep fryer for an additional 2 minutes.  When they are golden brown, take them out and place them directly onto the platter, grease and all. 

Serve with milk.

Ahh the holidays.  

Dear Readers,

Guess who’s not going shopping?

That’s right, ME!

I guess it’s because I value my personal space over saving $10 on a popcorn maker.  I mean seriously, did you see those parking lots?  F THAT!

-RH

Online multiplayer mode optional.

Think about it.

In this blog, I will be evaluating the 50-year feud between monkeys and atheists.  Let’s begin by taking a trip back through the majesty of words, to the spark that ignited this intense hatred.

1956 - The USSR is performing atmospheric nuclear (or for the uber intelligent “NUCULAR”) testing and Colgate running back Jim Brown scores a record 46 points against The Bouffard Family.  The monkeys were just learning how to learn sign language, and the Atheists were all trying to establish their beliefs, or lack thereof.  But were frowned upon by almost all of the God fearing society, minus the hipsters, because the hipsters don’t give an F!  The Atheists were planning their annual convention in St. Paul, Minnesota, when they received a letter written in dirt, sticks and feces.  It read:

Atheists,

    Oooh ooh, aaaak aaak.  Ptltltlb. 

                   -Monkeys

A clear warning from the nation of monkey that we luckily didn’t have to edit for your viewing.  The Atheists didn’t heed the monkeys words of warning, after learning that St. Paul, Minnesota’s monkey population was 8, and they were all locked up in cages, went ahead and planned their convention.

As the Atheists were taking tickets, and welcoming they’re brethren to the “Preparing for dirt. 1956 Atheists Convention” they became enthralled in the love being felt throughout the event, and began letting in all comers.  This turned out to be their one fatal mistake. 

The drinks were flowing, and the laughs were being had.  Deep conversation about the lack of afterlife and souls filled the room with so much pessimism that it made them feel whole, and good.  About 2 hours into the event, the main speaker stepped on stage for his presentation to a rousing ovation from the crowd.  He began his speech, “Fellow non-believers, welcome this, our 2nd Annual Atheists Convention!  I hope from the bottom of my soul-less body, that you’re having a good time.”  Just then a group of what appeared to be 8-foot tall hairy men with hairy feet flung off their coats and exposed that they had 8 arms each.  They began screaming at the speaker, while people stood, staring in shock.  Before you knew it, there was feces EVERYWHERE!!!   The initial toss hit the speaker in the face as he insulted, what turned out to be, the monkeys.  The speaker yelled to “Get those friggin monkeys!” but whenever approached, the monkey would produce and toss his feces in a split second.  This went on for 20 minutes before the authorities arrived.

The police stormed into the convention center in full riot gear.  Which in 1956 consisted of a lead/asbestos helmet, and a shield that looked like it was part of the roman war era.  The monkeys did not discriminate when the feces were being tossed about, chucking them at the police as they walked through the door.  The police, under a rain of feces, called for the Atheists to evacuate the convention center.  They abided by the police and promptly left the now feces covered convention center.  The police filled up the center with tear gas until the monkeys found their way out.  Once outside of the convention center the monkeys were arrested.  10 convicted for instigating a riot, and 5 for public nudity.  No charges were filed for the throwing of the feces, as it’s a natural function for the monkeys, and the Atheists are still mad about till this day.

1978 - The year of Hotel California, soccer player kidnappings and a dual pope death.  (Paul IV and John Paul I (or JP1 as I call him).  This year was not full of happy times, especially for the God fearing monkeys of the world.  There was an abundance of new “monkey as a pet” trends hitting the streets.  Hence a lot of good monkeys were taken away from their families, homes, and jobs as writers for All in the Family.  Only to be sold for profit as a pet to the next level of evolution, us humans.  Once the Atheists caught wind of the new trend, they saw the opportunity for revenge.

The Atheists made a plan to purchase as many monkeys as possible, and euthanize them immediately.  Some of the monkey’s heard of the Atheists plan, and congregated in the forest to establish a plan of action.  But to their dismay, the monkey wranglers were the one’s who started telling the monkeys what’s going on, in order to wrangle them at the same time.  They lassoed all 20 monkeys at once, and threw them into the back of their off-road vehicle to bring them back to the port for shipment.  Once in the air, the monkeys were subdued with morphine, and released from their cages for a nice steak dinner, with all of the fixings.  The monkeys were in flight, so they had to use utensils, which made them uncomfortable, but at least they got to watch Monkey Wrench on DVD.  Once in America, the monkeys were packaged and sent to their new owners.  

20 of the packages headed directly to Atheists USA.  The packages arrive to a roaring, war cry like ovation from the Atheists.  The first monkey was released from the box, and immediately beaten to death.  The other monkeys, fearing for their lives, crept into the back corner of their packages, awaiting the hand of fate.  The Atheists went through 5 more monkeys, before mistakenly opening 3 packages at once.  The 3 monkeys grabbed the other monkey’s packages, and swung up to the rafters.  Up on the rafters, they released the other 11 monkeys from their packaging.  Enraged, the monkeys violently began whipping feces down on the people on the ground who so violently killed one of their innocent brothers.  The Atheists ran outside of their compound and waited with laser powered rifles, crazy futuristic cannon guns, switchblades, slingshots, and whips.  The monkeys, unsatisfied with the splat painting they gave the Atheists, chased them outside, only to be bombarded with bombs, bullets, rocks and whip cracks.  The monkeys tried to regroup and decided that it would be best if they jumped from the roof onto the Atheists waiting below.  So they climbed to the roof, and leapt down onto the waiting Atheists.  Only to jump off of the wrong side of the building, and fall to their deaths. 

Word spread quickly back to the forest where the monkeys hailed from, about the deaths caused by the Atheists and mass monkey suicide that occurred in America.  After an inspirational speech from the head monkey, who goes by the name of “Tom Tom”, the monkeys began planning their revenge.  And revenge they shall have.

To be continued at a later date.

What’s “The Eagle”?: 

Almost every morning, on the long treck to work, I drive past what I consider an enigma.  It’s a gentleman walking down the same road, smoking a cigarette, and drinking a coffee.  Most of the time, he’s wearing the same attire, a handmade sweater type thing, with an Aztekian looking portrait of an eagle on the back.  I do not believe this person has a name, I can’t imagine him being called anything other than “THE EAGLE”.  The Eagle walked the streets of Minneapolis, Minnesota before moving to Dedham, Massachusetts, and here are some of his stories.

A day in the life of The Eagle: 

The Eagle never sleeps, he just walks.  So this faithful morning, he was walking past a Chinese Food restaurant, when he noticed that there was a person eating alone, who was choking on one of her crab rangoons.  The Eagle, by instinct, snapped into action and lept through the window, knocked over the choking person and kicked them in the stomach, dislodging the crab rangoon from the person’s throat.  The kitchen full of asian chef’s broke into cheers, and the cashier ran over and handed The Eagle all of the money out of the cash register.  The Eagle smiles, and makes eye contact with the cashier, sending her into a coma which she is still in today.  The Eagle placed the money on the counter when the manager came over and told him to take it for his heroic actions.  The Eagle simply laughed and said “Dear sir, I cannot take your money.  I did what any mortal man would do, I broke through the glass, kicked someone, and food shot across the room.  All in a days work.”  and he made his way towards the door before being stopped by the manager again.  The manager said “There has to be a way we can repay you.”  The Eagle turned and looked at the man and said “Fine, you want to repay me.  How about a pack of smokes and a coffee.”  The manager ran next door, got The Eagle a coffee and a pack of cigarettes, and brought them back to The Eagle.  “Thank you” he said as he shook the shards of glass from his sweater.  He turns, takes a sip of his coffee, a haul of his cigarette, and begins to walk again.

Later that night, The Eagle was walking past a dance club.  He stopped to take a sip of his coffee and light a smoke when his amazing, almost super human hearing picked up the sounds of a young lady getting assaulted in a vehicle 3 streets down.  The Eagle drinks the rest of his coffee quickly, throws the cup into a barrel and begins running to the screams, taking a haul off of his cigarette every few steps.  He gets to the end of the street, and takes a look down to see a single Oldsmobile Alero shaking left and right with the windows all fogged up.  The Eagle knew what he had to do.  So, he runs back into the main street, and see’s a man walking away from his garbage truck, leaving it running.  The Eagle jumps into the garbage truck and begins to head to the Alero where the assault is happening.  He drives, accelerating as quickly as possible.  As he approaches the Alero at 45 mph in the garbage truck, he leans out the window, pulls down on the air horn, then says “I’LL SAVE YOU LADY!!!!!”  The people in the car rub a circle into the fog formed on the windows, only to see a garbage truck driven by The Eagle bearing down on them.  The man climbs out and shuts the door on the victims hand, sending her back into the car.  The Eagle see’s this, and hops out of the garbage truck to chase the assailant.  He finally catches up to him a half of a block away, and greets him with The Eagle right hook, sending the assailant into a state of unconsiousness.  Now dragging him back to the scene of the crime, he notices that the garbage truck was there, but he couldn’t see the Alero.  He looks around to see the Alero on the opposite side of the garbage truck, securely wedged underneath the garbage truck.  The Eagle goes to open the passengers side door and let the lady out, but can’t because of the pressure from the garbage truck crushing shut.  The victim, still in the car, looks out of the window and at The Eagle, thanking him with blood running down her face.  She asks him if there’s anything she can do to repay him for getting rid of the assailant.  He just looks and smiles and says, “A coffee and a pack of smokes wouldn’t be too bad.”  She slips a $10 through a break in the glass and thanks The Eagle, as he continues on his path.

To be continued…

As people who read my stories know, I use people I know as a name template for my characters normally. If you find that your name has been placed in one of my stories, whether it’s a first or last name, please do not take offense. I write stream of consious, and don’t really have time to plan out my characters names. So, if I mention you, just be happy that you’re in my thoughts.

And if you end up being a bad guy and get offended, then get over it, every story isn’t filled with good guys. Just take it as a sort of compliment that you were the first persons name I thought of when I wrote it.

I don’t mind criticism at all, ever, so please feel free to write your thoughts on everything, but for the love of god, when you’re reading my stories, take into effect that it’s FICTION!!! If your name is used, people aren’t going to automatically think you’re that character, even if they do recognize it as your name or nickname.

Long story short, if you have an open creative mind, then go ahead and enjoy the stories. If you think that mostly everything is about you, and that somehow in a fictional story, I’m portraying you in a negative light, then STOP READING MY DAMN STORIES!!!

It’s November 15, 2006, you’re waking up from a nice full nights sleep, but you feel like something’s missing. You brush your teeth, drink your orange juice, realize that was a bad idea, rinse with water and begin to get ready for work. As you’re putting on your shirt, your arms drop to your side, you stare blankly into the mirror and nervously ask, “Where’s Rich?” Now, with a sudden sense of urgency, you run to the phone, calling people looking for Rich’s number, but you can’t get a hold of anyone because nobody answers their phone at 8 in the morning. So you call in sick to work, and you get into your car, and rush over to Rich’s house. You ring the doorbell over and over, until you realize, he lives in the back and he can’t hear that doorbell. Now violently knocking at the back door, a small Japanese man answers the door wearing a potato sack and penny loafers. “Is Rich here?” you ask with haste in your voice. “Seek inside yourself” the Japanese man says as he jumps, grabs the top of the doorway, kicks you in the stomach, jumps over you, jumps in your car and locks himself up in the child seat in the back. You run over to your car and open the door, demanding the Japanese man leave your car. He refuses, so you think that maybe he might know where Rich is, so you decide to get friendly by asking him his name. The small Japanese man looks up at you, and whispers his name, but you can’t make out what he says. Asking him to say it louder infuriated him, he shakes around in his car seat and yells out “My name-a is Small Japanese-a Man!!” he exclaims. You ask him where I can begin to look for Rich. He says to check where he is employed, so you head to his work.

You go through the rotating door, and stop waiting for Small Japanese-a Man to come through, but he’s now running in circles yelling out, what can only be described as yelps of joy. You stomp your foot, and Small Japanese-a Man sulks over and makes his way out and follows you to Rich’s work. You open the door, and see that Rich’s cubicle is empty. At that point you decide that it would be smart of you to ask if anyone’s seen Rich. So you knock on an office door, and peek in. It’s the president of the company and he’s just staring at his computer with his hands by his side. You think that’s weird and make your way over to where Rich’s boss works. You poke your head around, “Excuse me.” he looks back over her shoulder with tears in his lost eyes and doesn’t say anything. You immediately decide to take a seat in her office and try to get some info from him. You shake him a bit, and ask him “Where’s Rich?” He looks at the ceiling and begins to talk, “Where’s Rich? We can’t have this company run without him! Find Rich! I can’t find Rich, what are we going to do?! HELP HELP HELP!!!” Staring in shock, you decide it’s best if you leave before these people try to eat your brains.

Now, back at your house, you grab a bottle of scotch and start pouring yourself a small drink. Small Japanese-a Man grabs the bottle and starts drinking. “Where the hell could he be?” You turn on the news, and to your surprise it’s a news story about a nationwide epidemic where all of the awesome people who make the world go around have gone missing. In total 3 people were missing, but because of their importance it was automatically labeled a nationwide epidemic. The three people were, Richard Greico, Bob Newhart and Rich Hutchings. In shock you continue to watch as the news report switches over to the financial updates. Your jaw drops to the floor as you see that the NASDAQ was a baron wasteland, with no traders on the floor at 10:30 am on a Wednesday. The US dollar lost more ground to the Euro, and Britney Spears got a divorce! You think to yourself, what could possibly take these 3 shining beacons of kindness and awesomeness away from the world? Now with your eyes full of tears with the possibility of Rich being hurt, being tortured, or even worse, being in New Jersey.

It’s now 6pm and you have no leads on Rich’s whereabouts. So you hit the streets, only to find out that all of the billboards in your town have been changed from the normal advertisements to “Have you seen this handsome boy?” billboards, containing pictures of Rich with his shirt off. You drive aimlessly as the sky turns black, and you get a phone call. On the other end is a voice you are unfamiliar with, and it says, “If you’re looking for the triad of awesomeness, look no further than your own heart.” Then he hung up. Luckily for you, you’re a doctor, and quite a good doctor I may add. As a matter of fact, I’m sure that your mother is proud of you. So luckily for you, you’re a doctor, and that “heart” comment has many different meanings to you. So you start off with your heart collection you have in your basement. You rampage through the hearts, tossing them around with complete disregard for their value. You don’t find Rich, but you look down and there’s a picture of Rich, Richard Greico and Bob Newhart drinking liquor out of one of the hearts. Bob is pretending to cup Rich’s coin purse, as Richard Greico laughs out loud. In the background is what appears to be a monkey playing the bongos. But it’s not a bongo, it’s Small Japanese-a Man’s head! You turn to see Small Japanese-a Man passed out in the car seat. You smack him, waking him up immediately. “WHERE IS RICH?!!” you yell at Small Japanese-a Man. He looks back, yawns and says, “You find picture, yes?” “YES!!! Now where is he…as a matter of fact, where are they!?!” you yell at Small Japanese-a Man. He stands up out of his car seat and says “You crappy driva. I drive.”

Small Japanese-a Man is now whipping up and down side roads, driving with complete disregard for any and all people who get in his way. Drunk and still half asleep, he pulls up to a deserted building. This building was desolate, it had broken windows, 1 door for each set of double doors, and spider webs everywhere. As you walk through, you hear mumblings from a back room. You run to the back room hoping to open the door and see Rich. You listen close, and hear what sounds like a bunch of grown men talking. As you open the door, Bob Newhart grabs you by the throat and yanks you into the room. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” he yells in your face. Richard Greico comes out from the shadow, and recommends teaching you a lesson. Then Rich comes out of the shadows, and notices you from somewhere. “I notice you from somewhere.” He says. “RICH!!” you say to him when you first see him up close. “Where have you…where have all of you guys been?! Everyone’s looking for you. The economy’s shitting the bed, the news is all about how nobody knows where you guys are, and I have a drunk small Asian in my car. I need some explanations!” Richard Greico steps up, “I’ll explain.” he says. He then begins to go into detail about how he and Bob Newhart went over to Rich’s house to pick him up for an “awesome’s only” basketball game. When Bob came in, Rich was sitting in the chair with a weird look on his face, and he began to tell us about how he learned to play the bagpipes, and how he’s discovered the fountain of youth. Then Bob and Rich called me, Richard Greico, to share in this newfound fountain of youth. Once we were all together, Rich drove us over to your house, where we called Small Japanese-a Man over to help us with our ceremony. After we all drank our potion from the hearts of monkey children, Bob and I started to feel weird. Whereas Rich was dancing what he called the “majestic humping dance of the middle east”. We heard you snoring, and realized that it’s getting close to when you wake up. So, we came here to this abandoned shack, looking for a place to re-energize with our newly found immortality.” You look in absolute shock. “Why was Rich dancing?” Rich steps up and begins to speak, “I danced the mythological “Hutcha Two Step” which is only performed when attempting to make yourself immortal. But I decided to rename it the “Majestic humping dance of the middle east”, has a better ring to it. But now dear friend, we are all immortal, and Bob Newhart will finally have a show where they call him a name other than Bob!!!!” You smile, now knowing that these three awesome gentleman, have been spending time trying to make the world a better place, with abstract dance, and Bob Newhart shows. You agree with the three men to never speak of this encounter again. You agree with Rich, Richard Greico and Bob, turn around and go home, knowing that the world will be better, funnier and an all around happier place to live, forever with Rich and the “Awesome’s”.

(The following blog entry is a combination of truth and fiction. Can you tell which parts are true? Doesn’t matter does it? Just enjoy this entry, this long entry that I’m making longer by making you read this part!)

Seeing as how this “blog” thing is new to me. I figure if I let whoever reads this have a sense of who I am. What exactly has helped mold this happy gentleman, whose smile could brighten even the darkest of days? Let’s begin in the birth canal. So, I’m on my way out, I can see a light, but it’s all fuzzy. And how long was I in this bathtub? I look like a friggin raisin! Ahhhhh, fresh air! The doctor picks me up and as he’s about to hit me to make sure I know how to hate, he looks at my precious fanny, realizes how special it is, and gets the hot nurse to just caress it instead. To be honest, it was a stressful day, but that fanny rubbin was just what I needed to turn that around!

My next memory of what’s helped mold me has to be right before I started kindergarden. I don’t remember how I ended up getting coaxed into doing this but whatever here it goes. My fathers outside warming up the newest boat/car he’s decided to buy. My mother’s preparing to go out, and of course, has to take out all of the trash, that’s anywhere in the house. Mind you, I’m so cool and laid back, that I’m still chillin in my undies. So, my mother decided that she has other stuff to take care of around the house before she leaves and the cleanliness inspection fairies come in, find a speck of dust, and wait in our living room to reprimand us. So she shuffles the responsibilities of taking out the garbage to me. Now, I have no problem helping out around the house, so I figure, I’ll go throw on some of my rad threads, and throw this garbage out like that dumpster has NEVER seen before. As I head to my room, my mom asks me where I think I’m going. Now, I figured she knew that it’s probably a good idea that I toss something over this package-in-training (or P.i.T.). Apparently, my mother thought otherwise. She says to just go out, nobody will see me (11:30 Sunday afternoon). So believing my mother, and being extremely young and gullible, I exit the security of my 2 bedroom apartment, and make my way to the dumpster about 25 feet away. As I get about halfway to the dumpster, the crazy old lady named Francis, who lived 2 doors down, thought that it would be in my best interest to yell out “Put some clothes on!!” at the top of her lungs. That won’t draw any attention right? I thought to myself as I’m now being stared at in my tighty whities by a good percentage of the neighbors “Why?!” Not really any direction to where the “Why?!” was directed, more of a heat seeking “Why?!” that should hit my mother, and crazy Francis. And since that day, I refuse to ever take out my trash in my underpants.

Now, the next step in my mediocre existence occurs when I start school at the Joseph Lee Elementary School, which, luckily enough for me was and is located in the heart of Dorchester, Massachusetts. I have to admit, it went better than it could have. I mean sure, it was difficult being 1 of like 7 white kids in a school, but to be honest, racism wasn’t an issue. They didn’t make fun of me because I was white, and that made me feel good about the overall tolerance, and growth of our nation of youth. Of course, they DID make fun of me because I was fat. And surely it didn’t help that the big show on TV was The Cosby Show at that time. Yeah, so it wasn’t long before I acquired the nickname “Petey”, and the “Dough Boy” tummy pokes followed that up quickly after to numb the annoyance of being called Petey. Now for the most part, I was a smart child. So the actual educational courses, like math, english, etc. But swimming became an issue. Not so much the swimming part, but preparing to go swimming. You know, being a lil fat kid is one thing, but bringing that lil fat kid into a locker room with healthy young black kids, and the lil fat kid’s gonna have some confidence issues come up. As I stared down at was once a beacon of pride, was now looked upon as a nugget of shame. And for some reason, my swimming-classmates couldn’t understand why I would always keep a towel around me as I got ready to go get yelled at for being a “chubby little floating device” (as my swimming instructor once called me). And that explains why I’m not a flasher, and why I get naked in the locker rooms.

Next was my move to Dedham in 1991-ish. This was the time of my purple pants, and tazmanian devil t-shirts. I was kind of struggling to find an identity at such an early age, and at that time, I’d say my identity was colorful and confused. This is where I discovered my secret powers. I walked to middle school, and where I come from they don’t have cemented, paved sidewalks. They have sand. Loose sand stacked about 10 feet tall, and if you weren’t quick enough, you’d sink right to the bottom never to be heard from again. So, I’m running through the sand, mind you, it’s 124 degrees out, and I’m wearing my only shirt, a wool sweater. I crawl into my school, pouring sweat and my feet bleeding because my shoes melted off from the searing heat of the sand, and the hall monitor looks down upon my broken body and says, “You are late. Report to the office.” Such a cold hard that hall monitor had, cold heart, and a soul, which could only be satisfied by the misery of others. I pick myself up, dust off my wool sweater and slide down the hallway on my own puddle of sweat, all the way to the principal’s office. After explaining how difficult it is to walk on hot sand wearing only Olympia Brand, Hakeem Olajewon specials which was made up of recycled toilet paper, stickers and rubber bands. And how they melted off of my feet about 3 miles into my 8-mile voyage, which made it almost impossible for me to make it to school on time. The principal nodded and agreed that it was a valid argument, and then gave me a pass to class. I show up to class, and the children, all wrapped in their traditional Wal-Mart smocks that have been provided to them by the Dedham DPW, they all stare at me, as if to say, “What a lovely sweater.” I knew right then that I’d fit in just fine, all I needed to do was wear this sweater. Now, profusely sweating through math, I hear a feint rumbling in the distance. I look out the window, and using my amazing vision, I could see that the dam that holds the water back from destroying our precious town, was now making its way down the street to kill us ALL! Without thinking, I run outside, and start kicking down tree after tree, biting and scratching, trying to shape the gigantic logs into a working dam to protect the students.

30 seconds passed, and 18 trees I knocked down, shaved, and placed gently into the proper positions. But I felt it still wasn’t going to save us. I needed more. So, as I realized that there was not much else I could do to save the town, I began walking towards the rushing water, picking up rocks and loose throwable objects as I closed in on it. As my new, young classmates stared on, I looked back, as if to say, “Everything will be ok.” As I turned back, the giant wave was bearing down on me. I stood with my feet shoulder distance apart, as not to be knocked over by this giant wall of water. I stood there, and began whipping these rocks, and loose objects at the water. I heard it moan once or twice, so I knew I was getting in some good shots. It finally got within striking distance, that’s when I discovered my super power. As the water came crashing in on my glorious head, I said with a powerful shout “PLEASE NO!!!” And sure enough, the water flopped down, and started receding back to the ocean.

The children came running out of the school, chanting my name, and lifting me onto their shoulders! The local news, and national news showed up to ask how I stopped the eminent death of my classmates, and other town residents. I looked into the camera, and said, “I was polite, and the water stopped!” The people stared in shock! Then a small child in a wheelchair was sitting in my way as I tried exiting the scene. I looked at her and said, “Excuse me please.” She immediately hopped up out of her chair, and began doing the Charleston, immediately labeling me Politeness Gentleman!!

For months following the “Water stoppage” as I like to refer to it, the media, federal agents, Hollywood actor types, agents, etc hounded me. I didn’t want this; I just did what needed to be done. So, I went into seclusion from the world. I moved to my own little fortress of solitude, aka the Holiday Inn, Dedham. After spending 2 days there, because I didn’t have a job, and there’s only so much charity I can take, I decided to make the 15-minute treck home. I got home, and my mother was there, holding a plate of freshly baked spaghetti. She’s not the best chef. I said, “You know mom, it’s the thought that counts. Thank you.” Suddenly, my mother smiled and nicely asked me why she’s baking spaghetti. I told her that she was a little out there, and that she’s been doing this for years. She smiled and said, “I’m glad that’s over with!” I was happy to make my mom normal! After a few years of going around and giving examples of how easy it is to be nice, I came across someone I couldn’t change. Her name was Josephine. I ran into her one day, as I was getting my morning coffee and donut. I bumped into her and said, “Excuse me.” She looked at me and told me she hopes I choke on my donut. This hurt me that someone could be so unaware of common courtesy. So I followed her back to her car, and asked why she had to be so hurtful. She looked at me and said, “Quit being such a fag, and suck it up.” I cried. I cried until yesterday, and that’s when I knew that it wasn’t the last time I’d see Rude Josephine…

to be continued….

**Breaking News** - Route 128 North is jam packed from 95 all the way past Highland Ave in Needham!

Where does a boy go when his main route to work is a parking lot? Back roads baby!! That’s right, I’m a local, that means I know the back roads to work. The roads nobody travels, ever, unless they’re me! Only I know where that road near my work leads….to my house. I’m watching the news in the morning, like I always do, and once I hear that 128’s jammed up. I start mapping out my journey through the peaceful roads of West Roxbury, to the back streets of Needham. I can see it now, driving over the bridge…taking a peek over and seeing all the poor saps who don’t know my exclusive route, and are now in their 15th hour of mind numbing traffic. So, after my shower and morning smoke, Angela goes outside and starts my car for me, because she needs to run to the store before her Monday off. I’m thinking “It should be no problem taking Angela to the store and still making it on time for work. No problem, after all I DO know backroads to work, so I won’t get stuck in any traffic.” So, I take Angela to the store, bring her back to the house, and I’m on my way to work.

Just as I suspected, it’s like Moses parted the Baker Street/Washington Street traffice, just for me! I’m passing by a store, when I remember that I wanted my morning Vitamin Water. So I stop at the store, and grab my Vitamin Water, and head back on my way. And in my morning haze, and because of my horrible memory, I realized that I have to talk to people during the day, and that my toothpaste doesn’t “refreshen” my breath and mouth every time I smoke a cigarette. Which to be honest would be a great invention! So, I stop at yet another store, go in, and get myself a pack of Dentyne Ice. So now, I’m back on the road, with my Vitamin Water, my Dentyne Ice and Marlboro Lights. Quite a breakfast I treat myself to. You should be so lucky. I’d like to believe that the Vitamin Water is a miracle drink and somehow turns my lungs from whatever shade of black that they are, back to a prestine pink color. Assuming they were ever really pink. I mean, having a holiday at my house was like being at any Boston bar in 1979. Just a bunch of big, pale, overweight, drunk, Irish smokers, fishbowling my grandma’s house and repainting her walls with a nicer shade of tar brown. I swear, for a while I thought that all Hutchings children came out of the womb with a pack of Marlboro Lights and a lighter that doesn’t work. But enough about my pending lung cancer, and back to the ride.

I begin to pull up to the one main intersection that I have to cross before it’s smooth sailing. But the last turn before the intersection revealed what I dreaded most this faithful morning. A long line of school busses and old people driving. At this point I was very tempted to light 3-4 cigarettes at once. I had my voyage to work planned out perfectly, and now this group of nearly deads, and life wreckers is going to ruin my perfectly timed ride to work. After sitting through 4 light changes, wondering to myself if the old lady driving the Chrysler will ever get the courage up to turn. Apparently, high beams from drivers completely stopped to let her go, isn’t gonna fool Ester into going. She’s no fool. Finally, she goes, and what a surprise, the light’s red. I’ll just wait here, I got nothin else to do right? I mean, this rides gone from making me 5 minutes early, to being 15 minutes away, when I need to be there in 5. But the tough parts over. I can just make my way down past these cemetaries and I’ll just…WOAH! Wait a minute. School bus stop here in front of this house? Would you look at that, the kid just goes from his house door, BAM right into the school bus. Now, I’m no old crumudgen, but I do destinctly remember bus stops when I went to school. You remember them, a spot, usually in between the houses of all of the kids of the neighborhood, where you would all go and wait for the bus together. Well, apparently, now-a-days the school bus drivers are a lot more hands on. I saw this bus driver, actually get out of her bus, go into the house, wake the kid up, help him to the shower, make him a ham and egg omelette, make his lunch, comb his hair, do his homework, and actually carry him from the house to the bus, as not to get his shoes dirty.

As I’m grinding my teeth to a fine dust, I see the time is 8:30 am. I’m officially going to be late. So I call my boss, and of course, he answers. “Where are you?” is the question at hand here. My answer, as honestly as I could give it to him was “I’m stuck behind old people and busses that pick each kid up at their own house.” He laughed and luckily, he understood. So I finally make it past the busses and the old people section of what used to be my own special shortcut, and see my place of work about 100 yards away. But what I don’t see are parking spots. That apparently is a luxury for the punctual. After I walk a distance that should be reserved for marathoners, I arrive at my desk, to laughs from my boss. Not the best beginning to a work day, but it could be worse…I could be one of those old people.