FROM THE PORCH
I hang out on the front porch keeping the cat company and indulging a habit not permitted within the confines of the house. From this vantage point I marvel at the passing parade of weightlifters, drifters and dreamers who inhabit the neighborhood. In this and subsequent posts I will inflict on you descriptions of the more notable characters. Today, I give you SCARY GUY.
Imagine Rambo with a heavy veneer of Travis Bickle. He is big. He has muscles in his shit. He favours wife beater singlets, weather permitting and has a fine collection of tattoos and piercings to go with his icy black stare, shaven head and menacing posture. Film directors, take note. If you need someone to play the psychopath from Cell Block 3 - the guy who sodomizes the Warden, decapitates a couple of guards and leads the prison riot, look no further. For a modest fee, I will make the introduction.
It should be no surprise the Scary Guy has a couple of dogs. Drooling pit bulls perhaps? Rottweilers? Well, no. Every day he walks a pair of tiny, frou-frou furballs. They mince along with him, lifting their tiny legs to splash tree trunks and when they chance to produce tiny little turds, Scary Man carefully stoops and scoops and - I shit you not - then pulls tissue from his pocket and wipes their little asses.
Maybe he's not so scary. At least not to little dogs.
Imagine Rambo with a heavy veneer of Travis Bickle. He is big. He has muscles in his shit. He favours wife beater singlets, weather permitting and has a fine collection of tattoos and piercings to go with his icy black stare, shaven head and menacing posture. Film directors, take note. If you need someone to play the psychopath from Cell Block 3 - the guy who sodomizes the Warden, decapitates a couple of guards and leads the prison riot, look no further. For a modest fee, I will make the introduction.
It should be no surprise the Scary Guy has a couple of dogs. Drooling pit bulls perhaps? Rottweilers? Well, no. Every day he walks a pair of tiny, frou-frou furballs. They mince along with him, lifting their tiny legs to splash tree trunks and when they chance to produce tiny little turds, Scary Man carefully stoops and scoops and - I shit you not - then pulls tissue from his pocket and wipes their little asses.
Maybe he's not so scary. At least not to little dogs.
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ABOUT ME
- BOB EVANS
- I still haven't figured out what I want to do when I grow up. So far, I have tried, Soldiering: OK but it involved jumping out of serviceable aircraft, freezing in the sub-arctic, blowing out my hearing and wrecking my feet. Public Service Baby Mandarin: OK but a bit staid. Baby Consultant in Big Firm: Neat but lousy pay. Big Wheel Consultant in Little Firms: Very cool since I owned a chunk of them and in good times made serious bucks doing stuff that was fun and made a positive difference. International Development Work: Crazy, in a positive sense. Big Time Clinical Depression: Not recommended but possible to get through. Director of Various Volunteer Orgs: Zip pay but priceless experience. Writing: Lifelong passion. Good at it. This blog gets me back in the game. Marriage: Not good at it. Should have loved them more. I'll stick to writing now.
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- Geezers With Razors
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