So I was whining on to one of my customers about the appalling state of my front garden. It’s not exactly my fault as the previous owner had done pretty much squat in the grass department. In reply, and possibly to stop me becoming seriously boring, my man gave me a whole load of advice on lawn maintenance and then told me that I needed a four wheel drive tractor with a grader attachment and a heavyweight lawn rake. I stated the obvious that I didn’t exactly have all of this industrial equipment and without a pause he said, “Well I do and you can borrow it”. So this weekend I shall be King of the Hill as I trundle around on a big ol’ tractor. Today I told this story to two of my neighbors who are also customers and they both said that they also had the same equipment and if only I had said they would have willingly let me borrow it. That, my friends, is what life in the south is all about.Kissbotty Radio (home to all the hits) is once again plumbing the depths of professionalism. Due to someone forgetting to put a quarter in the electric meter they went of the air for about an hour or so. When Dick ‘n’ Ed (the impossibly perky little gay bar loiterers that they are) realized what was happening, or not happening in this case, they put a Police single on, hit the repeat button and went off for a spot of mutual appreciation. For many months these two walking perfume shops have been crowing about the fact that they also broadcast on the web (for those fortunate enough not to be able to receive a radio signal). Of course it goes without saying that they forgot that the web listener would be hearing Rox-aaaaaaane, you don’t have to put on the red light, 237 times in a row. Now the listener was so concerned that Dick and/or Ed had died at the wheel that the emergency services were called. That, my friends, is what life in the south is all about.
Actually I shouldn’t rag on at Kissbotty Radio, they do their best and at least it isn’t 24 hours of hard-core country. The problem is that I have had some bad news and to be quite frank I am feeling more that a touch testy. My little friend Cheryl has announced that she is to pack her bag, leave Smalltown and head for L.A. in search of a new life. She has no job, no place to live and is just going to wing it. This paragraph is not going to make any sense unless you read about Cheryl first, so if you have not already done so, please click here and the rest of us will wait until you catch up. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Great welcome back, now you know why I am so grumpy. I suppose it was good of her to give me some notice so that I can gradually wean her off the gamma hydroxybutyric acid, God knows I don’t need her getting any repressed memory flashbacks as I think in all fairness only one of us had a good time. Anyway it looks like I am going to have to find a replacement for Cheryl and my first thoughts were perhaps one of my PHAT mothers might do. Fortunately I discovered in the nick of time that one of them is the sister in law of the police chief. Jesus, talk about a narrow escape. Perhaps I will just have to stop putting the sensual in non-consensual. As William Shakespeare once said “What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive” or did he say “Incey Wincey spider”. I just don’t know any more.
Cheryl’s impending departure has made me realize that I too should make so life style changes. I have therefore decided to stop pretending to be a masochist. You see it’s true I do get no kick from sham pain.
Another day of laughter and lattes draws to a happy conclusion. We actually had a blinding day as the register showed we took $575,121, comfortably a Coffee House record. Sadly closer inspection revealed that the total might have been due to my ineptitude when playing the Boss’s piano (aka the register). So not only was the register light by some $574,534 but we now owe Virginia $28,756.05 in sales tax and Smalltown $23,004.84 in meals tax. Now I don’t know how staff appraisals are done at GE and Hewlett Packard but here in the Coffee House they are done with a swift knee to the groin, which is why, once again, I am typing whilst sitting in a bucket of iced water.