A few weeks ago, we invited my daughter to start having dinner with us on Wednesday nights. It's been great. Now we've added my dad to the mix. Boy howdy!
We had to postpone the Wednesday night dinner (WND) until tonight (Thursday) this week, so everybody was really hungry by dinner time.
But that's not the pay dirt part.
It all started at the Trocadero Bar ...
Uncle Bob was a character. He was my dad's uncle, but we just called him uncle Bob.
I remember the first time I saw him. I was amazed by his magnificent odor. It was the sort of thing that could be so easily destroyed with a shower (including soap) on something like a monthly basis.
Uncle Bob didn't shower. Or um, bathe. I'm pretty sure the occasional drunken stumble in the rain was good enough for Uncle Bob.
Anyway - the first time I remember seeing Uncle Bob, we were over at his house sitting around for some reason.
It was not a clean house, per se. I don't know who was all there. I'm pretty sure my mom was in the kitchen talking to Uncle Bob's wife. My dad and I were sitting on a card table thing and Bob was in like a church pew in the foyer of the shanty he lived in.
Bob had a big nose. But he was actually quite good looking, in my opinion. Most amazing to me was that when he picked his nose (all the time), most of his index finger disappeared in there.
Bob had an incredible deep, powerful voice. I always thought he could be in radio where a good portion of his scent would be blocked from his listeners. Surely some of that shit could travel over radio waves.
It would be a great radio show too. Because for every story my dad tells, Bob might have had ten stories.
Like this one time he was at the Trocadero Bar ...
It was a Friday afternoon. He had just walked in and sat down when a woman approached him and said "Why don't you buy me a drink, Sweetie?"
Bob had yet to have a drink that day ...
He turned to gaze upon a most hideous creature. He let out a slight scream of terror as he jumped up from his spot and moved to the other end of the bar to get away.
Since it was a Friday afternoon and The Trocadero was where all the cool kids hung out back in the day (I guess), The place was hopping pretty good about 3 hours later.
Bob was having a great time. He'd been hitting the bottle pretty hard and why not? He works all week for this. Literally. He'd usually be flat broke by Monday. The soap would have to wait until next pay day. Again.
Anyway, at around 10 PM, he saw the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. "I must have her," he thought. But he was unsure of himself. Then he remembered the old bible verse, "He who hesitates, masturbates. Then burns in hell for it." (Living bible).
So he tucked his shirt, took a deep breath and went for it. He used every bit of charm he could muster and said, "You still interested in that drink, sweetie?"
She turned to him with an adorable little smile and a coquettish little slap of his wrist. He had to shake off a confusing feeling of nausea as he steeled himself for his next proposition.
"Why don't we grab some package and get the hell outta here?"
Her eyes widened with understanding and they were on their merry way. Drunk, smelly, and ugly they meandered down the street.
As they approached a streetlight, Bob's fair maiden touched his forearm. She said to him "Why don't you give me a kiss."
When this story is told, the voice used to describe her plea for intimacy sounds kind of like a cross between Sylvester the Cat and Steven Tyler from Aerosmith in "Walk This Way," when he says "Just give me a kiss!"
Bob looked up to see the well-lit leathery visage of his beloved, puckering, grizzled, old harpy. He was suddenly, miraculously sober, if only for enough time to save himself.
He dropped the six pack to the ground and ran as fast as he could away from the horrible woman. He did not stop running until a cop detained him a couple of blocks from the scene.
The policeman listened to Bob's story, not believing a word. He figured Bob had raped the woman or something and was making a break. Bob insisted there's no way. He said he was running to get away from her hideous face.
The policeman told Bob to wait there while he went back to get the woman's side of the story.
The cop drove the cruiser backward to where the the woman was leaning against the street light casually smoking a cigarette.
Bob watched as the cop came to a stop next to the woman. She started to walk toward the cruiser when it peeled out toward Bob.
Out of breath and visibly shaken, the cop said to Bob, "You can go."
I chose this story from a selection of about 5 or 6 my dad told tonight. Of course two of those, I've already blogged about. While dad was telling those, I googled my version on my iphone and handed it to Jolene so she could read along to dad's narration. True story.
Her eyes widened with understanding and they were on their merry way. Drunk, smelly, and ugly they meandered down the street.
As they approached a streetlight, Bob's fair maiden touched his forearm. She said to him "Why don't you give me a kiss."
When this story is told, the voice used to describe her plea for intimacy sounds kind of like a cross between Sylvester the Cat and Steven Tyler from Aerosmith in "Walk This Way," when he says "Just give me a kiss!"
Bob looked up to see the well-lit leathery visage of his beloved, puckering, grizzled, old harpy. He was suddenly, miraculously sober, if only for enough time to save himself.
He dropped the six pack to the ground and ran as fast as he could away from the horrible woman. He did not stop running until a cop detained him a couple of blocks from the scene.
The policeman listened to Bob's story, not believing a word. He figured Bob had raped the woman or something and was making a break. Bob insisted there's no way. He said he was running to get away from her hideous face.
The policeman told Bob to wait there while he went back to get the woman's side of the story.
The cop drove the cruiser backward to where the the woman was leaning against the street light casually smoking a cigarette.
Bob watched as the cop came to a stop next to the woman. She started to walk toward the cruiser when it peeled out toward Bob.
Out of breath and visibly shaken, the cop said to Bob, "You can go."
I chose this story from a selection of about 5 or 6 my dad told tonight. Of course two of those, I've already blogged about. While dad was telling those, I googled my version on my iphone and handed it to Jolene so she could read along to dad's narration. True story.
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