Unca Walt
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The Original Old Farts Club
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Unca Walt
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This is Himself back in The Day:
I post this because it shows the only photo of that suit. I was supposed to go to Cox's and buy a seersucker suit, but I mistakenly went to Sears and bought...
ALL of this leads into a funny -- and true -- story.
I've thought on it long and long, also. I tried to use the excuse that I had a rough hometown. My home town (Baldwin) was the only place where they would call in radio dedications: "I'm sorry I stabbed you, Miss Crumpley." But that's not it, because the things I find myself doing are not necessarily that vicious/cruel/evil. Only moderately so. But upon careful rumination, I have to admit to being (occasionally) as weird as a fish’s underwear.
PC says I have the finest mind that the thirteenth century has produced. And that it seemingly leaps to the fore at whatever times it finds opportune. This can be somewhat awkward... the results of this schizophrenic behavior on my part have dictated that there are some places I dare not return to for fear of being recognized.
A case in point: The Fabled PC (who's rather attractive for a beautiful woman with a great body, by the way) and the again-out-of-shape brute (me) were going out for a nice quiet dinner.
I was feeling a little out of sorts, because for some crazy reason, I was wearing a seersucker blazer. Well, it would have looked stupid on James Bond, with its light blue and white stripes. Not only that, but since I was in my perennial again-out-of-shape condition -- which means "fat", the doofus blazer fit extremely awkwardly. I was in full red beard at the time. And I badly needed a haircut.
I looked like a dork.
It so happened that the place we were going to (note how coyly I will not identify it by name -- least said, soonest mended) is well known for hosting foreigners of all sorts in the hotel portion of the establishment who hail from multinational corporations.
So Beauty and Grumpy were walking through the lobby, past the Registrations-Arrivals counter when the Devil bit me in the bottom again. Without conscious volition, I swung left and headed right toward the counter. The Fabled PC didn't even notice that I suddenly was gone; she kept on walking for about five paces before realizing she was alone.
She must have turned and seen me just reaching the counter, for I distinctly heard her say, "Uh-oh!"
She knows me well, and was immediately aware that something strange was about to happen.
Sure enough, when I got to the desk, I looked at the guy there, and said loudly:
"Corpregson, Reykjavik!"
Naturally, the guy behind the counter just looked up and said, ""Hunh?"
"Corpregson, Reykjavik!" A little more loudly, as if speaking to an idiot.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what you're saying."
"Corpregson, Reykjavik!" For the third and last time, screaming, angry. A glance around showed the Fabled PC hiding casually behind a tiny potted palm tree. The guy behind the desk was getting nervous: here was this great big guy in foreign-looking duds, obviously expecting him to do something or know something. The poor guy kind of waved his hands placatingly, making soothing noises.
So I grabbed the pen out of his hand, grabbed a handy sheet of paper, and drew a crude sketch of the North Atlantic, showing North America, Norway, England, and a little island in the top middle.
"Merka!" I thumped my finger on my scribbling. Then drew some more, under the intent stare of the hapless clerk.
"Ynglont!" I thumped again, and bent to the paper in sketching fury:
"Reykjavik!!" I screamed in triumph over witlessness, pointing and breaking his pen.
"Omigawd, the guy's from Iceland!" The clerk choked.
"Wait here! Wait here!" Panicky smile and placating gesture hung ghost-like in the air while the clerk ran off for somebody to help him with an obvious customer from afar.
The Fabled PC and Now Considerably Less Grumpy went back out of the lobby and had something excreted through the Golden Arches for dinner.
We both wonder what the folks in the hotel thought happened to their irate guest. I still say it wasn't me, though; the Devil made me do it.
I post this because it shows the only photo of that suit. I was supposed to go to Cox's and buy a seersucker suit, but I mistakenly went to Sears and bought...
ALL of this leads into a funny -- and true -- story.
The Devil Made Me Do It
© Walt C. Snedeker
The Fabled PC has often commented on our mixed marriage (she's Human -- I'm Klingon), wondering why I do some of the things I do. © Walt C. Snedeker
I've thought on it long and long, also. I tried to use the excuse that I had a rough hometown. My home town (Baldwin) was the only place where they would call in radio dedications: "I'm sorry I stabbed you, Miss Crumpley." But that's not it, because the things I find myself doing are not necessarily that vicious/cruel/evil. Only moderately so. But upon careful rumination, I have to admit to being (occasionally) as weird as a fish’s underwear.
PC says I have the finest mind that the thirteenth century has produced. And that it seemingly leaps to the fore at whatever times it finds opportune. This can be somewhat awkward... the results of this schizophrenic behavior on my part have dictated that there are some places I dare not return to for fear of being recognized.
A case in point: The Fabled PC (who's rather attractive for a beautiful woman with a great body, by the way) and the again-out-of-shape brute (me) were going out for a nice quiet dinner.
I was feeling a little out of sorts, because for some crazy reason, I was wearing a seersucker blazer. Well, it would have looked stupid on James Bond, with its light blue and white stripes. Not only that, but since I was in my perennial again-out-of-shape condition -- which means "fat", the doofus blazer fit extremely awkwardly. I was in full red beard at the time. And I badly needed a haircut.
I looked like a dork.
It so happened that the place we were going to (note how coyly I will not identify it by name -- least said, soonest mended) is well known for hosting foreigners of all sorts in the hotel portion of the establishment who hail from multinational corporations.
So Beauty and Grumpy were walking through the lobby, past the Registrations-Arrivals counter when the Devil bit me in the bottom again. Without conscious volition, I swung left and headed right toward the counter. The Fabled PC didn't even notice that I suddenly was gone; she kept on walking for about five paces before realizing she was alone.
She must have turned and seen me just reaching the counter, for I distinctly heard her say, "Uh-oh!"
She knows me well, and was immediately aware that something strange was about to happen.
Sure enough, when I got to the desk, I looked at the guy there, and said loudly:
"Corpregson, Reykjavik!"
Naturally, the guy behind the counter just looked up and said, ""Hunh?"
"Corpregson, Reykjavik!" A little more loudly, as if speaking to an idiot.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what you're saying."
"Corpregson, Reykjavik!" For the third and last time, screaming, angry. A glance around showed the Fabled PC hiding casually behind a tiny potted palm tree. The guy behind the desk was getting nervous: here was this great big guy in foreign-looking duds, obviously expecting him to do something or know something. The poor guy kind of waved his hands placatingly, making soothing noises.
So I grabbed the pen out of his hand, grabbed a handy sheet of paper, and drew a crude sketch of the North Atlantic, showing North America, Norway, England, and a little island in the top middle.
"Merka!" I thumped my finger on my scribbling. Then drew some more, under the intent stare of the hapless clerk.
"Ynglont!" I thumped again, and bent to the paper in sketching fury:
"Reykjavik!!" I screamed in triumph over witlessness, pointing and breaking his pen.
"Omigawd, the guy's from Iceland!" The clerk choked.
"Wait here! Wait here!" Panicky smile and placating gesture hung ghost-like in the air while the clerk ran off for somebody to help him with an obvious customer from afar.
The Fabled PC and Now Considerably Less Grumpy went back out of the lobby and had something excreted through the Golden Arches for dinner.
We both wonder what the folks in the hotel thought happened to their irate guest. I still say it wasn't me, though; the Devil made me do it.
R
ROSTERMAN
Guest
A Fool and his life can be quickly parted........
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^^^^at his own funeral
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yeah there were a few people there who probably wished I was dead
R
ROSTERMAN
Guest
R
ROSTERMAN
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R
ROSTERMAN
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Good night
Oh yeah Big for sure... and yes, I'm a smart ass just like this fat little kid.
I even posted up on FB a photo of my wrist on the inside, and copy and pasted a bar code of a package and told
everyone that 2wks after my Covid shot my bar code appeared finally... muwahahahaha
Harvested a few plants over at the mum house at Atilla's.. got a bunch coming down next few weeks, gonna be
a decent Christmas for a change.
I know Argo's Azad Kashmir has quite a following and is being used as breeding stock.. like here crossed with a
Vietnamese Black she smells amazing and getting ready to puff her up for a bed doobie.. let ya know tomorreeeeee.
night my online fam...
a decent Christmas for a change.
I know Argo's Azad Kashmir has quite a following and is being used as breeding stock.. like here crossed with a
Vietnamese Black she smells amazing and getting ready to puff her up for a bed doobie.. let ya know tomorreeeeee.
night my online fam...
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Morning old farts happy fry-day. Foggy this morn. Concrete floor has been kick'n my a$$. O-well just another part of life as it comes daily. Yall have a good day.
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Good morning
Elegantly performed!
The last suit I purchased was black and the same size as age 38, the difference being I didn't have to have the waistband taken in as much and it has suspenders. I got black because of all the friends and associates funerals, but plan cremation and celebration of life for myself, so it can pass on to Goodwill.
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