Sunday, August 5, 2012

108. Competition

One of the favorite guises that C.W. likes to show up in resembles the drugged-out stoner from the Cheech and Chong films. He swears it is just for fun, but I’m beginning to suspect that he has developed a penchant for Tuk Fin. At any rate, he can certainly be entertaining, as he was last evening.

I was working on a project in an adjoining room and we had the farmhouse to ourselves as my wife was taking her mom shopping. Suddenly this piercing scream shattered the silence.

“Big Dope,” he yelled. “Commear … this one dude just finished a race a whole tenth of a second before the other!”

Yes, he was watching the Olympic games. “That’s nice,” I said. “Are the fans excited?”

“Oh, man,” he said. “They’re crappin’ en masse.”

He was quiet for awhile. I thought I heard him changing channels but then he started yelling “Go, girls, go,” and “Way to go girls.”

I tried to ignore him until he yelled for me, “Hey man, come check out the beach volleyball.”

Hmmm. Maybe I would.

I walked in and watched for a few seconds.

“Is that a great team or what?” he said.

“C.W.,” I said. “I hate to tell you.”

“Tell me what, man?”

A young beauty ran across the screen, lost the top of bikini, turned and giggled at the camera, and ran off.

“That is the Playboy Channel.”

“Far out, man.”

I eased back to my project after a few minutes and left him to himself. He was quiet for a spell, then started yelling again.

“Hey Big Dope, come see the farm and ranch channel.”

“The what?”

“The farm and ranch channel, man. I think it’s a show called ‘The Jolly Rancher.’”

Intrigued, I went back.

“Lookit the dancing horse,” he said.

“That’s not the farm and ranch channel,” I said.

“It’s not?”

“No, that’s the Olympics.”

“No way, man. Dancing horses?”

“Dancing horses.”

“Who started the Olympics, man?”

“The Greeks.”

He watched the horse dancing to the music, ridden by a woman who could have easily produced diamonds from a length of pencil lead by "the Ferris Bueller method."

“So maybe man,” he said. “Those century-old rumors about Alexander the Great are true after all.”

I ignored him and went back to work. But he wasn’t through. After I had forgotten him, he inserted himself back into my attention with shouts of “U.S.A, U.S.A., U.S.A,” the top of his voice. Believing that something important might be happening, I peeked around the corner. He was still chanting and pumping his hand.

“Hey man, these Olympics of yours are great … U.S.A, U.S .A.”

“Uh, C.W,” I said as a young lady reached her apogee and her skirt flew up over her head, exposing her underwear. “This isn’t the Olympics.”

Far out, man. - C.W.
“Oh, yeah man, it’s the trampoline competition.”

“No, C.W,” I said. “It’s a rerun of ‘The Man Show.’”

“Your species really knows how to entertain, man."

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