GUNS, NUDES, METAL OBJECTS
As a company, we do not deal in fish.
Additionally, there are the photos. Many disturbing photos, which gradually revealed several themes: Nostrils. Beer. Motorcycles. Beer. Piracy. Beer. Greek violence. Beer. Body parts. Beer. Carboard tubes, beer, and strange nude dolls. Beer. Fried food. Beer.
A head-sized open face Reuben sandwich.
Shank Dog grimly insists that all of these things were involved in ‘research’. His jaw is clenched. He looks pale. His loyal staff nod affirmatively.
What, we sneeringly ask, could one possibly research with weapons, fetiches, and beer?
They cannot answer. They are mute.
They are hungover.
Yesterday was Shank Dog’s penultimate day at the company. True to form, it involved massive amounts of beer. Except for the fleshy old gal with the negligee and a feather boa, plus the man in Texas, everyone was complicit in an attempt to drink him under the table.
Ten years with the company. That means a lot of beer - some of it drunk through a luncheon meat straw.
I also recall a tub of onion dip and a bag of large gummy insects. Green and red and yellow. And beer.
Today, the giant fish, the oil-portrait of the elderly feathered bawd (someone’s mother?), the assault rifles, and the hospital gurney are leaving the building forever. More beer.
Bon voyage, Shank Dog. And G-d speed.
We’ll read about you in the papers one of these days.
I'm sure of it.
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
Labels: Shank Dog