A GREY GOON STORY

When you are partly deaf, you hear some unusual things. The apartment mate is listening to a radio mystery from the late thirties, and I swear I heard it introduced with the words that form the title of this post. In addition to being a bit wanky in the ear department, I am engaged in mastication -- meatballs in a delicious greasy mushroom and hot chilipepper sauce -- and that noise also interferes. Plus I wasn't listening. So, a grey goon story.

"Waiter! Garçon! This coffee is cold!"

See, that's why you don't go to Monte Carlo in the off-season. Inattentiveness.

When people asked me today how the game was progressing I endeavored to indicate sincerely that I wasn't listening, praestations of the numeric team left me quite as cold as that cup of coffee. The succes or failure of the San Francisco balls squad shall be a sausage to me. I think they won, and many people are now drunk from giddy celebration.
Huzzah for them. They need joy in their dull and uneventful lives.

I'm sure that it was a splendid goon story.
All that red and gold spandex.
Dashing, by jove!

But as I mentioned, I had not been listening. The occasional outbursts of blue language from the senile old soiled knickers crowd in the backroom did not tell me anything, and in any case was merely white noise, background surusus.

Although I did listen up when one of them started talking about unhealthy underwear. He had read a newspaper article, and attempted to impart juicy tidbits conversationally. During the ball game. No one wants to discuss your panties at that time, dear fellow. Or, in fact, ever. Drop your panties! Pretend that you don't have your mind in your boxers. Both Haines and Fruit-of-the-loom are excellent brands. They are available in a versatile and expansive range of sizes, so if need be you can cover any body part. Including your head. Which please do.


Old joke about a German, a Dutchman, and a Belgian who sign up for the Foreign Legion. Supply sergeant asks: how many pairs of underwear? The German requests seven. Why seven? That's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday ... Okay, that makes sense. So seven pairs. Then the Dutchman. Eight. Why eight? Well, that's seven days a week plus one extra in case there's an accident. That's logical, and forethought. Eight. The Belgian wants eleven.
That seems excessive, why eleven? Well, that's January, February, March ...


Perhaps unhealthy undies man had had too much coffee.
Or, equally likely, he's an idiot.



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