THAT BALL GAME SURE WAS SPLENDID, WASN'T IT?

Either the esteemed member of the judicicial branch will have apoplexy OR it will be an orgasm. In that easy chair in the back room while watching the Forty-Niners on teevee. Which today he was. Periodically the loud shouts from that area disturbed me while working. And it would have been nicer if Smyrna Pete had come in while it was on, because I really did NOT want to hear all about his alcoholic neighbor losing fingers in the belt-sander.
Yeah, um, heard every damned detail.
No ball game screams.
Yet.

I really do like most of the people I get to deal with on a daily basis, but some of them lack "social polish". In addition to their mom dressing them funny, them eating to much, and smelling bad. They keep me young.


Besides the esteemed member of the judicicial branch and his suspicious enthusiasm over team sports, there were just a few others present during the ball game. R the Subcontinental and R the Occidental, Pat D and Pat N, and Dodgy. And also the boss' daughter, who is a pleasure to work with because she is competent, and very tolerant of grumbly old coots such as myself and all the aforementioned chaps.


We didn't have to light the fireplace; screaming kept them warm.


I don't think you would call the backroom cozy without the fire on, but 'heated' certainly applies.


Not being myself in any way interested in the game, I spent the time when work slowed down putzing with Italian pipes and investigating the comforting aspect of Virginia flakes and Virginia Perique blends. It was quite enjoyable, provided I remained at a safe distance from the baboons and their loud banana frenzy. The Forty-Niners may have won.

Boys, please don't wet your diapers. Or the feminine under garments that at least two of you are wearing under your clothing for good luck.

Shiny yoga pants were invented for Football.
Ham and pineapple pizza too.



When I left I was high as a kite. I swill strong tea while at work. Had several cups. Smoked a nice blondish Virginia flake, a loose-spun coin, a sample of something dark from Freybourg & Treyer that a friend had given me, Orlik's Golden Slices, and one of my own mixtures. At least I did my part to leave the place better smelling when I left than them. They huffed cigars.

Comoy, Peterson, Peterson, Stanwell, and Charatan.

I smell like your favourite college professor.
They whiff like piles of compost.

TOBACCO INDEX


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