Sunday, November 13, 2022


This must be said, because it's true: I do NOT look like the butt-end of a salami, all scraggly skin parts. That's a vicious rumour ciculated by a turkey vulture. A myopic turkey vulture. And there are several people who are far scragglier. The local pipe club met today. I am one of the youngest old farts in it.

Most of the members didn't show. Weather putting a damper on their urges.
It's cold now. Thank heavens it isn't raining.
A scheduled ballgame didn't help.
Damn the Niners.

Among the seven of us who were there, greyness of hair does rather predominate. Along with the geezer scraggle. The club president wasn't present, as he is off gallavanting around the Iberian peninsula at present, eating far too well and dancing the Fado. Our South African member wasn't there either, and for all I know he's headed to another bunch of dangerous countries on his bucket list. The last of the founding members may be in Hawaii with his grandkids. Who, sadly, do not smoke.

That's okay; we ate their cheese and preserved meats.
As "palate cleansers" in between smokes.
The turkey vulture, fortunately, stayed home on my bed, dreaming of the day when he will be welcomed at the salt flats as a "lost prince of the tribe", with adulation and good things to eat. If he had come with me, he would have been pecking at the nibbly stuff and telling as to eat more, our thighs were not fatty enough, did we intend him to starve?

To a turkey vulture, humans are ambulatory carrion.


You know, you younger folks are going to have to step up to the plate. There just aren't any pipesmokers under forty joining the club, darn it, those delicious pork products and gooey cheeses won't eat themselves, and no one wants me to bring a beaky little fellow around to peck at their leg wattles, because doing so might detract from our focus on briars.
Besides, he has a history of opportunism.
That's MY Charatan he's clutching!
No wonder I can't find it!

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