Freddogg Off The Chain

I’m not opposed to laughing then running frantically away from an unanticipated reality that could result in my being assaulted.

Years ago before hitch hiking was akin to “calling all cannibals” my friend Bob and I were thumbing along the Roosevelt Boulevard standing by a traffic light at a busy intersection in Northeast Philly.

An Outlaw Warlock on a Harley Hog pulled up to the red light and idled away his time by goosing his engine . This social misfit was big and hairy and was even wearing a German war helmet. Bob and I observed the no eye contact rule although we were both thinking the same thing: ”What a big fat idiot.”

The light changed and the Warlock hit the gas, popped a major wheelie and came right off the back of his bike and slid across the intersection on his butt. Bob was slapstick hyper sensitive –SHS- with a high pitched laugh someone in the octave range between Frankie Valli and Lou “Two Faces Have I” Christie.

Bob laughed so loud and hard and it was spontaneous and uncontrollable and I saw the Warlock snorting then charging towards us filling up my field of vision and I was “so gone for so long” with Bob at my heels.

Later that summer Bob and I-no we were just friends—we in a Horn and Hardart-an automated Philly phenomena getting macaroni and cheese from a vending machine. In walked a Warlock family with a couple of biker bitches. One of the mommas of these Pappas was easily 350 pounds give or take a pizza cheese steak.

They all sat at a table in the middle of the room, the no eye contact rule was in effect, but we were sneaking glances anyway figuring we were on the wanted list of outstanding warrants for sociopaths in that area.

The woman waddled to her seat with some steaming meatballs and spaghetti and slowly sat down. ”Hindenburg is being tethered to the table” I said to Bob who chocked a little. Then her chair with four chrome legs started to sink slowly but most surly to the tile floor below. We were off and running again with fat assed Warlocks in hot pursuit. I thought, ”Jesus, laughter can get you killed.”

Near the end of the summer Bob and I were working as laborers on a school building in Trenton New Jersey. We sat down to lunch one afternoon and this middle aged brick layer by day and Warlock by night started telling a story about his heroic uncle, a fighter pilot who was shot down in World War Two. Bob was into history, knew some stuff and was very respectful of veterans.

“Didn’t he have a chance to bail out, ”Bob asked.

“His plane was just disabled but he managed to fly in back to the airbase because those guys didn’t need instruments like the faggots today those mother fuckers could fly a play if it only had one wing left. “

I was eating a coconut junior then dousing it with a Franks Black Cherry Wishniak soda and I’ll cop to be remotely attentive to a story that was pretty darn close to being interesting.

“So he landed a burning airplane with only one wing, ”Bob inquired. “So how did he die?”

“He jumped free of the plane and took off but he was run over by a fire truck, ”the guy bellowed.

I’ll admit I didn’t see the humor in the story right away but SHS Bob just uncorked with such a high pitched laugh I was startled and started choking and then being choked but I twisted free and ran after Bob who was heading into Trenton proper where we both caught a train home and laughed at every single passenger whether they were tripping, wheezing, guffawing or just sitting there.

I learned laughter can get you killed so be careful out there and if I walk past you then roll my ankle and crash to the floor in agony please laugh I would expect no less of anyone.

Peace Freddogg