Freddogg Off The Chain

Dead November air and mild temperatures brought almost nobody to the boardwalk late Thursday afternoon because it was the dinner hour. There was a fat seagull on every single light post and v-necked Canadian Geese heading north. I saw some lazy white guy sprawled back on the counter of a jewelry store and if the Indian owners saw him pocket clock watching his ass would be back at Uncle Willies on the graveyard shift serving as bait for nervous crack heads of the night.

A middle-aged two ax handles wide western jeans wearing woman who buys shoes from the tire department at Sam’s Club waddled up to a boardwalk bench and her adoring husband-happy off the ride of his life earlier that afternoon-hoisted her up and for a flash it was so hideous the Seagulls bailed for inland grub retrieval.

She stood there hands on hips the body language was saying “I’m in charge here! This is all mine! The beach is my kitchen! Check me out! Don’t throw the high fastball up in my wheelhouse or I'll go yard on your lollipop ass!"

The husband was wearing a sport coat which had me mumbling “somebody needs to shoot his ass” and it may be improper use of adjectives but I believe he hoisted her down the way an engine hoist lifts up before setting down and your right ,”what about the ocean? Why was I fixating on this couple?”

Actually I was waiting for the aging and out of shape white gay guys with an old Corgi named Harry to compare ‘wants and desires’ outside the candy Kitchen window. The one guy had Steven Seagull black hair pulled back into bobbed pony tail and he looked like the Aunt Betty of my 1950’s childhood who was, a Lesbian who specialized in incestuous cross gender grouping just to see if she could get a rise out of a relative too young for a drivers license. My cousin Harry was on a learners permit his entire prepubescent period which continues until this day.

Later at night I got a call from Gene’ Bucko” Kilroy who was Muhammed Ali’s personal manager for 40 years and they are still great friends. Bucko, my wife’s uncle not far enough removed, is now a “major player” in Vegas. He knows every celebrity in the world if you don’t believe me just google him like Aunt Betty googled cousin Harry back when laptop had an entirely different meaning.

Anyway the guy who was in the corner for every Ali fight traveling all over the world said to me,” You were one of the greatest athletes I ever saw” and sitting on the couch with a half eaten pepper popper in a paper towel I began to puff up with pride and then Bucko asked, ”How big are you?” and I responded “Do you mean how much do I weigh or did I grow to 6’11”?

‘Yea how big are you?’

“I can step up on a boardwalk bench and get back down by myself that’s how big I am, ”I told him.

“That’s good because I can’t,” he said. “I need a knee replacement.”

I ask Bucko to “say hello to the champ for me” and bailed back to my pepper popper.

All in all, it was a slow day with not much funny stuff going on in my life.

Freddogg