RUDIMENTS, pt. 502
(really in pair o' dice now)
I once knew a guy who
would say funny things.
What was even funnier
was that, in some form,
they always still made
sense : a landscaper was
referred to as a landscraper.'
Instead of saying synagogue,
he'd say 'synagod.' Specific
always became 'Pacific.'
And, referring to Burger
King, he once said, 'Anne
and I are going to Burger
King for a Wallop.' Yes,
though the Whopper
packed quite a Wallop,
it wasn't quite that. Of
course, Elton John's
restroom was the
'Lou,' so I guess they
were boy-pals too.
There were others,
but I forget - they
involved foods,
places, and car
names too. I always
expected him to tell
me that the guy at the
cheese store had just
graduated from
'grate school.'
-
Had I been born deaf
my world could not
have been any quieter.
Which was a good thing,
because mostly I really
disliked the sort of crazy
talk you get. One time,
some guy, a few years
older than me - this is
merely a for instance -
came over to me. He'd
parked and gotten out
of his little fancy sports
car, an MG, something
like 1968 or so, and came
over to me to start asking
me questions about my
girlfriend. He wanted to
know if she was actually
that, (this was so 'Barbie
and Ken' ish I wanted to
laugh); his point was, he'd
like to take her out, unless
I objected - which, yeah,
I did. That wasn't enough
though; this mental thug
in his girly sports car then
adds, 'Man, I'd like to get
a piece of her; she's built
for having kids' (??), and
then he also added, 'I'd
try, but I'd be accused of
robbing the cradle.' I
kind of thought, right
then, with some bluster
that I'd like to take HIM
out, in the Cassius Clay
sense, I mean.
-
I can still remember
exactly the spot this all
occurred at, and it makes
me laugh still. It's a
Dunkin Donuts site now,
at the end of Avenel Street,
at Rahway Avenue; but for
these years it had long been
an abandoned gas station
owned by this Ira Rhodes
guy, Esso, I believe. At
the Woodbridge end of
the empty lot, there was
a pay phone, and that's
where this little dialogue
took place. Then he got
in his car and drove off.
I never saw him again, and
don't know who he was or
where he ended up, though
I did then. He was the older,
college-age, brother of one
of the kids in my age group.
Maybe he was made for
babies too - in fact, maybe
he's a pediatrician.
-
For a long time I had to
think about what he said.
'Robbing the cradle' was
completely new to me,
though I soon found out
what that meant. I was,
however, never, after
that, sure of what the
acceptable age-differentials
were for who it is that a
gentleman has his sex
romps with. 4-years of
age difference, OK. 5
years, no good? Unless
you're 60 and can find
some 35 year old to carry
on with? 'Built for having
babies,' that was even
weirder, and I never
knew how that even
was a good thing.
Irish-Catholics and
Italians, I realized,
each liked having about
104 kids each, but 'built
for babies' was a stretch,
(pun intended, ouch). I
think it meant voluptuous
hips, nice butt, all that
crazy guy stuff - probably
now it would end you up
in jail.
-
Life sure has some funny
stuff always going on. In
fact, not much funnier than
a Dunkin' Donuts being
in the location, the very
building, of an old, derelict
Esso station. Grease to
grease, ashes to ashes,
and dust to dust too, I
suppose. Let's add misery
to that humor too - right
across the street there, a
pharmacy exists now, run
by a guy named Hank
Incognito. That's a weird
name! No one even blinks
over that - his name's even
up at the firehouse on some
blowhard poster about
Holiday Lighting or
something. I keep wanting
to say hi to him, but I can
never find him, or can't
recognize him, I guess.
At first I thought he was a
comedy-stand-up guy,
like the Unknown Comic,
with a bag over his head,
making jokes. 'Hank
Incognito!' Actually, it
could make for a good
gimmick, if it wasn't
already pretty funny
on its own. This is one
goofy town - everyone's
comatose, and afraid to
say anything negative, or
off the regular route, about
anything. Boring as a
tree-borer bug - which
we don't much have
anymore since this
goofball town has
mostly cut down
all the trees.
-
There's a town down
southwest Jersey, out
past Trenton, sort of.
It's called Titusvulle;
and there's another one
too, out along Rt. 130,
named Robbinsville.
Back in my biker days,
they were both in use
as destinations along
the way - stops,
way-stations, for beer
and cheap food. Each of
these places, I always
noticed, much like
Avenel itself, were
nowhere locations that
used their 'fire' stations
as sort of town centers
for activity and live
events - swap meets,
parties, bands and such.
Otherwise, they themselves
were as incognito as places
as Hank was. Except for
the posters, you wouldn't
even know they were there.
-
In the words of my immortal
friend : 'That Vegas, I tell
you, it's like pair-o-dice!'
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