Mr. Friendly Says So
Getting Our Groove On!
It was a dark and stormy night…
Wait a fuggin minute! Let’s try that again.
It was a dark and freezing morning…
Still sucks. How’s this grab you?
Dear Mr. Friendly,
The world needs you back.
Your two readers
Well, shat on a hockey stick, who am I to deny my two readers?
In the immortal words of Debbie Fields, “Let’s get fuggin’ started!”
I’m walking into work the other day. It’s late February and the sun is getting a little higher in the sky, so of course the Eyewitness Weather (that’s me witnessing the weather folks) says it’s three below zero. And that’s in the shade, without the wind. I pass by Charlie, my parking garage hobo. Mister Charlie is waiting for me. He wants to shout out some good news:
“Hey man, gimme a dollar.”
“What the fug for Charlie? You already owe me fiddy cent!”
Charlie is unfazed. “Whafo’ you be speakin’ to me like that fo’? Imma jus’ tryin to get by.”
I am not a man to be upbraided by bums: “Charlie, for cripessakes, all you do is hang out at the garage and put the arm on solid, hard working, get up at the crack of dawn jerks like me. Why don’t you park your smelly arse out in front of City Hall for a change?”
“City Hall. Dayuuuuum man. I can’t hang out there. Those folks are crazy.”
I mutter “they’re not alone,” then ask “Whatcha talkin’ about Willis, I mean, Charlie?”
“They fine me outside City Hall, Mayor Jerry go an’ ship my sorry arse down to the city mission. I can’t get my groove on at the mission. They don’t serve no raspberry schnapps down at the mission.”
“And this means what to me, Charlie?”
“Youse got to help a poor fool out. Contribute to the ‘Help a Bum Get Drunk’ Fund.”
New approach. I .like Charlie’s ingenuity. “Here’s your buck Charlie. Hope your day stays as well as it started. Now get the fug outta my face.”
Who am I to deny a man his groove? I can't do that to Charlie, to my faithless and bored and moved on audience, nor, dear reader, to myself. So yeah, let's get grooving Garage Panhandler Charlie style. You shake your booty and I'll shake my moneymaker too. Maybe we can have a little fun laughing at all the other arseholes God put on Earth. I hope you'll join me. Especially you ladies. Oh yeah, you lovely ladies.
By the way, Raspberry Schnapps does qualify you for a forearm shiver.
What? You were expecting a home run right out of the box?
depression set in.
This spells comedy for you.
Stay fuggin't tuned.