In article <8A5E55E.0057000BEA.firstname.lastname@example.org> email@example.com (JAMES GRADISHER) writes:
>"Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes."
--Henry David Thoreau
"Distrust any enterprise that requires clothes."
- J. R. "Bob" Dobbs
... speaking of whom... I experienced two rather singular manifestations within the space of 24 hours.
The first was in a dream (or some other alterd state of consciousness): I was in the desert, searching for something that I could not identify, when suddenly I saw undulating tracks in the sand, like the tracks of a serpent. I followed them. The tracks were made by no serpent but were made by the Pipe of "Bob." I immediately sprang upon it and put it in my mouth, only to discover that it was only two dimensional and no `frop smoke could I inhale from it, even though there was clearly smoke emanating from the bowl.
Upon waking, my interpretation of this dream was that I could not partake of the heady smoke of true Slack until I had taken Dobbs completely into my checkbook and applied for ministerscription and ordistainment from the Father Church, which is one Mother. I resolved to write that check the next day.
The second apparition was much more frightening.
Last night, while walking in from the parking lot of the Ruben H. Fleet Science Center Theater, where the Spike and Mike Festival of Animation is showing (by the way, save your money on this one. The only piece that I thought was interesting was one produced as a student thesis by a student at CalArts, "The Janitor." "Me and God run this place, you see..."), my keen nostrils detected the aroma of pipe smoke. Cherry Blend. Cherry Blend, for those in the audience who didn't have older cousins in the 1960s as I did, is a really sweet smelling pipe tobacco that (according to those who imbibe such things) tastes incredibly vile to the smoker and the only possible reason for smoking the swill is that "the chicks like it" (so sayeth my elder cousin, anyhow). No mention is given as to whether the hens or roosters like it as well but there's something of a generation gap between my cousin and me.
Anyhow, on with the story.
Upon detecting the odor of pipe smoke I jokingly mentioned to my SO that it couldn't possibly be "Bob" since he would never deign to inhale such a malodorous substance as Cherry Blend. We caught up to the smoker, who was wearing a tweedy sort of sport coat with suede patches on the elbows, such as the kind worn by university professors or those who fancy themselves as university professors. A smoking jacket, such a coat is sometimes called. We could only see him from the back.
As we entered the theater and began looking for seats, we came upon that selfsame gentleman with the pipe (now extinguished, since not even "Bob" can yell "Pipe!" in a crowded theater). No doubt about it. It was "Bob". I'd know that idiotic coprophaghic grin anywhere. I turned to my companion to point the apparition out and when I turned back, he was gone. Without a trace. Only the faintest of whiffs of Cherry Blend could be detected.
I wrote the check as soon as we got home and I will put it in the post today even though they don't pick up until tomorrow.
By the way, I'm going to seek out and strangle the person who just put "Seasons in the Sun" by Susan Jacks and the Poppy Family in my head. I've spent the last twenty years trying to expunge even the most remote memory of that swill. In my days as a small-market Top 40 radio announcer I had to play that fucker three times a shift. You will die, whoever you are...
Steve Lamont, SciViGuy -- (619) 534-7968 -- firstname.lastname@example.org San Diego Microscopy and Imaging Resource/UC San Diego/La Jolla, CA 92093-0608 "This newfangled 'Information Superhighway' thing is gonna need some 'Informational Hell's Angels,' if you know what I mean." - Craig Burley
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