Born to Run: Dr. Finkle Is In the House

Who is that distressed-looking man always behind him?

Same tie color as Laura Bush' dress the day his mess began.

What does it mean, spies?

Yes, an eminent psychiatrist from a nation the name of which no “real man” can pronounce is finally coming to find me mentally incompetent so the following families will get all of my inheritance: GAY, LUMMIS, DUMAR, KENNEDY, BxxM, OBAMA, BxxxxxN, RxxxxxxxxD, SMITH, SxxxE, WHEATON, CLAYTON, BEHRNS, LORDO, KARANDZNIEF, KEZELE, MOODY, SxxxL, HINCKLEY, SCHWARTZ, HARRISS, MCGEE, VALERO, HESS, CLARK, VICKERS…

Hey, some of these people are named after gas stations! Or, were oil companies given away like “black” coins in the Hughes ashtray? Back in Carter’s Stagflation 1970’s, I stared at the Clark gas station sign as I pondered why the I.H.O.P. was open all night with no business. Later, this silly gander realized it must have been so I could have a “graveyard” shift and make a few breakfasts between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. for Saint Louis County cops & narcs! I’m so “bipolar,” Linda G. had to awaken me next to a pile of LC U. textbooks to prepare an order in the night. Where is Linda today? Joe Friday(s), the gas station is gone, but the I.H.O.P. is still there.

Gosh, why don’t I go to I.H.O.P. for breakfast this morning [11/29/15]? Let’s see…no car, no money, and the Clayton “Monkey Cops” might come out in their wrap-around sunglasses looking for Islamic State terrorists after Lutheran church services. (The restaurant is owned by an A-rab now). Another Hughes quote not in the news = “When cops start acting like spies, and spies act like cops…”[Fill-in the rest yourself, Camo Pants Prick]. How about the South County I.H.O.P., where I treated Charlie many times when UNCLE BILL’S PANCAKES was too crowded. Uncle who? The other Uncle Bill’s is still there—on KINGSHIGHWAY. You can afford it, white man; I cannot.

I’m sure that was a Central Casting body-double for Middleton in front of the Dollar Tree. It wasn’t? I cannot disclose what she said, or her hubby will have us all killed. Don’t be fooled by Prince Charles looking goofy, and why in God’s name did “nobody” Charles E. Hughes ask me what I thought of Camilla? I believe I said, a long time ago, “If they get married, the English people will get used to her.” And? They did! Ready for King Charlie? What number Charles would that be? Thank heavens for Wikipedia!

Given I’m delusional, think I’m the King of Siam, and never saw Yul Brenner talking to momma backstage, when Dr. Finkle sees me sleep 8 hours, I will not be killed-off like a rebel rock star. When Dr. Finkle hears me make sense all day, I will be told I’m not “mental,” and we are going to some stupid disco. Then, I will have to pay a cover charge for Dr. Finkle to dance with big tattooed white guys and “persons of color.” This is O.K., especially if one of my secret pop star friends sneaks in the back door. Then, I can leave with her, the good doctor can take an Uber cab, and we will have a big argument back at the house around 3 a.m. Later, when the cops are called, they will say, “Bill, we are glad you have a girlfriend or two, but keep it down.”

After Dr. Finkle knocks out my pop star and the ambulance departs, I will make breakfast and say, “That was not very nice, but I’m sure she has health insurance.” A big veggie om, hash browns, and strong coffee cures all disputes. Though Dr. Finkle is getting old, she is like all women in their 40’s with raging pre-menopausal hormones. Therefore, a good way to prove that I still cook well, have not gone “crazy” since my last publication,* and I am indeed related to Howard is to have sex all day long. Then, I will be told I’m going to some stupid movie I did not make. Will pleading age and infirmity get me out of that? Oh no! More movies, more sex, and then I predict there will be an airline labor dispute, strike, or “slowdown” of some sort to keep her here longer.

The answer to all transportation dilemmas?

1-800-USA-RAIL