>Life,
Liberty, and what did you say? – Got a gas can?<
Long ago, there was yet another controversy at 23rd & Saint
Louis Avenue. What’s the problem? Not only won’t Bill Hughes golf, he has
refused to caddy. The reason? “I don’t like those old [mafia] guys.” Yes, I
nailed it at age 11, and here’s how it went.
Like Howard, when Charles Hughes hit the golf ball, unlike my
human body lately, it went places. And, for several rounds of golf, Charlie would
not disabuse himself of “Bill the Caddy” as a viable concept. I said, over and
over, “I can’t hit the ball, I don’t like golf, and I won’t do it.” Why not? Apparently,
Russian troops were going to land on New Jersey’s shore if I failed to produce
the golf club fast enough.
I can handle pressure, but not about a fucking golf club. Charlie’s
lecture about the three wood clubs, I may have forgotten. The lecture included when
to use the clubs as I was thinking, “Mom will get me out of this.” On the
green, I was early to identify Charlie’s golfing weakness as he gyrated and
cursed over a missed putt. I ingeniously said, “Why not try a different putter?”,
and he did.
I think our Catholic uniform money went toward this magic
putter, then I got his lecture about the materials and craftsmanship that went
into the modern putter, circa 1965. Because of this weakness, Charles would too
often say, “That’s a bogey.” And? The young me said, “I know that, dad.” Me as
scorekeeper? I just didn’t get it, as with bowling.
Finally, Charles was cornered by two maternal uncles who said, “Charlie,
he just won’t do it.” As for the session at TOWER TEE, God above knows 40 years
later, he was still trying. On that occasion I said, “You can buy as many
buckets of balls you want, I can’t hit the damn ball.” The happy part of this
is, at age 73 the ball would go up in the lights and I still did not know where
it landed. The man could hit a golf ball straight, like Howard. Get it,
Halliburton?
I then began counseling Charlie on how someday he would be so
old, he could no longer play golf. Since I’m so opposed to covert anything, I
will disclose it was a GE phone on the wall at 11019 Molerus Drive when he
wistfully said, “Bill, this might be the last 18 holes.” I kind of liked the guy,
and not my evil relatives who apparently tossed him in in a VA grave with very
little fanfare. And the bigger insults are: a). The alleged family members knew
where I was “stuck.” b). It is apparently a family tradition to confiscate property.
Their problem? I’m not dead yet. I’m Howard’s son. Why do I yell at airplanes
at air shows? Because I can, and this is legal.
Meet E. UnqualliIfied Shrikus, Ph.D. He’s got the report!
“Mister Hughes has a long history of shouting at
airplanes under the influence of his DNA. This serious condition began with irrational
comments on the F-4 Phantom, and continued into adolescence with pathological remarks
about the Harrier Jump Jet. He was often heard making inappropriate remarks like,
‘How the fuck does it do that?’ This indicates a clear malfunction in the upper
corps cerebral text, manifested by...
314-877-0300
“Tonight, the show
is in Iowa to ask Republican candidates about Area 51 and DARPA flying
triangles. Our first guest is Deputy Sheriff Buttkiss, who saw a UFO from his
squad car in 1976, our Bicentennial year, Sheriff tell us about the…
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