Helped the Oglet with her Chemistry homework last night.
Her Chem teacher is hurried and less than adequately explanatory, so she wanted to spend a bit more time understanding, and I uncovered some still-functioning brain cells that I figured were dessicated lumps of dust on the floor next to the toilet in a seedy motel in San Dimas. Here a guy spends good money on a weekend with the hookers and everclear seeking to burn that shit out of his brain, and those memories turn up forty years later, working like they had never been melon-balled out by a mexican girl named arlene with daisy dukes and a muffintop.
10 comments Og | Uncategorized
That’s… some memorable imagery there.
Rats. Now I have to go wash out my mind’s eye with soap. I hope you’re satisfied.
Try lysol. it’s got that nice tingle.
Bacargi 151 was my drink of choice in the mid 60’s for such a purpose.
Second sentence=Pretty much literary gold.
Boy! That one traveled about like a Rambler with loose ball joints, there. Blown ALL over the road.
M
Imagine MY surprise!
hey, I was ticked shitless to be USEFUL at something.
I spent two weeks in San Dimas one night.
Oh, God, innit true, Skip!
With apologies to Slim Pickens, “You use yer mouth purtier than a $20 dollar whore, Mr Og.”