I can't even watch... Hank's got a pile of skins
and disreputable-looking blankets... I'm not one
to talk about bedding...I certainly have no "moral authority".
My bed is rarely pristine... In fact, I've been told my bed
looks "NASTY"
bbbbbb by pretty much every woman who has seen my bed
in the last decade.... years ago that would be maybe ten
gals a week ( who'd SEEN my bed, not necessary leapt
into bed with me) In the last decade, what? How many
women had seen my bed?
Three? Of course, up here... if they see my bed,
they almost never leave without "seeing" me.
They don't always have a lot of choice in the matter.
(Now...this last statement is not true - it's meant to be funny,
but I realize almost everybody will be offended by it...
so, I disavow it.)
Ten to one you haven't heard the word, "disavow"
this week... Have you?
Two Otters ( float planes)
landed on the River last year... They landed
on the wrong river, but no one in this town (village?
mini-burg?)... No one was complaining. The
planes carried three stewardesses in training...
And the pilots and three women were stumbling
up the hill.... I went down to greet them.
I had to move fast before they realized they weren't in Inuvik, Tuktoyattuk, or Normal Wells... so I led them
into Artie's Bar and Grill.
"Women," I said, "This is Artie."
"Artie.... these are women."
I don't think Artie has touched a woman in six
years, and looking in the back window of Matilda's
caravan doesn't count....
Artie's the only man in town that Matilda
refuses to have any kind of sexual relations with...
Everybody else finds some kind of relief at Matilda's...
She makes Bertie ejaculate into his shoes
by the door, but at least Bertie finds relief.
Artie has to peep in her back window...
and scurry home to do whatever he has to do...!
But now these three stewardesses in powder blue
skirts, sitting at Artie's bar , smoking with their nylon
legs crossed high up... Gulp... i felt a hot rush of blood
to my balls just writing that last paragraph!
Anyway, I was talking about my bed. I coax
one of the stewardesses into my bunker. She takes
one look at my bed and says, "Looks like someone died
in it... if you want sex with me, it's not going to
happen in that bed....Then she looks around, says:
"Matter of fact, if you want to have
sex with me, it's not going to happen in this apartment -
we'll have to do it outside!"
So that's what we did. I still have bites in
places I can't scratch.
I can only imagine where her bites are...
and I better not think about it just now - if I ever
want to finish this article.
Some of the rock up here is very smooth.
That's where I laid her down... On a smooth curved
flat stone. That's where we did the dirty deed. And
that's where she called out to her ancestors
under the voyeuristic stars.
And if the stars weren't watching,
you can bet someone else was... "Artie!"
"Beat it, Artie!"
I'm in no position to criticize
anyone's sexuality, but... that Artie... What a
pervert!
So Hank has finished making his doggie
bed in the corner... and I hear the sound of
pages turning.
"What you reading?" I ask.
"Kuntz!" is his one word reply.
"Lay some quotes on me," I say.
Hank, the erstwhile reporter
quotes: "I punch therefore I am."
(Can't argue with that)
"Only a fool writes for anything but money!"
(Not original, but nicely pugnacious)
'IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU'RE TOO CLOSE!"
If you're searching out some guy's philosophy,
it's said you're "looking for Heraclitus".... and so on.
But this guy's an offensive dickhead...
Is it really worthwhile, looking for Kuntz?
What else are we going to do up here?
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