BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…how to walk in high heels. Trust me, she knows… But, I suppose I should back that up with an explanation.

Now, I have to begin with the fact that we are not talking about E K here. This is not to say that she doesn’t have the aforementioned talent, because she does, in spades. However, in this particular instance I am waxing poetic (as you will see) about another young lady.

As you all well know, I travel a fair bit for book tours and the like – that much is a given. And, during my travels I see things. Sometimes they are frightening, sometimes they are strange, sometimes they are interesting, and sometimes I have no clue what the hell I am witnessing.

And then, there’s Leg Girl.

The Legend Of Leg Girl began several years ago on a weekend trip to Nashville, Tennessee to do a book signing and seminar. My dear friend and fellow author, Tish Owen, also owns a bookstore called Goddess And The Moon. I’ve done several signings there, and I always have a blast hanging out with her, her clientele, her husband Patrick who is my cigar smoking and booze drinking buddy, and all of my other friends there in “music city”.

Well, as the true story goes, one Saturday night after spending the day presenting a workshop on writing, and then signing a mess of books in one of the meeting rooms at the shopping mall across from where Goddess and the Moon was then located – it has since moved – we were going back to the store for a bit of a soiree. Wine, beer, booze, cheese, crackers, munchies, etc. You know the drill. Folks were going to come by, visit, have books signed, get a photo op or two, and all that jazz. Typical book store event sort of stuff. A great chance to just chill out and relax.

Unfortunately, the day had been so hectic for poor Tish and her staff that she had not yet had the opportunity to go pick up the aforementioned noshing items and beverages. Since I had nothing to do between finishing the seminar and the start of the soiree, I volunteered to ride along with Tish and help with the toting, lifting and other such stuff at the grocery store. And so, off we went…

No more had we pulled into the parking lot and begun our search for a space than out in front of us steps “Leg Girl”… All of mid twenties, great hair, hourglass figure, and most prominently on display a set of legs that a Rockette would sell her soul to have. And, I do mean prominently on display, for you see, this entire package was wrapped in nothing more than a sheer blouse, blazer, flared miniskirt – and I do mean MINIskirt – and patent leather stiletto heeled pumps. This was despite the fact that we were at the end of November and the temperature was in the mid forties or thereabouts.

And no, she was NOT a figment of my hormone driven imagination. Tish saw her too. In fact, Tish saw her so well that she was infuriated…

Allow me to explain. You see, Leg Girl literally stepped right out in front of us and began to slowly saunter up the middle of the aisle in the parking lot. Not to the left, not to the right. She was smack dab in the middle of the lane and Tish was unable to get around her. And saunter Leg Girl did. Slowly, deliberately, and swaying with a rhythm that would bring any red-blooded heterosexual male to his knees.

Well, suffice it to say, I had no room on the floorboards in order to get on my knees, not that I didn’t try. Still, even though I was unable to assume the appropriate position of Goddess Worship, I was mesmerized. Tish, however, was most assuredly not. Somehow, and I don’t know how, through my hypnotic stupor I was able to recognize this fact and managed to persuade Tish not to run over Leg Girl – trust me, that took some doing because that was exactly what Tish was intending to do.

Ever since that day, Leg Girl has been a running joke between Tish and me. Every time she books me for a gig at the store, or at PUF, she asks if there is anything special I need, and I always reply, “I need Leg Girl to be my handler for the weekend.” (“Handler” as in liaison / gopher / assistant… Let’s keep it clean here folks…)

Fortunately for me, though always promised by Tish – followed by a healthy chuckle, of course – Leg Girl has never materialized for said duties. Not that I would complain, however E K probably wouldn’t be particularly excited by it. In fact, I’m not really sure which one of us she would kill first…

But anyway, the Legend Of Leg Girl kind of… well… ummm… the legend has legs so to speak – no pun intended. Really. Seriously… But, pun or no, the events of that evening actually inspired a lyrical parody, written by yours truly.

Maybe someday, if we happen to have someone on site who knows all the chords to the original song, I’ll get drunk enough to perform this ditty at PUF…

Leg Girl

(To the tune of Two Hangmen by Mason Proffit)

As I rolled into Nashville with my friend her name is Tish

I saw what I’ll relate to you and it was quite a pretty dish

It seems there was this woman, who had this pair of gams

They went all the way up to her neck, and that’s
where it began

The woman’s name was Leg Girl, the best that I could see

She like to show her legs off, and that’s okay with me

I guess she saw me coming, and donned that mini skirt

And stockings and stiletto heels just so she could
flirt

She walked across the parking lot, right down the center aisle

She swayed and sauntered like a dream, it really made me smile

She stopped a moment in our way and then she tossed her hair

The wind picked up and her miniskirt billowed with
much flair

The driver’s name was Tish Owen, she said this bitch is slow

I’m gonna run her over now if she doesn’t start to go

I said to Tish please don’t do that, I really like this sight

She went to all this trouble so just let her make my night.

The wind continued blowing and gave Leg Girl a goose

She moved a little faster now, but still shook her caboose

Tish was laughing hard at me, as I began to drool

Leg Girl was such an awesome treat that made me
act the fool

Tish finally found a parking space and pulled in with a squeal

Leg Girl was going into the store on teetering high heels

We followed along behind her, and then she disappeared

But I saw her again as we checked out, with a case
or two of beeeeeeeeeeeeeer…

(Chorus)

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

(Repeat Whole Bunches Of Times)

One more time!

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

More to come…

Murv

THE PUF REPORT: Part 5 of 5

Meet “Paducka.” He’s a Pirate Duck, and as you can see from the picture he is also a bit of an antenna adornment for E Kay’s Evilmobile. (Given the curve in the antenna, you may also have noticed that  in this particular snapshot he has a headwind blowing up his duck butt at about 80 MPH.)

I’m sure you are probably wondering why anyone would name a Piratized Rubber Duckie something like “Paducka”. I mean, after all, he’s both a bath toy and a spyglass wielding Pirate, so shouldn’t he have a more nautical, salty, scary, eye-patchy, sword wielding, buccaneerish name?

I dunno, something like “Yellow Beard”… No, wait, that was a movie… Okay… I’ve got it… How about “Duck Billed”… Or better yet, “Captain Jack Mallard”?

Still no, eh?

Well, I can understand that. But, of course, I still haven’t explained why he has a name like “Paducka”… If he was made in Pennsylvania, that might make a bit of sense, but from what we can tell he was injection molded somewhere in Taiwan. Therefore, I suppose “Peking Duck” could have worked, considering… But, no… We have a tendency to pick names that reflect a moment or place in time. Such as one of our rescued cats being named “Asphalt” because we plucked him, half starved, from the middle of the highway.

Okay, okay… Stop chasing the chickens, or ducks as it may be. I know, I know…

So, why did we name the antenna bobble “Paducka”? Simple. Someone at PUF impaled him on our antenna while we were in Burns, Tennessee, but we didn’t notice he was there until we reached Paducah, Kentucky.

Seriously. We didn’t. It was this sudden, collective, “WTF moment” as soon as he was noticed. Shortly afterward, when we made a pit stop, we also found three different sized skull stickers affixed in the corner of the back window. Kind of like the Daddy, Mommy, Offspring “family” stickers you see on the Soccer Mom Mobiles.

I guess skulls not only fit for Pirates, but for the Evilmobile too.

Speaking of Evil, have a look to the right. For all of you who never believed me about the whole Queen Bitch of the Whole Fucking Universe thing, there you go.  E K and Kristin Madden wearing their official QB of the WFU t-shirts. Now, if that isn’t evil (X2) looking for a place to happen, I have no idea what is. The only way to make it worse is for Morrison to throw on her shirt and get involved – as well as all of the other QB of the WFU’s the Fearsome Threesome have inducted into the order over the past year.

So… About the whole “She Loves Me” thing… It actually ties right in with the evilness of the E K, but I’m sure you had already figured that out. But, to properly tell the story I have to run after this pullet over here.

You see, when I sleep at night I kinda look like a lazy F-15 Pilot. What I mean is, since I’m sleeping I obviously don’t look like I’m flying (and let’s just forgo any nocturnal joystick jokes here, okay?) However, I do have a face full of gear that would suggest otherwise. With regard to the flying thing, not the joystick… Sheesh.

The thing is, I have a wicked bad case of sleep apnea, and it’s not just because I’m a fat guy. It’s also because something is wrong with my brain. But, we already knew that. So, anyway, in order to actually sleep and not spend the night drifting in and out as I snore, snort, gasp, gulp, and otherwise just quit breathing altogether, I have to use a CPAP machine (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure)… Basically it’s a fancy, medical grade, regulated air pump that forces my body to breathe while I’m asleep.

I’ve been attached to one of these for several years. In fact, I even own two. One that stays home, as well as a travel sized model that bops around the country with me. I first discovered I needed it when I woke up in the middle of the night to find E K kneeling on my chest with one hand clamped around my nose, and the other hand over my mouth. She says she was just trying to make me stop snoring, but I’m still not entirely sure about that… Especially since I still occasionally wake at night to find her sitting on my chest again, crimping the hose, then letting it go, then crimping the hose a little longer, then letting it go, ad infinitum… All while grinning this evil, wicked grin and giggling.

Let me tell you, it can be just a bit disconcerting…

…As can a sudden pain in your shoulder that seems to come from nowhere.

Yeah… We’re back onto a new chicken. But, it’s the correct chicken this time.

I felt the pain, not entirely sure what it was. Given that it was in my left shoulder, I was understandably concerned. For some reason I was also somewhat dazed, even though the pain was in my shoulder, not my head. I seemed to recall there having been some manner of noise that accompanied the discomfort, but I was damned if I could figure out what it was. I looked around, saw nothing but asphalt slipping past the window, E K behind the wheel, and Johnathan & the O-spring in the back. Since there wasn’t a repeat, I allowed myself to relax.

When it happened again, I was much more cognizant of the hollow, but no less frightening noise that sounded something like, “SKKKRXXXXX SluuuuuuuuggggBnnnuuuggguh SNORT SCHNORT SKRNNNNNRRRXXX OUCH Whaaaaaa?”

Yes. Somewhere along the road home, I fell asleep in the passenger seat while E K endeavored to make the Evilmobile reach the necessary ground speed to become airborne. Since I don’t have a D C adapter for my CPAP, not to mention that I wasn’t intending to fall asleep in the first place, much snoring ensued. E K, wanting to keep me alive so that she could torture me some more did the only thing she could do since she was also occupied with driving.

Yeah, she yelled Slug Bug and hit me.

You know, I never did see the VW. Something tells me it was just an excuse to reach over and smack me. But, I actually find that to be a bit heartening. I guess I must be growing on her, because she’s never felt the need to have an excuse to hit me before…

More to come…

Murv