Storytelling

A good storyteller is hard to find.

This has been true historically, but recent years have seen an even greater retraction of good storytelling.

The good news about a LCL (low cash lifestyle) is it provides good odds to find and experience a new story. The common elements of communal living, shit-tastic jobs, public transportation, nakedness, alcoholism, poverty, and proximity to the deranged generates a plentiful bounty of storymaking opportunities.

We are trying in our own little way to keep this storytelling tradition alive. I have a few personal stories I regularly drop that can keep a party alive: Old Charles, Schwarzenegger Kid, Manimal and the Gay Bar... the list goes on!

Now, about the stories. A good story usually entails a few common elements. They often include a crazy person, or some nakedness/dicks (as in dangly daddy parts). Usually there is a surprised person/victim, along with the use of drugs and alcohol. The really good ones include Arnold Schwarzenegger and accidental homoeroticism. They almost always embody something gross, and they generally embrace colorful descriptions.

To bring these concepts home, a short, 4 paragraph story entailing some of the above noted elements.

Last week (this was mid-December), myself and my heterosexual male life partner Brian went to Barbara Lee's for a late dinner. Barbara Lee's is a great little grease emporium dating to the 1890s. It's the place to go to get your face caved in, whether by the bacon or by the elbows of some drunk patrons. I mean, the place is old. The once-white walls are darkened by years of a grease and smoke that no paint can contain. The staff of ex-strippers and trailer dwellers give prompt service with a smile, albeit a toothless one. I ordered a "Mexican" breakfast, and Brian got the loaded omelet (the cook laughed with glee!). This is the kind of meal that would make Homer Simpson blush.

After gorging ourselves, we began to make our way back to Brian's place (we had carpooled). It was very cold and dark out; the roads had begun to ice over again. It resembled a painting of early industrial revolution London. For reaons lost to myself, I chose a route through our downtown. As we headed south on 1st street, we had to take a left due to a water-main break.

As we took the detour turn at a cautious five miles per hour, my headlights lit up Kentucky street. It was a dark street; the buildings, cars, and road all took the same dirty gray-brown hue. Everything was that color, with the exception of the dude poppin' a squat next to the road.

You know that, if you are fair skinned, your ass is going to be pretty white. In the wintertime, it somehow becomes reflective. So, there was myself and Brian, having just enjoyed a meal, seeing a homeless dude drop the deuce on the sidewalk. He was there, just a grinning, squeezing one out. There was something so shocking in seeing that bright, white, mysteriously hairless ass squatting on the side of the road. It was horrific!

Wasn't that just delightful?!?

You can expect additional entertaining and enlightening stories to be posted in due time.

Cheers!