Ole Blue the Heretic, one of those bastards

who's a better writer than I [green envy-face*], has reminded me of a story a guy told me when I lived in Arizona (Grand Canyon Village, delivering pop for Fred Harvey, Inc.).

The guy was nicknamed Worm-Boy by one of our co-workers, Greg A___, who may well have been the biggest smart-ass I ever met (the parenthetical point that needs to be made here would make a large post of its own, but suffice to say that #2 had mental problems and wasn't nearly as funny) because he's about 5' 7", 130#... He made a meager living as a pool shark in California for a couple years before taking the warehouse job at the Canyon. He taught me to play and let me beat him a couple times before mopping the floor with me.

Anyway, Worm-Boy took his girl-friend to an auto-show in a big arena one Friday night. He's a real cowboy lookin' dude, and I picture him in a cowboy hat, though he probably wasn't wearing one that night. But he was wearing cowboy boots. And jeans and a t-shirt.

They bought a big 40-oz cup of coke and he drank most of it while they wandered around looking at the hot-rods and concept cars on display, and after passing up a few early calls of nature he decided it was time to hit the men's room. The outside wall of the arena had doors like every 25 feet and none of them marked, so he walked up to this great big dude who was leaning with his arms crossed next to one and asked, "Is this the men's room?"

"Yeah," the big dude answered, so Worm-Boy pushed it open. There was nothing but blackness on the other side, but suddenly he was violently shoved through the door. At which point the vague thought formed in his head that, as he put it, "The guy was either going to rob me or rape me, so I spun around with a wild haymaker and just happened to catch the guy in the chin. I couldn't see a damn thing! It was just the purest luck! The guy bounced off the wall and I kicked as hard as I could. His legs directed my pointy cowboy boot straight to the target.

"He went down and just laid there moaning.

"Well, I still had to piss like a race-horse, so I pulled it out and pissed right on him. It was a long piss, and he didn't even change positions.

"But the bitch of it all was that I had to pay again to get back in! I told 'em the whole story! I even said, 'He's probably still back there, layin' in a puddle of piss!' but they made me pay again anyway!"
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This is "Worm-Boy's" story, and he deserves the credit. I still have all the letters that I wrote to my -now- wife and I'm sure I have his real name in there somewhere. If he wants credit, I'll give it to him.

I envy his manliness.

*Btw, envy is a joke emotion to me; hatred isn't the only possible emotion that can follow it--in fact it shouldn't. You should feel admiration and renewed inspiration in your own endeavors. Individuality will ensure that your results will be different and valuable in their own way if you pursue them to completion.