Saturday, March 31, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Monday, March 5th, was fried catfish day in the City of
“Pammy,” City Manager Mike West called her out, “Come sit with us.”
Pam let out a sigh, then sat down with Mike West and City Attorney Freddie Len White.
“Afternoon,” she said.
“Mmm,” Len mumbled as he chewed at his piece of fried catfish.
“You gonna eat that hush puppy?” Mike West asked as he poked his finger in her plate.
“Um, no. You can have it.”
“Look here Pammy, commission meeting is tomorrow. Can you print out copies of something, anything, to look like official paperwork? Utilities collections for the past three months would be good, I can BS about that for a while to change the subject if need be,” Mike West asked.
“Sure, I can do tha…” Pam’s voice faded as Hamp Baxley entered the cafeteria at exactly the same time as Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gee’s started playing on the loud speakers. She could tell by the way he used his walk, his suit slacks gently hugging his firm buttocks, he was a woman’s man, no time to talk.
As he walked by their table, West stuck his foot out and tripped Baxley. His lunch tray floated up in the air as he tumbled to the floor, then the tray landed on his head. Pam was shocked. Freddie Len White, who was at the time nibbling on a fried catfish tail, thought that was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
“Boy that’s the funniest thing I ever seen,” Len said as he slapped his knee several times; his teeth black with specks of catfish tail.
Mike West was spitting chunks of hush puppy as he laughed. “I heard that Len.”
Pam reached down to help Baxley to his feet. She wiped coleslaw from his head.
“My hair!” Baxley screamed. “I spend a lot of time working on my hair. Now yous got coleslaw in it. Don’t mess with the hair.”
“Awe hell, don’t get your panties in a wad,” West said with a mouthful of hush puppies, “It’s all good.”
“Yeah, you tell him Mikey,” Len said.
“I oughta kick your,” Baxley said approaching West.
“Stop it,” Pam pleaded, placing a hand up to block them. Baxley moved forward, which put Pam’s hand on his rock hard abs. She had no doubt he could handle himself but knew the decorum of the lunchroom was no place for such shenanigans. “Don’t stoop to their level.”
“I’ll see yous guys at the commission meeting tomorrow,” Baxley said as he stormed off.
Pam turned to see Freddie Len with her catfish. “Hey, that’s mine.”
“I’m just eatin the tail. It’s the best part.” Len said.
“I heard that,” West said.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
“Man, Yes We Can got it goin on,” Downtown said enthusiastically, adding “I ain’t got to teach nobody how to read no scales no more. Brothers used to be saying Downtown, how many grams in an ounce. Whatever y’all be teaching them over there, word up, it’s workin?”
Director of Communications, Twyla Williams appeared dumbfounded by the donation and Downtown’s comments. She did little communicating aside from a shocked look on her face and her mouth hanging open during the presentation.
“Gimme some love girl,” Downtown said as he rejected the customary handing over of the check with a handshake pose. Downtown instead held the cash in his most earnest gangster pose, eight one hundred dollar bills fanned out spectacularly, including pulling up his shirt to show a pistol tucked into his pants. He went on to describe another youngster who benefited from Yes We Can’s educational programs, Dontae Jones.
“The other day two of my boys were bout to throw down over who gun was best and my boy Dontae, he just got kicked out for dealin, Dontae said “Technically the forty five has a larger diameter, whereas the nine millimeter, due to its smaller size can carry almost twice as many bullets. I have found the forty caliber to be an honest compromise. Ole Dontae sounded like a professor at Wallace. Too bad T-bone shot him for being uppity. It’s all good in the hood.”
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Aside from the occasional purse snatching,
It was the annual Attorneys versus Republicans charity softball game, formerly known as the Attorneys versus Elected Officials game, but since no one has a chance on the Democratic ticket, they changed the name.
The stands were full of people expecting fireworks from Culver and Gamble. Their most recent riff upset the delicate balance of decorum at the normally serene
Culver, who took extra chondroitin with his Centrum Silver that morning to loosen his aging joints, was prepared to bring the heat. He shook off the first three signals from the catcher. The catcher knew the only other pitch in Culver’s repertoire was The Wildcat. He let out a sigh and dug his cleats into the red dirt, preparing for the pitch, which could go anywhere.
Culver wound up and lobbed the ball underhanded. Several seconds later, Gamble ducked to prevent the pitch from hitting his head. A gasp came from the crowd, a group of bingo supporters chuckled and high-fived each other.
With ice cold composure, Gamble stepped back in the batter’s box and prepared for the next pitch. Culver knew he could do this three more times and would enjoy each of them. The next pitch he lobbed with a little extra juice. After some time the ball reached the vicinity of Gamble’s head and he dove for the ground.
The crowd became more raucous, bingo supporters laughed and cheered. Several prominent citizens booed the pitcher.
Culver knew this would upset Gamble to no end. He expected Gamble would jump up, open his mouth to spout all kinds of whereas nonsense and be ejected from the game, but he didn’t.
Gamble calmly stood up and brushed himself off. He resumed his position in the batter’s box, but this time he held the bat out in the strike zone with his right hand and tapped the meat of the bat with his left hand, then pointed to the heavens, just beyond left field.
This made Culver’s bald spot redder than his beard; luckily he was wearing a baseball cap. Culver accepted the challenge to strike Gamble out. He wound up and released the pitch with all his might.
Gamble struck the ball with full force and watched it rocket straight into Culver’s face. He smiled a little as he began to trot to first base. Half way there he noticed Culver lying on the ground and was not moving. Several commission members gathered around their fallen pitcher, some of them began vomiting. Gamble turned and ran to the pitcher’s mound. When he arrived and saw Culver his heart sank. He had knocked Culver’s beard clean off his face. The site disgusted him a little but he was filled with dread as Culver was not moving. “Mister Culver!” he screamed, but Culver did not respond. The beard, lying a few feet away, tried to crawl back to its face. It struggled, shook violently, then collapsed.
Gamble dove for Culver and began chest compressions. He thought about mouth to mouth but was truly repulsed at the site of Culver without his beard. “Mister Culver!” he screamed over and over. Then Culver gasped and coughed. He opened his eyes and looked over to see his beard lying there lifeless and let out a blood curdling scream.
Culver’s beard was placed in an iced cooler was airlifted to
A press conference was held with Mike Gamble and
“Whereas my temper got the best of me today, we must say goodbye to Mister Culver’s beard, nothing can be done and for that I am sorry. Whereas Mister Culver has only a limited amount of hair left and whereas I have an overabundance of back hair Doctor Evans will attempt the first ever back to face hair transplant. It’s a risky procedure as I could lose the ability to, to speak.” Gamble said as he broke into tears.
Everyone at the press conference agreed it was well worth the risk.
“Let’s do this,” Doctor Evans said.
“Wait. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I hope the people will accept my apology. That beard has served the county for decades. That’s a long time. How long has he been a commissioner? Does he even have another job?” Gamble pondered.
“Quit stalling. Let’s go,” Doctor Evans said as he escorted Gamble away.
The procedure was a success. Both men survived the operation and the transplanted hair took to Culver’s face.
As he sat in his hospital bed recovering that night, Culver’s new beard of velvety soft blonde hair began itching fiercely and suddenly he was overwhelmed with the idea of forming an independent committee to review Center Stage.