Dufus
Congratulations to Lorrie and youself.
Will the Mrs. be joining us on the Form.
Best of wishes.
Hobo Jungle
-
P&R Pete
Well, well, well!! Ain't this a kick! Duf, bud, you've made my day. I'm sitting here grinning from ear to ear. I'm completely thrilled for the both of you.
I got re-married at the age of 45, also to a divorcée, (a redhead, no less!), and it was, bar none, the wisest, soundest, most intelligent decision I ever made. Ever. Now, older and bald-er, penniless, farther behind than ever on her list of my projects, and 3 kids later, I am more satisfied than I have ever been in my entire life.
Ain't it true how all of us, each, live many lifetimes in our years on this Earth. Our best, from Kimberly and me, Lorrie and Harry, to this your next journey!
Smart lad, too, not to let your bride see the likes of us Jungle reprobates and miscreants ('Dogboy' mostly comes to mind) before your "I do"s!
Now we all part of the family!
And if Lorrie's a redhead, I'll pray for you extra, bud.
Since she up and got hitched to a barkeep, you know I'm already praying for her!
So how 'bout it, guys! Let's pass around the Gold(tm), and raise our hobo cups to the newlyweds: Long may they reign!
And welcome to the Jungle, Lorrie! A honeymoon in a boxcar...you're our kind of woman!
I got re-married at the age of 45, also to a divorcée, (a redhead, no less!), and it was, bar none, the wisest, soundest, most intelligent decision I ever made. Ever. Now, older and bald-er, penniless, farther behind than ever on her list of my projects, and 3 kids later, I am more satisfied than I have ever been in my entire life.
Ain't it true how all of us, each, live many lifetimes in our years on this Earth. Our best, from Kimberly and me, Lorrie and Harry, to this your next journey!
Smart lad, too, not to let your bride see the likes of us Jungle reprobates and miscreants ('Dogboy' mostly comes to mind) before your "I do"s!
Now we all part of the family!
And if Lorrie's a redhead, I'll pray for you extra, bud.
Since she up and got hitched to a barkeep, you know I'm already praying for her!
So how 'bout it, guys! Let's pass around the Gold(tm), and raise our hobo cups to the newlyweds: Long may they reign!
And welcome to the Jungle, Lorrie! A honeymoon in a boxcar...you're our kind of woman!
-
Will
- Posts: 303
- Joined: Tue Mar 09, 2004 11:26 am
- Location: Formerly Delaware Water Gap, PA, now sweltering Miami
Wow, Duf. I raise a glass of Gold to you. I sincerely hope it works out for the best.
My second wife never really accepted how close I was to my kids. She would have preferred if there was no trace of my first marriage, which was impossible of course because of the kids. Always felt squeezed.
Sorry, don't want to bring you down. Hope you are off on a quiet, romantic honeymoon.
My second wife never really accepted how close I was to my kids. She would have preferred if there was no trace of my first marriage, which was impossible of course because of the kids. Always felt squeezed.
Sorry, don't want to bring you down. Hope you are off on a quiet, romantic honeymoon.
Will
Pennsy, still the Standard, or whatever.
Pennsy, still the Standard, or whatever.
-
Bindle Stiff
- Posts: 25
- Joined: Fri Mar 12, 2004 4:39 pm
- Location: Colorado
Dang it!
Ya can't let them kids outta yer sight fer two minutes and they run amuck! Duffie I thot ya had more sense!
Serussly Duf, I'z wishin' the best uv everthin'! I hope ewe two luv burds have a long life together wif a hopper car full uv all the joys ya can stan'.
I want to raze ma hand wif a toast of Idyuoo Gol' [TM] to the bof uv you! (Duffie, gif thet purty Lorrie a juicy smack right on the face fer yer ol' buddy Stiff!)
Yore faiful pal,
Stiff
Ya can't let them kids outta yer sight fer two minutes and they run amuck! Duffie I thot ya had more sense!
Serussly Duf, I'z wishin' the best uv everthin'! I hope ewe two luv burds have a long life together wif a hopper car full uv all the joys ya can stan'.
I want to raze ma hand wif a toast of Idyuoo Gol' [TM] to the bof uv you! (Duffie, gif thet purty Lorrie a juicy smack right on the face fer yer ol' buddy Stiff!)
Yore faiful pal,
Stiff
Dufus, How nice of you to share that wonderful news with us strange hobos. I wish you and Lorrie the greatest happiness. Just make sure she takes her beaker of Gold[TM] every day. Remember the famous slogan "A glass of Gold[TM] a day, keeps the doldrums away."
May your honeymoon last forever.
May your honeymoon last forever.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
Tramp tries to get the fire going. He blows on the paper starting to catch flame, but jerks his head back as the air in front of him ignites. "Darn me," he mutters. "Best Jungle bartender ever goes off and gets married. Whoever heard-a such a thing. And then that Will got some kind implant in his brain--some old cur called Melvin got the controls. Jackie gone off. Petey has something with his stomach. Now I'm just settin here alone, waitin to hear the cry of a whistle." He puffs again and nearly burns his stubble. "Wonder where Dave is at?" he grumbles. "No one ever went to find him. Whole damn thing is fallin apart." He grabs his warm ale and drinks.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
Hiya Tramp!
Scuse me while I pull off my shoes and stuff some more paper in! Kinda nippy tonight! Nice fire ya got goin'.
Say, where is everyone? They all skip town?
Ah, never mind. That fire feels good and the stars are shinin'. Let me get my pipe goin here. That's better.
All's well!
Scuse me while I pull off my shoes and stuff some more paper in! Kinda nippy tonight! Nice fire ya got goin'.
Say, where is everyone? They all skip town?
Ah, never mind. That fire feels good and the stars are shinin'. Let me get my pipe goin here. That's better.
All's well!
Dr. John
"With duct tape and WD-40 I can fix anything!"
"With duct tape and WD-40 I can fix anything!"
Got a good story I heard down at the mission last week. Seems there wuz this preacher that was a mite long winded. (Can't imagine that, heh heh!). Anyway, he was on a long roll one Sunday and folks wuz squirmin' and checkin' their watches, 'til finally, one feller, just got up and headed for the door.
Well now, this preacher got his dander up and decided to exert some pastoral authority. "Joe Camp" the preacher bellowed, "Just where do you think you're goin?"
Joe replied, "Preacher, I'm gone to get a haircut!"
"A haircut?" the parson thundered, "Shouldn't you have taken care of that before you got here?"
"Preacher," Joe drawled, "When I got here, I didn't NEED a haircut!"
I gotta tell ya, I nearly busted a gut when I heard that one! Any of you fellers got any stories?
Well now, this preacher got his dander up and decided to exert some pastoral authority. "Joe Camp" the preacher bellowed, "Just where do you think you're goin?"
Joe replied, "Preacher, I'm gone to get a haircut!"
"A haircut?" the parson thundered, "Shouldn't you have taken care of that before you got here?"
"Preacher," Joe drawled, "When I got here, I didn't NEED a haircut!"
I gotta tell ya, I nearly busted a gut when I heard that one! Any of you fellers got any stories?
Dr. John
"With duct tape and WD-40 I can fix anything!"
"With duct tape and WD-40 I can fix anything!"
This poem doesn't have trains. But since there are so many cars guys, and since it has beer, I posted it. Forgive me—it's a favorite of mine. I actually got paid when this one was published.
BLESS THE OPEN DOOR
We sit on the burning bench seat
Of a 1970 Oldsmobile Cutlass,
One side torn like a plowed furrow,
That side sewn closed by a truck.
(She had walked back one night,
Found a chrome strip on the street,
Found a door handle half a block away,
These pieces seemed familiar,
Shiny trinkets in a nightmare.)
And now with me we sit
on this hot hot bench seat,
Past used car lots we drive,
Limp by in the wounded Cutlass
Searching for a southbound ride,
Evanston, Illinois to Laredo, Texas
Then Mexico, the land that draws dreams.
The August sun is a flare of desire,
The August heat a rising of blood,
My eyes lost in the bent neon
Of the bar signs singing in the shade.
And I turn to her—long red hair
Her pale skin glistening, moist
And I say: how about, how 'bout
A cold glass of draft beer.
And everything I know, all I feel
Is in this moment of passing
From the scorched pavement of the street
Through the open door of the barroom:
Into the empty afternoon barroom,
Into the large tidy clean barroom,
Into the cool shade of the barroom,
The fan-strummed quiet of the barroom
Smelling faintly of everything—
Of cleaning fluid, tobacco, humanity.
The long row of ordered stools,
The creak and scrape as we mount,
As we mount the joy of possibility,
My eyes released to the darkness,
My sticky arms resting on the cool dry wood.
And then the tap handle pulled back,
And the two glasses pearled with moisture,
And our hands reaching out touching wet cold
The anticipation of the first foamy sip.
My body slowly ebbing the irritation
Of scalded used cars and greedy salesmen;
I want to yell for just being,
For the fact that poetry can exist,
But instead I quietly look at her—
At the dripping glass at her lips,
At the way south waiting between us,
The burning Cutlass left in the sun.
BLESS THE OPEN DOOR
We sit on the burning bench seat
Of a 1970 Oldsmobile Cutlass,
One side torn like a plowed furrow,
That side sewn closed by a truck.
(She had walked back one night,
Found a chrome strip on the street,
Found a door handle half a block away,
These pieces seemed familiar,
Shiny trinkets in a nightmare.)
And now with me we sit
on this hot hot bench seat,
Past used car lots we drive,
Limp by in the wounded Cutlass
Searching for a southbound ride,
Evanston, Illinois to Laredo, Texas
Then Mexico, the land that draws dreams.
The August sun is a flare of desire,
The August heat a rising of blood,
My eyes lost in the bent neon
Of the bar signs singing in the shade.
And I turn to her—long red hair
Her pale skin glistening, moist
And I say: how about, how 'bout
A cold glass of draft beer.
And everything I know, all I feel
Is in this moment of passing
From the scorched pavement of the street
Through the open door of the barroom:
Into the empty afternoon barroom,
Into the large tidy clean barroom,
Into the cool shade of the barroom,
The fan-strummed quiet of the barroom
Smelling faintly of everything—
Of cleaning fluid, tobacco, humanity.
The long row of ordered stools,
The creak and scrape as we mount,
As we mount the joy of possibility,
My eyes released to the darkness,
My sticky arms resting on the cool dry wood.
And then the tap handle pulled back,
And the two glasses pearled with moisture,
And our hands reaching out touching wet cold
The anticipation of the first foamy sip.
My body slowly ebbing the irritation
Of scalded used cars and greedy salesmen;
I want to yell for just being,
For the fact that poetry can exist,
But instead I quietly look at her—
At the dripping glass at her lips,
At the way south waiting between us,
The burning Cutlass left in the sun.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
-
P&R Pete
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