P&R Pete wrote:Willy, yer gonna be getting a fish in yer mailbox.
See? How many yokels know this trick? I'm snooping around- more to come. Petey is definitley not what he seems. This country bumpkin routine is a cover. Stay tuned.
Hobo Jungle
Tramp, For me it's just a matter of luck!! I use a cheesy Sony Cyber-shot set at 2.0 meg. I constantly screw with the time expose settings until I get it close. That's why Dennis gets paid the big money!!! Someday I swear I'm gonna get one of those nice ones with a white balance built into it!! But the Virginian is taking priority right now!! Who's buying? I'm broke!!! 
I guess the other 'bo's are out collecting firewood. Thanks for the drink. Cross your fingers because it's on Ebay now:
http://cgi.ebay.com/3rd-Rail-Sunset-Mod ... dZViewItem
I smell a Blue Ridge in my future!! That's a hell of an opening reserve!!! Heck, I might even bid on it!! Wait, I own it, never mind.
What are ya drinking to cool the coppers tonight?
PS I can change the auction description at any time as long as no one bids on it, if you have any suggestions let me know.
Cross your fingers because it's on Ebay now:
http://cgi.ebay.com/3rd-Rail-Sunset-Mod ... dZViewItem
I smell a Blue Ridge in my future!! That's a hell of an opening reserve!!! Heck, I might even bid on it!! Wait, I own it, never mind.
What are ya drinking to cool the coppers tonight?
PS I can change the auction description at any time as long as no one bids on it, if you have any suggestions let me know.
Last edited by 2railjon on Sat Mar 18, 2006 6:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Will
- Posts: 303
- Joined: Tue Mar 09, 2004 11:26 am
- Location: Formerly Delaware Water Gap, PA, now sweltering Miami
I was sitting in my Naugahyde chair, feet propped up on the desk, swilling Clan MacGregor, dragging on a cheap Phillie blunt and staring at the computer screen at a post by P & R Pete. Or rather staring at the location under his name.
Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA. Something didn’t add up. Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA - it was like a crappy tune you can’t get out of your head. And then the light broke like opening the blinds after a night of cheap sex. Maybe the $4.85 I spent on that two-week detective correspondence course I saw in Marvel Comics wasn’t a bum rap after all.
Orangeville, PA! Who the hell ever heard of oranges in Pennsy? Nobody, that’s who. Oranges in Florida, the Oranges in NJ even, but oranges in PA? I don’t think so. Something was fishy here and it wasn’t in my mailbox. I had to get some answers. I pulled on my pants, threw down the last of the MacGregor and headed out to remember where I parked the El Camino. I knew where to get answers and it wasn’t in PA.
The Tick Tock Diner, Route 3, Clifton, NJ. Saturday, March 18th, 2006. I pulled into the lot and went in. I headed for the kitchen, ignoring Angela, the tart waitress with the big eyes and even bigger lips.
“Smoking or non-smoking?” She yelled after me. I didn’t have time for this now.
In the kitchen I found the boys slapping around a chicken. I threw the chicken in the fryer.
“Ever hear of Orangeville, PA?”
Dead silence. I kept my hand in my coat. They started backing out of the room- all except Pinky. I was standing on his foot.
“I don’t know nothin’, Willie, I swear it!” Sweat it, he might have said; he was dripping like an AC in Havana. I grabbed his little tie and started twisting.
“How’d you like to end up like that chicken?” I asked him. “ Parmigiana. Maybe a small side of linguini. A little antipasto?” Keerist, I felt like a freakin’ menu board.
“All right, all right”, he said, “ Just get the hell off my foot.” I twisted harder. “Come back tomorrow afternoon at 3 and Angela will have something for you. I swear it.” There he went again with that swearing. I freakin’ hated swearing.
He was the only card in the deck, so I had to play it. I gave him one more twist and wiped a little Mayo on his face for good measure.
“Okay. But if you’re lying to me……” I’d let him finish that thought. I stared meaningfully at the slicer.
The next day I pulled into the Tick Tock lot at 3 sharp and went in. Angela was behind the counter- man she was looking good today.
“Smoking or non-smoking”, she said. What? What was she talking about? More fun and games? I had to think quick.
“Smoking.”
She smiled at me with those big brown eyes and reached behind the counter. For a split second I thought she was reaching for a piece, maybe a slice, probably a tart, but she pulled out a small package wrapped in plain brown paper and handed it to me.
“Come back later, big boy, and I’ll give you some salami.” Huh? My mind flashed to “The Crying Game”. I beat it.
As soon as I got home, I pulled the blinds and opened the package- carefully. Inside I found only an envelope and in the envelope, a single grainy, black and white photograph.
I couldn’t believe it! So that was it! P& R Pete was the notorious Lanzo Gotti, a.k.a. Lucky Lanzo. He also went as Mario Lanzo, a.k.a Super Mario, the notorious racketeer and consigliere. My hands were shaking.
He wasn’t a nice guy, he was a wiseguy. He wasn’t a good guy, he was a Goodfella.
But why was he posting on the Model Train Journal, an obscure internet forum with a handful of disgruntled OGR refugees, Charbonneau groupies and overweight middle-aged men who played choo choo?
Then I realized. It was the perfect cover. The flat feet would never look for him there. Inadvertently I had stumbled upon the biggest case of my career. Admittedly, the only other case I had was when my neighbor Mrs. Kowalski, lost her cat, but this was big, real big. Maybe I could justify that $4.85 yet. I broke the piggy bank and bought a one-way ticket to Miami.
…….to be continued.
Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA. Something didn’t add up. Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA, Orangeville, PA - it was like a crappy tune you can’t get out of your head. And then the light broke like opening the blinds after a night of cheap sex. Maybe the $4.85 I spent on that two-week detective correspondence course I saw in Marvel Comics wasn’t a bum rap after all.
Orangeville, PA! Who the hell ever heard of oranges in Pennsy? Nobody, that’s who. Oranges in Florida, the Oranges in NJ even, but oranges in PA? I don’t think so. Something was fishy here and it wasn’t in my mailbox. I had to get some answers. I pulled on my pants, threw down the last of the MacGregor and headed out to remember where I parked the El Camino. I knew where to get answers and it wasn’t in PA.
The Tick Tock Diner, Route 3, Clifton, NJ. Saturday, March 18th, 2006. I pulled into the lot and went in. I headed for the kitchen, ignoring Angela, the tart waitress with the big eyes and even bigger lips.
“Smoking or non-smoking?” She yelled after me. I didn’t have time for this now.
In the kitchen I found the boys slapping around a chicken. I threw the chicken in the fryer.
“Ever hear of Orangeville, PA?”
Dead silence. I kept my hand in my coat. They started backing out of the room- all except Pinky. I was standing on his foot.
“I don’t know nothin’, Willie, I swear it!” Sweat it, he might have said; he was dripping like an AC in Havana. I grabbed his little tie and started twisting.
“How’d you like to end up like that chicken?” I asked him. “ Parmigiana. Maybe a small side of linguini. A little antipasto?” Keerist, I felt like a freakin’ menu board.
“All right, all right”, he said, “ Just get the hell off my foot.” I twisted harder. “Come back tomorrow afternoon at 3 and Angela will have something for you. I swear it.” There he went again with that swearing. I freakin’ hated swearing.
He was the only card in the deck, so I had to play it. I gave him one more twist and wiped a little Mayo on his face for good measure.
“Okay. But if you’re lying to me……” I’d let him finish that thought. I stared meaningfully at the slicer.
The next day I pulled into the Tick Tock lot at 3 sharp and went in. Angela was behind the counter- man she was looking good today.
“Smoking or non-smoking”, she said. What? What was she talking about? More fun and games? I had to think quick.
“Smoking.”
She smiled at me with those big brown eyes and reached behind the counter. For a split second I thought she was reaching for a piece, maybe a slice, probably a tart, but she pulled out a small package wrapped in plain brown paper and handed it to me.
“Come back later, big boy, and I’ll give you some salami.” Huh? My mind flashed to “The Crying Game”. I beat it.
As soon as I got home, I pulled the blinds and opened the package- carefully. Inside I found only an envelope and in the envelope, a single grainy, black and white photograph.
I couldn’t believe it! So that was it! P& R Pete was the notorious Lanzo Gotti, a.k.a. Lucky Lanzo. He also went as Mario Lanzo, a.k.a Super Mario, the notorious racketeer and consigliere. My hands were shaking.
He wasn’t a nice guy, he was a wiseguy. He wasn’t a good guy, he was a Goodfella.
But why was he posting on the Model Train Journal, an obscure internet forum with a handful of disgruntled OGR refugees, Charbonneau groupies and overweight middle-aged men who played choo choo?
Then I realized. It was the perfect cover. The flat feet would never look for him there. Inadvertently I had stumbled upon the biggest case of my career. Admittedly, the only other case I had was when my neighbor Mrs. Kowalski, lost her cat, but this was big, real big. Maybe I could justify that $4.85 yet. I broke the piggy bank and bought a one-way ticket to Miami.
…….to be continued.
Will
Pennsy, still the Standard, or whatever.
Pennsy, still the Standard, or whatever.
Hey in the camp, can I come in? I got a full quart bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand, and in the other, guess what, a dozen fresh done wings with Jamaican Jerk seasonin', and maybe you guys might be hungry, what?
If you agree with the Progressives, it's freedom of speech. If you disagree, it's hate speech. There are no alternatives.
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