Street Jimmy slept behind the Ale House garbage cans last night thanks to the nice weather. He scored for a scruffy mattress somewhere, so he's quite pleased. The big advantage to sleeping behind the garbage cans is Faggypants can't sneak the sweeping job away from him. Faggypants showed up high at nine this morning. He was very annoying.

  Street Jimmy showed up late and Faggypants swept the cigarettes. This upset Jimmy no end. I took Faggypants on a road trip. I needed to have someone help me measure a piece of property in Indiana. After an hour I wanted to throw a hand-grenade down his throat. The man never shuts up. 

  Big Dog resurfaced in Chicago during the middle of August. He explained to me the bad check statute of limitation laws in the various states. Dog was a better than average paper hanger, and he had managed to avoid getting busted for writing bad checks for  quite a few years. Somehow he  scored a job with the title  Midwest Sales Manger of  Square Two Golf Clubs. Within a couple of weeks he was wheeling and dealing golf equipment all over the Chicago area. 

  Dog sublet a condo on Surf Street. The move was vintage Dog. He signed a one-year lease, and paid first month,  last month and a Two-thousand dollar security deposit with a Canadian check. It was a nice place, nicely furnished, and not too far from where I was living at the time. In the next two weeks Dog sublet the condo to eight different people, collecting security deposits from each party. He then sold the furniture. It was amazing to behold. I can't imagine what the guy who owned the condo thought when he found out, let alone what the eight people who thought they had rented a nice condo did when they all showed up September first?

  Dog was now very hot in Chicago, and I didn't see him again for three years. (To be contind.) 

  Dog had also ripped off Square Two for some nice commission checks. (To be contind.)  

  Street Jimmy's been sleeping most nights at the Mission. Unfortunately you're supposed to be there by eight. So last night he had to sleep on the El. Of course he lost his bag with all of his important papers in it. I told him when I gave the papers back to him that he was making a mistake. He now agrees.

  Faggypants has been somewhat chastened since his crack relapse. He's been pretty busy doing his envelope stuffing. Since the demolition of his balcony was completed the noise has gone downward (hence quieter), and he says it's not as bad.

  Will continue Big Dog tomorrow. 

  

  Big Dog was evasive when I queried him about the casts on his hands. Fortunately, when Audi came back with the beer she cleared things up. "Isn't it terrible what those terrible men did to Barry's wrists." Eventually I extricated the truth: Dog had tried to skip out on a gambling debt at some public golf course in Miami. One of the guys he was skipping out on pulled a gun on him in the parking lot , and then some of the terrible men  held his arms down while another one of the terrible  men slammed the trunk of Dog's Fleetwood down on his wrists. Hence, not only did Dog now have two broken wrists, but he no longer had his beloved black Fleetwood, which the terrible men took in lieu of the money he owed them. 

  Dog told me he met Audi during a  brief stint as an assistant pro at Knollwood Country Club in a posh suburb  north of Chicago.  Her husband was loaded and Audi was supposed to be in Sarasota taking care of her ill mother. Audi adored Dog. She told Tobi that not only did he cook for her, but he also did her hair. And if that wasn't fantastic enough, he did the most fantastic card tricks for her girlfriends. 

  For the next month or so we were frequent guests at Audi's beach side cottage . When Audi had to go back to Lake Forest Dog took off for Detroit and I didn't run into him again until late the  following summer. 

  To be contind.     

  I ran into Street Jimmy again this morning as he was getting off the El. He  said that he spent the night at the Pacific Garden Mission. The eggs and grits for breakfast were just okay this morning, but at least he got a good nights sleep, and a hot shower. When he asked me if I told Faggypants that he (Jimmy) ratted on him, I said affirmative. He said that he got him the soap instead of a real rock because earlier that night after they got high, Faggypants became totally paranoid after his first hit and flushed everything down the toilet. Obviously this  enraged Jimmy. These boys do not play well together.

  I occasionally heard about Big Dog sightings as he travelled the country. For awhile he was in his home town, Detroit, and then he was in Florida, then Texas, and then the last I heard he was in California. 

   I talked Tobi into spending that winter in Sarasota.  We found  a really cheap dump next to Payne Park where the White Sox held spring training. It was 1983 and Ron Kittle was a rookie knocking home runs into the trailer park on the other side of the left field fence. I had a press pass thanks to Chet Coppoc, so I got to watch the games sitting next to Jimmy Piersal, with Early Wynn and Don Drysdale standing behind me. It spoiled me forever. Baseball would  never be as much fun sitting in the stands, even with great seats.  Tobi got a bar tending  job at the Brown Derby Restaurant. It was located across the parking lot from the porno theater where Pee Wee Herman got busted . Every afternoon after I was done playing golf,  and the ball game was over, before she had to go to work, we'd take a walk along the topless section of Siesta Key. One afternoon I heard my name being called. In a sea of bronzed tits I recognized Big Dog waving to me , and the  hand he was waving was in a cast. As we made our way over to where he was sitting on a large blue towel, I immediately noticed that his other hand was in a cast, too.    His huge gut was deeply tanned, and his blonde hair never looked blonder. He introduced us to the topless woman lying next to him. Her name was Audi. They were surrounded by at least ten empty beer cans, probably more. He asked Audi if she'd be a sweetheart and run to her  house, which was near by, and get us some more beer. Audi got up , and  slithered into her swim suit top.   As he watched her  mincing  her way through the dozens of half naked bodies in her path, Dog said fondly, "did you ever see a better body on a seventy year old woman?"   

  So Big Dog ended up staying at Lucy's condo for almost two months before the shit hit the fan. During that time I played a lot of golf with him. He had balls as big as a church. He'd play anyone, and never seemed to let anything bother him. If he lost he'd pay off with one of his Canadian checks. (I had warned everyone in Old Town about cashing his checks). I have to admit I had a lot of fun traveling with him. He drove his Fleetwood very carefully, and was very tidy, although he could get a bit careless with his tobacco spitting.

  He picked me up one morning and said he had arranged a game  at Cog Hill with "some chumps". I didn't realize we were playing the Vidovik's until we pulled into the parking lot. When I told Dog that Jerry Vidovik had won the USGA Public  Links Championship, he shrugged and said ,"so." Not only were we playing someone better than us without strokes, but Vidovik's father, a well known hustler, was playing in the foursome in front of us. When I explained to Dog I wanted no part of playing Jerry,  and especially didn't want to gamble with anyone else who I couldn't observe close up and personal, he called me a pussy, and said he'd back any losses incurred. So we had three partner games going within two foursomes.  We played the old Number Two course, which I knew very well, and through a series of miracles (I knocked in two long putts on sixteen and seventeen and Dog chipped in on eighteen)  we lost less than fifty bucks. Dog seemed pleased. "We got free green fees so we really broke even."  And then after we changed shoes and put our clubs in his trunk he announced that he was going into the locker room to play cards with Miro and his friends. "You stand behind Miro, " touching his left ear he said, "ace", then touching his right ear, "king," and so on . When he was done I said , "there's no way in the fucking world I'm tossing you signals , if you want to stay and play, give me your car keys." Dog was petulant all the way back to the city. "I coulda made a huge score, motherfucker."

  One day Lucy came into the Ale House looking for me. Big Dog was in Cleveland playing in some kind of small time pro golf tournament. It seems that among other things, Big Dog had been paying her mortgage payments with Canadian checks, and getting the cash from Lucy. At last the notice came from her bank announcing that all of Dogs checks had bounced. Also, while she was in the hospital, Dog told Lucy that her brother had stolen her TV. Knowing Lucy's brother, this was easy to believe, however , the brother convinced Lucy that this was not true. Even though I'd warned Lucy about Dog she was blaming me for bringing him around. This , I felt, was unfair especially since I had warned her about Dog, and we exchanged heated words. 

  As it turns out Dog had spread bad paper far and wide. Almost anywhere I went in golf circles, people were demanding that I tell them where Dog was. After berating me for the company I kept, Stan Mikita, the ex-hockey player and pro at Kemper Lakes, showed me a number of Dogs checks stapled to the wall behind his cash register. He said that whenever Dog won, they'd pay him cash, when Dog lost, he'd pay them with a check. And to make matters worse, Dog would always buy a pair of slacks, or a sweater with one of his  checks every time they played. 

  And in spite of all of my warnings it turns out a few people in the neighborhood , including Sonny, the proprietor of the Saddle Club, cashed some of Big Dogs checks too. Now Sonny was anything but naive, so his getting had was a real achievement for Dog. And what was even worse for Sonny than cashing Dogs checks, was the ridicule he received  from his boys at the bar.  They took no prisoners at the Saddle Club, and it was usually Sonny that was dishing out the ridicule and scorn, instead of receiving it.

  (To be contind.)

  Yesterday Street Jimmy slept behind our garbage cans. Hawkeye gave him the painters tarp from the basement for a blanket. I found the tarp (which is a good one) unattended and put it back in the basement. Hawkeye expressed shock that Jimmy didn't return it. Hopefully, after my conversation with Hawkeye , he won't be so generous with Ale House property in the future. Faggypants said that a white boy attacked Jimmy on the street yesterday because he (Jimmy) sold him soap instead of a rock.

  This morning Jimmy showed up bright eyed and bushy tailed.  He said  he had a great nights sleep at Pacific Garden Mission. Had a shower and a some decent food, too. When I asked him about the white boy attacking him he said Faggypants was lying. After a little more probing, Jimmy told me in the strictest confidence, that what really happened was Faggypants sent him for a rock and somehow Jimmy came back with a fake rock (soap). Of course I promised Jimmy I wouldn't tell Faggypants. Faggypants claims that he  has forsworn drugs for several months now, so this is  bad news. Of course I will confront him about drugs the next time I see him.

  So Big Dog showed up at the Ale House after our fateful round of gold many, many years ago. He made quite an impression. All of the old broads went nuts over him. Among the old broads, was a former Ale House owner named Lucy. Now Lucy is black, and has been around the block a couple of times , but she was no match for Dog.  After Dog got up to go to the john, (he'd already had ten or fifteen beers in rapid succession) I warned Lucy that the guy was a hustler and not to be trusted. She gave me a patronizing smile as if to say, "I don't need you to tell me what the score is ." Well, to make a long story short, after making a ten o'clock date with me to play golf the next morning, Dog left with Lucy.

  The next day he pulled into the parking lot in his 1970 Cadillac Fleetwood exactly on time. I asked him how his evening  with Lucy went? He said there was a small problem. While he was banging her , her back went out and he ended up having to take  her to the hospital. As bad as this was for Lucy, it was a lucky break for Dog. He now had the keys to her condo, on Orleans Street. Dog shot a very nice 65 but I came out unscathed by scraping in an eagle chip on the very short 18th hole at Jackson Park.  Dog, did, however, win a couple of  hundred from the other guys. 

  So Lucy ended up in the hospital for almost a week. Dog was very attentive , visiting her for several hours every day. 

  During this time we started playing different courses. Dog had a PGA Tour money clip which he was not shy about flashing in pro shops. Only one time did a suspicious pro charge us for a round.  When Lucy finally got out of the hospital they stopped by the bar for a drink. She was obviously smitten. Unfortunately, too smitten. After another night of sex, Lucy was back in the hospital . Her back again.  (To be contind.) 

  When I looked behind the garbage cans this morning, Street Jimmy wasn't there. His cardboard was neatly laid out, and it appeared he'd been there recently. Fortunately the cigarettes aren't too bad. No sign of Faggypants yet, either. 

  Yesterday I received a phone call from Big Dog. Usually he's trying to put the arm on me for money, but this time he just wanted me to send him another Sarha Palin poster. Big Dog's been in and out of prison for the last ten years. I knew he'd have a problem staying out of the joint as long as he was on parole. Dog is very self indulgent, and simply can't resist drugs or alcohol, which accounts for his repeated violations whenever he's tested.  For a guy who was constantly on the move, he's been in Detroit now for what seems like a very long time.

  I first met Big Dog at the Joe Louis Golf Course about thirty years ago. He was a gypsy golf hustler in town for the Executive Golf Tournament, which was a pro tournament sponsored by a black mens club on the South Side. It was a magnet for hustlers, gamblers, and small time pro's from all over the country. Dog stood out, not only because he was white in a mostly black crowd, but because he had the appearance of a former pro wrestler , with his almost platinum blonde hair, his rather blunt features, shifty blue eyes, and huge paunch. As I recall, he finished in the money , a couple over par for the two days. He was a big hitter, and an extremely good chipper and putter. 

  A few days after the Executive Club Tournament  he showed up at Jackson Park, and I got hot and beat him out of forty dollars. When he offered to pay me with a check I declined, and when I suggested that I hold his clubs until he paid me he suddenly came up with the forty bucks. When I told him I was going to a bar on the North Side he invited himself to join me.  That was the beginning of my association with the most bizarre person I've ever met in my almost sixty years of hanging around golf courses. (To be contind.)

   Street Jimmy was upset this morning. He lost ten dollars last night. This is not uncommon. He's very sloppy with his money. I told him to always keep his money in his right front pocket, but he seems to have trouble with that concept. He was so upset that he went behind the garbage bins next to the bar and went to sleep. 

  After he got done sweeping he told me that not only had he lost the ten dollars yesterday, but some dude over on Sedgwick Street never came back with the rock he (Jimmy) paid him for. He says he's done dealin' with the dude. All in all, a bad day. He's still upset about China's leaving him for the N-word. I told him that if he thinks about it, why wouldn't she. Not only does Jimmy not have a job, he has no money, and no place to live. Why would she want to stay with him? Jimmy thought about that for a moment and said, "maybe I'll get a job." 

  Fox stopped by. He's working on Counselors deck. He's been remarkably sober. At least for the time being. The last time he came into town to work for Counselor, he got completely wrecked. Apparently this time Counselor laid down the law. He has a long history of early morning drinking. When Bar Louie used open at seven, he was often seen waiting outside the door at a quarter to seven. When Bar Louie closed, Fox and some of his alcoholic buddies would huddle inside the back of the corner news stand drinking beer, even in the freezing cold. The old white haired guy with the shakes, would let them in. 

  Fox asked about his ex- girlfriend, Fatal Attraction? The last I heard she was back in rehab. Fox and Fatal had a rocky romance. She would often get violent with him , and on at least six or seven occasions he  had to call the cops. Fortunately for Fatal, she had a brother in law who was pretty high up in the police department, so she never had to spend the night in jail. I personally believe she crossed the line when she had Ruben over while Fox was out of town performing, and in the course of their sexual antics, Fox's toilet was broken, and flooded some of the downstairs apartments.  This ended up costing Fox fourteen hundred bucks. After all, it was Fox's pad, he was paying the rent, and just because he had to travel a lot because he's a comic, doesn't mean she needed to fuck every one in the neighborhood. And if she did, at least she  could have been just a little discreet. 

  Fatal was quite a drama queen. One day she came into the bar with one of the sheets off Fox's bed. "Look at this," she said holding the sheet in her outstretched arms for all  to see.  "This is the animal I have to sleep with." It was a horrible sight. Long streaks of shit sullied one half of the sheet. When Fox came in later we expressed our collective horror at what we had just witnessed. He seemed unconcerned. He said she refused to fuck him unless he took a shower, so he went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and instead of getting into the shower, he took a shit. "Hell, I knew today was laundry day, what's the big deal."     

  Ran into Street Jimmy this morning as he was getting off the El at the Sedgwick Station. He said he had a pretty good nights sleep, nobody on the El messed with him. He looked good. Got a shower and a change of clothes at the Mission. Swept the cigarettes and was off and running.

  Fox showed up. He's been sleeping on his twin brothers couch in Antioch ever since Counselor kicked him out of the house in Indiana. Fox's problem is he hasn't taken care of his community service yet, and he has to see his probation officer Monday in Indiana. He's had over three months to take care of it, but he's never been known for taking care of business. I told him he should volunteer to do his stand up act at some old folks homes. He said he works too dirty. I insisted that they'd love him, what the hell, how often do they get to see someone who was on Johnny Carson eleven times?  (there's been some debate about how  many of those eleven appearances were re-runs?) 

  The reason Fox is in his present dilemma is vintage Fox. While care-taking Counselor's survivalist getaway in Indiana, Fox drove Counselor's truck to the closest bar one night (about ten miles away) and then drove the truck out of the parking lot across the highway and into somebody's yard where it became stuck in a ditch.  Naturally the homeowner called the police after Fox kept splattering mud against their picture window for about twenty minutes as he attempted to free the truck from the ditch. Fox was coherent enough to refuse to blow, but three hours later after the cops took him to the hospital to have his blood tested, it came up 2.8. . Now only Fox could base his innocence on the fact that "everyone knows that the alcohol keeps seeping in the longer you wait to get tested."  Luckily the bar made sure he had a lawyer, and Fox never got to explain to the judge his "seepage theory." So the lawyer got the DUI dropped , and he was fined and hit with the community service stipulation.  It was , however , the straw that broke the camels back as far as Counselor was concerned , and he gave Fox the boot.

  Now as bad as fucking up Counselor's truck was, let alone having to deal with a DUI, this all happened only six days after his other run in with the local Sheriff. This had to do with Fox staggering over to the closest neighbors house bleeding rather severely. He told the neighbor (a reclusive ex-marine ) that Mexican's had come out of the woods, hit him over the head, and robbed him of two-hundred dollars. Of course this is a very common occurrence in rural Indiana. It would have been more likely that he'd been jumped by Amish thugs.  The neighbor called an ambulance. When the  ambulance arrived they called the cops. After the cops interrogated Fox,  the cops followed the trail of blood into Counselors living room, and then over to the mantle, where it seemed to have originated and suggested that perhaps instead of being mugged, he'd fallen and hit his head on the mantle. Fox allowed this was possible, but than asked the cops, if indeed that was the case , how did they, the cops , explain the missing two-hundred dollars? One of the cops suggested that perhaps the missing money was the two-hundred dollars on the coffee table next to the  marijuana . 

  Street Jimmy is on punishment until further notice. Yesterday he was overheard telling a couple of guys who had just been to the Cubs game he'd run and get them some coke.  Of course at first he denied everything, but after I lied and told him we had it on the outside camera he grudgingly admitted that it was possible that something like that might have happened. He almost cried when I had Faggypants sweep.

  I have another Frogman of Schiller Woods story.

  One night at the old O'Rourkes Pub my friend Lois asked me who the large, cute blonde guy was. I then introduced her to Frog. Now, at the time, Lois, although very attractive , was a good fifteen years older than Frog. At some point during the evening things became somewhat amorous, and Lois, after more than a few drinks , asked me if I thought it would be safe for her to take Frog home with her? I assured her it was , and so off they went.

  Well, a couple of days later I ran into Lois again at O'rourkes and asked her how her romantic evening with Frog turned out? She gave me a cold hard stare and accused me of vouching for a monster. Now , I was not prepared for this, and I demanded to know what Frog had done to provoke her ire? After much cajoling she said, "he shit in the bed." Now this shocked me. And , trust me, I'm not easily shocked when it comes to one night stands. Of course I apologized to Lois for endorsing Frog's character .  As it turned out, I didn't see Frog for a couple of weeks. He was a traveling salesman at the time . When at last I saw him I expressed my disgust and outrage over his shitting in Lois' bed. Frog looked at me with a sincere look of sadness, and said "Bruce, I did not shit in the bed, that shit was in the bed before I got in." And to prove it couldn't have been his shit he said, "believe me, I haven't taken a hard shit in two years."

  

  In retrospect I think Frog's actions that night were those of a gentleman. Clearly , chivalry is not dead. I can't think of another person I've ever known that would climb over a pile of shit to have sex with a woman, let alone spend the entire night with her. 

  Street Jimmy's been sleeping behind Moody Bible until the cops wake him up, and then he moves over to a spot behind the Historical Society. A couple of other guys sleep there too, he knows them but can't remember their names.  He's been stealing porno magazines somewhere and then selling them. He won't tell  me where he's stealing them from, but I suspect it's the news stand at North and Wells. 

  The Frog Man of Schiller Woods has suddenly emerged on Facebook. So my fans want to know more about him. Frog used to hang out at the old O'rourkes. He was always a fish out of water ,  surrounded by all the celebrities  and media types, but he was cheerful, and non controversial. He was one of the few golfers that frequented the joint, so I gradually got to know him on  more intimate terms.  Intimate enough to be invited to a party of his . It was the first time I had met any of his west-side friends, and they were a great bunch of characters. Over the years Frog has been distancing himself from these friends until he has essentially estranged himself from all of them. During the party one of his friends , a fireman, asked me how I knew Frog? I said we were fellow golfers. I then asked the friend how Frog got the nick name Frog? The fireman stared at me in disbelief. "You don't know?" I admitted that I , indeed, did not know. He then told me the story of the Frog Man Of Schiller Woods.  

  The Schiller Woods Forest Preserve is located on the north-west side of Chicago. Years ago the restrooms were outfitted with  wooden  planks with holes in them. This primitive system of  sanitation seemed to befit the local clientele of blue-collar rustics just fine. So one

beautiful summers day a woman was sitting on one of these wooden latrines smoking a cigarette. At some point in the proceedings she flipped the cigarette between her legs , and lo and behold, she thought she saw sparks. Upon finishing her business she told the Forest Preserve cop that was on duty, that she thought an intruder was under the woman's latrine.  Feeling that this information required back up, the cop called for assistance. Shortly thereafter the hastily assembled  officers did, in fact, discover some rubber fins sticking out from under the woman's latrine. After donning rubber gloves, two of the officers pulled the fins, thereby revealing none other than Frog, dressed from head to foot in a rubber frogman outfit.

  It turns out that Frog had begged his parents for the frogman outfit for Christmas.  So, as fate would have it , the offending cigarette had hit Frogs glass goggles, making the cigarette spark. Thus was born the legend of the Frog Man Of Schiller Woods.

  Now I suppose it is not surprising that Frog grow up to be a right-wing bigot,  as well as an alcoholic and a drug fiend, but what is surprising is his involvement in AA. When you think of Frog you just don't envision "higher power" nonsense, but who knows, unless you've also worn the frog man outfit. Anyway, Frog is healthy, and wealthy (thanks to an inheritance) if not wise, living in southern California where he is comfortably surrounded by his  fellow Tea Baggers.  

  I was in Indiana all morning, and watched the Masters all afternoon. Now I'm exhausted. However, I promise all of my adoring fans that I will try and do better tomorrow. 

  Street Jimmy slept on the el last night. Said it wasn't very restful. Hopefully the weather will warm up and he can go back to sleeping behind Moody Bible. I was in Indiana most of the day and didn't see Faggypants. Marky Mark is working the door tonight so there will be the usual sexual tension. He's looking very cute. 

  Street Jimmy just finished sweeping. He said he slept last night at Northwestern emergency room. Told them he had a fractured skull. Yesterday he went to Faggypants crib to help him stuff envelopes. Said Danny snapped after about his third beer. Faggypants just knocked at the door. He says the noise is insane. There ripping off the balconies on his building. I can hear the noise all the way over here. Jimmy likes Faggypants' crib. Loves his speakers. Jimmy likes my head band. Says I look cool wearing a rag. Jimmy says when Faggypants goes to drinking that beer he's a total freak. Jimmy had to get his ass outa there.  Jimmy fell in love with some white lady in Faggypants' building. Said she was mutha fuckin' hot. Faggypants said the lady in the elevator was very rich but very ugly. I told the boys there is no such thing as an ugly rich broad. 

  Street Jimmy is sitting here chatting with Faggypants. His grandma (shotgun) didn't like Jimmy's number one girlfriend , Diane. Said she had bad hair. Shotgun was very hair conscious.  Jimmy says he can read a little but he can't write. Faggypants' boss told him that since he started working he's doubled his sales. Shotgun would tell ugly ass girls that Jimmy would fix their asses up good. She'd sit in the window and tell all the ladies about Jimmy. She'd treat jimmy really good, she'd send him for her lottery. She'd look out the window and tell Jimmy, "hey look at that bald headed heifer."  She'd tell his mom (Twiggy) don't be botherin' with Jimmy. She'd give Jimmy her bootleg wine and send him out to sell it. Her name was Shotgun Liz. Gave block parties. That was Jimmy's grandma. She used to feed him and everything. Jimmy misses his grandma. He liked staying with Shotgun rather than his mamma. He was fifteen when he used to sell the bootleg wine for her. Jimmy beat up a girl once and when she came crying to shotgun she said "don' come crying to me, you must have don' somethin' to make him mad." In those days you could get coke for forty-dollars a pack. Then you cooked it. Shotgun didn't care.  She didn't get high, she'd drink though. When she got drunk she'd grab her shotgun. She'd shoot at her old man sometimes. Jimmy would say, c'mon grandma, ya'll been drinkin'. Her old man was a stone ass wino. He loved his grandma. Everyone wanted shotgun to be their grandma, but he'd say, she's my grandma. 

  Faggypants wants to teach Jimmy to do envelopes. Jimmy's not sure he can do it. Faggypants says he'll pay him ten bucks an hour. I  personally don't think this is going to end well. Jimmy's getting excited. Say's he hasn't got high yet. The shit makes you fucked up, worried about the cops, paranoid like a motherfucker. Very messed up drug. Jimmy thinks Shotgun woulda liked China. Shotgun cooked good. She said "I'd rather clothe you than feed you, 'cause you can eat your ass off. " Sometimes she'd put Jimmy out. If he pissed her off, like if he fucked her wine money up, she'd put him out.  But she'd let him back in. He'd wanna be out sometimes, anyway. She didn't play. She aimed the shotgun at Jimmy sometimes. The cops knew she had the shotgun but they didn't do shit. She'd tell Jimmy he was just like his  grandaddy. His grandaddy was a boxer named Rags from 58 Street. He knocked out Two-Gun Pete, the legendary cop.  Rags used to drive the watermelon wagon . It had horses .  Shotgun said she had to kill Rags. Jimmy said why you kill my grandaddy? She said because he was beatin' on her. Shotgun said Rags was a rapist. Raped a lot of woman's . Rags used to hit on Shotgun's own mamma. He'd rape woman and beat them up. She said I aint going to tell you no lie, so that's why I killed his sorry black ass. Jimmy said he saw pictures of Rags, he didn't look like no rapist to him. Clarence Woods was Rags real name.  When Two-gun Pete slapped Shotgun, Rags seriously kicked his ass. Shotgun stabbed Rags to death. She said, "Jimmy, I won't lie, I stabbed his ass."

  Shotgun died when Jimmy was around twenty-two. He was in the penitentiary at the time. They brought him to the funeral, handcuffed , on a big ass bus. He was mad as hell. Pissed him off when Shotgun died. He was kinda embarrassed being in cuffs and all. He never saw his mamma 'cause he got there first.  They just let Jimmy see Shotgun, they didn't let him actually stay for the funeral. A lot of people in prison don't get to go to  funerals. Jimmy almost snapped.

  The boys are sitting in the window doing envelopes. Jimmy said he liked going to school when he was in St. Charles reformatory. Learned to swim. He learned vowels. All that shit. School was cool. It was something to do. Jimmy said  he pretty much stayed in reform school since he was a shorty. Used to steal cars and strip them. Made money. His mamma said at least I know where you are all the time. She used to sling dope for Flukey Stokes. 

  Faggypants says Jimmy's doing good addressing envelopes. Very good. There were a couple of bad stamps. Some of the envelopes aren't that great either.

 

  So Tobi sliced the tip of her finger off Sunday night and we ended up in the Northwestern Emergency room until the wee hours while she had her finger re-attached. So much for my trip to New York. That's okay, I was working on my golf game and so I really didn't need to go to the Big Apple just now. 

  Street Jimmy's been sleeping behind Moody bible every night thanks to the mild weather. He swept this morning. He says Nettie (a female dope fiend ) was trying to horn in on his action outside the bar last night. (Jimmy is very territorial) . Jimmy said he had to give her a couple of shoves. When she told him he shouldn't be putting his hands on a woman, he told her to get fucked. He said she came back with an n-word, so he (Jimmy) grabbed a golf club from behind the dumpster and chased the n-word away. 

  Nettie is ,with out a doubt, the cleverest of the local drug addicts. She comes on smooth, but as I constantly try and explain to the local yokels , she'd cut your liver out for a dollar if she got the opportunity.

  Faggypants was spotted by Gracie on Rush Street yesterday afternoon. He was walking his bike, drunk out of his mind, and bumping into people. When I confronted him this morning he went into denial mode. The construction on his building is making him even more wacko than usual. 

  Street Jimmy slept behind Moody Bible again. He looked a little worse for wear. Gracie gave him a big plate of food that Tobi made for the bar patrons. He just understand how to say please and thank you. We had another religious conversation. He can't believe I've been an atheist since the age of eight. He became furious when I said China's new boyfriend seemed nice. He thinks the guy should get his own girlfriend. 

  I'm going to the Big Apple for a week. I'll give you a report when I get back. 

  Sorry dear fans, had trouble again logging into my blog. I think I've finally figured it out. Street Jimmy is 52 today. Yesterday I suggested that he cough up the twenty-bucks he had in his pocket, and give it to Gracie so he could come in and have a few beers and chill for his birthday. He declined. 

  He's been sleeping behind Moody Bible for the last three nights on the loading dock, thanks to the mild weather. He says Chilly Willy is sleeping behind Burton Place in spite of the rats. Jimmy said he warned Willy about getting chewed on by the rats, but Willy's been too fucked up since he got out of the joint to pay attention.  Willy is normally not particularly aggressive, except right after he's released from jail. I guess he has to play a more hard ass role to survive in jail. So now he's reminding everyone about what a bad ass basketball player he used to be. Enough people have confirmed this that I guess it's true. 

  The little old lady with the dog that was trying to help Jimmy a couple of weeks ago, got our number and called Lulu. She was distraught. Jimmy stole one-hundred dollars from her, her bus pass and a credit card. She said to tell Jimmy she threw all of his stuff away, and she alerted the police . When I told Jimmy what she said he of course denied everything. I have a feeling this is not going to be the wonderful birthday he was looking forward to. Such is the life of a homeless crack-addict.

  

   Last night I went to the Red Orchid Theater. Another great production. Both Kirsten and Mierka were exceptional. The play was well written and quite funny. Even when the Red Orchid's materiel is not that great the acting is always superb. It's amazing how well they pulled off the dialect. They can do Northern Irish, Irish, and any number of British dialects. Quite amazing.  I've seen Broadway productions where they can handle dialects for maybe the first act but at some point they start losing it. I've never seen that happen at the Red Orchid.