The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 8

"Two times and it has rendered me. Punched, drunk and without bail. Think I'd be safer all alone. Flies in the Vaseline we are. Sometimes it blows my mind, keep getting stuck here all the time. Isn't you, isn't me, search for things that we can't see. Going blind, out of reach, somewhere in the Vaseline."

Stone Temple Pilots - Vaseline


"You don't sound like a dead man - Jesus, Scott, how many times is this now? One thing is for certain, I am glad to hear your voice buddy," the news I was following painted a bleak scenario. Scott was in the hospital with another life threatening illness. I was praying, just like everyone else, he would once again shake free of the Reaper's grip. And I'll be damned if he didn't do it - "I don't know how many times I have come back from the grave," he says, "I've lost count." His reply to my whimsical question instantly brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye. Here's a guy who just a week prior was lying in a coma with scant hopes of things ever being normal again, or for that matter living, and now he was cracking jokes and being as wry as ever.

"You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words?" I say to him, "The photo of Jon hunched over you with all those tubes running out of you was the most heart wrenching sight I think I have ever seen. And then when he said he was at peace with you going to heaven, man, that was love and courage. I don't know how to say this without sounding like an asshole, so I am going to just say it. It sounded as if the Reaper had you this go around my friend," he chuckles a bit after my statement and says, "Fortunately for me, he missed again."

We talk a little more and then I ask, "So what's the plan now? Do hospitals just let dead guys get up and walk out the door? How long do you have to stay there?" The two of us have developed a great chemistry the last few years. A chemistry that didn't exist when we were young. I am grateful for it - "I get discharged on the 26th, and then it's the 'road to recovery," he says, "The plan after that is to go home and be with family and friends. And when I am healthy enough again I will do some hunting," it was good to hear that...it was really good to hear that!

The porn star of Madison High.

"Astle, you are not going to believe what happened to me this weekend. This is by far and away the best story I have ever had." Roy Compton was a living legend in Greenwood County. So much in fact that no one ever called him Roy - it was just Legend. "Legend, what happened?" I say with a hint of curiosity. Truth be told, I knew exactly what was happening, he was preparing to share another narrative about his sex life with me. But I always acted surprised. It helped with the effect.

"My cousin in Wichita called me Thursday and told me to get my ass down there. He had a couple of girls that he wanted me to meet. I figured what the hell. I had not been to Wichita in a while, so I headed down over the weekend. I get there and he calls a couple of his party girl friends." Legend had a way of telling stories that was equal to no other. It was as if he was a kid who caught a really big fish and was so excited about it that you would think he was going to piss his pants talking about it. He was that good at it! - He then says, "All of us go out on the town and get tore up. And then we head back to my cousins for the after party." The grin on his face got wider and wider as the story progressed. It was a nuance that I grew to love about him.

By this time I am in a trance listening to his tale, he then goes on to add, "My cousin, me and the two party girls all take a few shots of Jack. And then my cousin passes out cold on the kitchen floor," by this time the grin on his face is so wide that I was for sure he was going to stretch the diameter of his face another four inches. "I try waking him but he is long gone," he says quickly, "Anyways, I start chatting with these two chicks and they start talking naughty to me. They wanted to know if I had ever been in a threesome and then they start teasing me, saying things like, 'You're not man enough to handle it." Sometimes I was for sure he was concocting things and initially would refuse to believe him. And then I would do a little snooping for myself. Sure enough, he was always telling the truth. "What happened! Are you going to make me guess? Or are you going to finish the story?" I tell him as he is pausing to catch his breath. He then says, "I told these two hussies that 'talk was cheap.' And if they were ready for it - so was I. After I said that, one of them tells me this, 'We are going into the bedroom. Why don't you give us a few minutes and then bring your naughty ass in there."

He wasn't overly good looking. His charm was minimal. To a number of my comrades and me, it will forever remain a mystery on how he did it...I guess that's why everyone called him Legend - "Well, I wait exactly five minutes and then I head into my cousins room," What he told me next will forever be etched into the lore of Greenwood County history, "Both of these chicks are sitting naked on the end of the bed smiling at me. I thought for sure my dipstick was going to grow a pair of hands and undress the rest of my body. That's when one of them says, 'You can't do this with your clothes on. Turn out the lights after you are done.' I undress in record time, flip the light switch and jump right into the middle of them!"

By this point in the story his face was bright purple. Again, this is how enthusiastic he would become gloating about one of his conquests. "Before I know it, I am on my back and one of them takes a seat on my goatee. The other is going down on me. A few minutes pass and they switch positions. For a minute, I thought I was going to have to break out a whistle and start directing traffic." His latter comment drew a loud fit of laughter from me. I suddenly had a mental image of him wearing a police cap with a whistle in his mouth. And nothing else on. "Astle, all night long, that's all the three of us did. One position after another, after another. It was pure bliss. You want to hear the funny part of it?" That was the thing I loved most about his stories...there was always a funny part. "My cousin finally wakes from his drunken stupor and walks into the room. When he flipped the light on - me and these two bitches were sandwiched in a fetal position. He then looks at what was happening in disbelief and shuts the door. He was so fucking drunk he couldn't believe his own eyes."

When I was young, this was way before the internet, Penthouse Forum was the avenue every guy at Madison High dreamed of someday being able to share a story in. Well, since I never had any stories of my own to share, I decided to tell a few about Legend. I wasn't that great of writer, but I did my best. Anyways, every month I would check to see if any of the stories I had sent them sounded familiar. I hate to say this but none of them ever made it to publication. At least none that I know of. Looking back, I believe they probably had too many libretto's to choose from. Good thing I have a blog to write in nowadays.

The living legend of Greenwood County.

"Astle, did I ever tell you about the time I bedded three girls in one day?" Roy Compton was a living legend in Greenwood County. So much in fact that no one ever called him Roy - it was simply Legend. "You were with three different girls in one day Legend? How in the world did you manage to pull something like that off?" If anyone of my other buddies would have made such a statement, I would have started laughing and immediately called them a liar. But Legend was unlike any other guy I knew at the time! "Let's hear the story," I say with an eager tone in my voice.

"About a week ago I was in Emporia and I ran into this gal I knew at the mall. We start bullshitting and she then tells me her parents are gone for the night and I should come over for a dip in her pool," it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where this story was headed. "We head over to her place and then she tells me to hold on for a minute while she changes. And then she comes out wearing a bikini. She then says something to the effect of how she has always thought I was hot and how she wanted to be with me. The next thing you know I have her bent over a  wicker chair and...well, you get the rest of the story."

It was always funny watching him brag about his sexual endeavors. He would always tell the story with a bundle of enthusiasm. It was like he was trying out for a part in the school play or something of that nature. "OK, that's one. Where did the other two come from?" I ask with a wide grin on my face. "After I was through, I went over to this other gals place," he goes on to add,"I had banged her a couple of times before. But I didn't really have it in mind when I went over there. I had left a watch at her place the other night and I wanted to retrieve it. Anyways, I show up and knock on the door and she answers the door wearing nothing but a towel. She invites me in and then says, 'Hold on, your watch is in my room.' She walks back to her room and then comes out a minute later with nothing on but my watch. She then says, 'If you want your watch your going to have to take it from me in the shower. I follow her into bathroom; strip off all my clothes, jump in the shower and...well, you get the gist." Legend was a walking, talking Penthouse Forum section. It was astonishing the amount of women he would copulate with on a regular basis. "OK, that's two. Where did the third one come from?" Right after I asked, he smiled and told me this:

"Now I am tired. All the fucking wore me out. All I wanted to do was go home; kick my feet in the air, get something cold to drink and soak my boulders in warm water. But as fate would have it, I still had one more round in me. You remember Sally? She was friends with that other chick I used to bang - Nellie." I racked my brain for a minute and then her image came to me. "No shit! You banged Sally. She's the gal from Kansas City. The one that works at the bar. Holy shit! She is smoking hot." The gal he was about to tell me about was a real looker. I was immediately envious. "She calls me and tells me to come over to her place," he says with a grin on his face, "She had made a surprise dinner for me. Anyways, a soldiers work is never done. So I trounce over to her apartment on the south side of town and when I arrive she has dinner on the table for me. We eat dinner and watch a movie. After the movie was over, I told her that I would catch her later and she says - 'Where the hell do you think you're going.' The next thing you know both of us are naked and I am knee deep with a third different bitch in less than twenty four hours. It was awesome!"

Joe Cool, Tom Slick, Danny California, Jayball - Las Vegas is stuffed full with womanizers and players. I feel absolutely certain about saying this - "When I look back and think about the exploits of my friend Legend. I have no doubt he could hold his own against any of the Lotharios Las Vegas has to offer."

The James Bond of Madison High.

"Legend, how many women have you actually done it with?" Hands down the coolest cat in all of Greenwood County was a bloke named Roy Compton. He was so cool that no one ever called him Roy - it was simply Legend. "More women than you can count on all your fingers, toes and whiskers - Astle," he answers with a hint of arrogance in his tone. He then says this with a laugh, "How many girls have you done it with Astle?" Before I could muster up a lie, he answers for me. "The answer would be zip!"

"Astle, listen to this," judging by the tone in his voice I could tell another story was on the menu. "The other night I was with this gal from Emporia for the first time and things started to get heavy, and then she looks at me and says - 'The only reason I am with you is because Naomi told me that you know how to eat pussy.' You know what I told her right after she said that? I said, 'You're about to find out for yourself bitch." Legend was a larger than life character in Greenwood County. His libido and bravado would have made James Bond envious.

"Legend, tell me about that time you banged the chick from El Dorado on the fifty yard line of the Madison High football field again. That's my favorite story!" The story wasn't complete until you bragged to your buddies about it multiple times. And Legend was no exception. "This broad, I don't even hardly know her, comes to town with a girl from Eureka that I wanted to bang," he tells me with an excited storyteller's look on his face. "As we're cruising around town drinking the chick from Eureka passes out. So me and this bitch from El Dorado start playing grab ass after that. She then grabs a hold of my schwank and says, 'Have you ever done it on the fifty yard line?' I tell her no, and she tells me to head to the football field. Twenty minutes later I am knee deep on the Bulldog logo of the Madison High football field. It was awesome!"

As we are sitting there laughing I request another story from him. "Did I tell you about the gal from Burlington who gave me a blow job while I was taking her home?" I shook my head no. "Joe Bob had this chick from Burlington in town last week. He was trying to nail her and she didn't want nothing to do with him. Anyways, she asks me to give her a ride back to Burlington and I politely oblige. Of course, I took the country roads. About half way there, she says this to me - 'I think you're cute. All the girls in Burlington like you. I want to suck you off. Is that OK with you?" Only Legend would be so fortunate. He was one of those guys who could fall into a pile of heaping pig shit and still come out smelling like a rose. "After she said that, I didn't say anything. I just nodded. And the next thing you know she has my pig sticker in her mouth. I thought I was going to crash a few times," he then grabs his cheeks and begins to pull them apart in an attempt to simulate the sounds of oral sex. It was hilarious!

This past weekend I was telling my friend Roxy about Legend and how all the dudes at Madison High worshipped him. And she tells me this - "Why is it that most guys think a women is a slut or a whore when she sleeps with multiple people? And yet you, to this very day, still think your friend Legend is God. That doesn't make sense to me." Roxy has a short fuse a lot of the times so I've learned to be real careful in a lot of my responses. "Roxy, when a dude sleeps with a lot of good looking women, at least back then, he was a stud. Women sleeping around were whores. That's just the way society sees it. Don't blame me. I'm not the one who made the rules." All she did was nod in agreement.

The Jackass club of Madison High.

"Astle, do me a favor and cup your hands together. I have something I want to give you." I should have known better, but that's the problem with being dumb. You don't know when you should have known better. "What do you have to give me Arthole?" I say as I couple my hands together and put them out in front of him. "I promise you're going to love it," he tells me as he grabs both of my hands by the wrist. "Get ready, here it comes," he makes a number of swishing sounds with his mouth and then proceeds to spit a stream of chewing tobacco saliva six inches long into the middle of my cupped hands. "Thanks for helping me out buddy. I really appreciate it," he tells me as he is walking away laughing.

A few weeks after the incident I am standing in Shop class sanding a piece of wood with a dip in my mouth that would choke an alligator. I look across the shop floor and just so happen to see Arthole hunched over screwing a couple of pieces of wood together. His position at the time was causing a big time plumber's crack to show. After seeing this, I immediately thought about him clowning me a few weeks ago. "I got you now you son of a bitch!" Those were my exact thoughts as I crept up behind him. I then swish the Skoal I had in my mouth around a few times in order to build up as much saliva as possible. And without a moments hesitation I spit a tidal wave of tobacco infested saliva directly at the top of his exposed ass crack.

"What the fuck," he says as he comes off of his haunches to a direct stand. What happens next will forever be burned into my memory until my dying day. He reaches down the backside of his pants to see exactly what had happened. He then feels around for a minute; pulls his hand out, sticks it directly in front of his face and yells - "You motherfucker! I am going to fucking kill you!" I take off running across the shop floor with him in hot pursuit. Just about the time we were getting ready to come to blows the instructor walks in. "Is there a problem here gentlemen?" He says in a stern voice. "No problem," both of say in unison. He then asks the instructor if he may get a pass to use the restroom. The instructor obliges. Five minutes or so pass and he returns to class. "Astle, you motherfucker! I had to throw away my underwear because it was caked in Skoal spit. I am going to get you back for this!" I politely remind him that it was he who started it and I was merely evening things.

After a few more minutes of staring each other down, he says this to me. "OK, let's just call it even." I was good with that. He then says, "Let's shake on it." I put my hand out and he grabs it firmly. I then say, "We are even now. No more pranks on each other." He looks at me with a devilish smile and says, "Sounds good to me." The bell rings and class is over. As I am walking through the halls of Madison High to my next class, I feel a swift kick to my ass from another friend of mine. I didn't think much of it. And then another friend kicks me in the ass. I didn't think much of that either. After the fourth time, I started to wonder what was going on. So I reach behind my back and sure enough - Arthole had taped a sign to me that read - "Kick Me! I am stupid!"

The Hooligans Club of Madison High.

A lot of the times it was up to me, myself and I to keep entertained at Madison High. With that said, my old high school chum Arthole and I would play a game called Raid the Shitter. The rules of the game were simple. If one of us caught the other on the crapper, the other would kick in the door on the stall and yell "Raid!" Arthole was a much better at the game than me. But on the particular day I am about to reference. It was my turn to pin him down:

As I was hitting the John right before fifth period I notice a pair of shoes in one of the stalls that looked familiar. I peek quickly through the space on the stall door to make sure it was who I thought it was. A wide smile cracks on my face when I see Arthole sitting on the stool without a suspicion in the world. A few weeks previous he literally scared the crap out of me when he kicked the stall door open on me and yelled, "Raid!" It was now time for me to even the score.

"This is a fucking raid! Get your hands in the air asshole!" Those were my exact words as I reared back and kicked the stall door open. It startled him to the point he fell completely off the toilet and onto the bathroom floor; thus hitting his head. He then looks up at me from the floor and says, "Astle, you motherfucker. I hit my head and shit myself. You fucking prick!" - Looking back, I wish I would have had a camera phone. It would have made for an awesome Youtube video. Now, as I'm standing at the sink washing my hands with a big sense of accomplishment. I feel a sudden force to my temple. Thus causing me to go dark.

When I come to a few moments later I see Arthole standing over me yelling. He had sucker punched me. An instant rage took hold and I charged him like a raving lunatic. "You asshole! I am going to kill you!" I yelled as my fist were flying towards his melon. "You deserved it," he tells me as he is attempting to ward off my blows. "I was getting you back for the time you got me asshole!" I scream as I finally pin him down. As I am getting ready to pummel him a sudden force grabs both my arms and pulls them straight in the air. It was our football coach Mr. Dolan - "You two had better calm it down right now or I will send both of you to the principal's office." he states firmly. It wasn't worth getting kicked out of school for, so I got up and walked away. As I was leaving the scene I told Arthole to meet me at the park after school and we would settle things. He never showed.

Not long after the incident both of us were laughing about it. "We both deserved it," was our mutual thought. We also came to another mutual conclusion. Raid the Shitter was a game best setting on the shelf.

The Fellatio King of Madison High.

"Astle, I met this girl from Iola last week at the lake. I can't get her off my mind. All I can think about is how much I want to perform fellatio on her." Rude, crude, obnoxious, belligerent - the list was long for my old high school chum Arthole. I can promise you one thing with absolute certainty, a genius he was not! "Arthole, what did you just say?" I asked quizzically. "What are you death Astle? I said, 'I met a girl last week and I want to perform fellatio on her.' Every time I think about her I get hornier than a five pecker jackrabbit." After he repeats the statement, I realize his mistake immediately. "OK Arthole," I say with a bit of amusement in my tone, "I think I understand what you are saying. You met this girl and you want to go down on her. Is that correct?" He nods violently in agreement. I then ask if he was positive that he wanted to perform fellatio on her. He nods violently in agreement again. I then inform him of this, "Arthole, are you telling me that you want to suck this girls penis?" He looks at me and says, "Astle, why are you acting like a moron? Don't be a fucking idiot." I then instruct him to follow me to the library.

We walk into the library; grab the big dictionary; flip to the page where it defines fellatio and then I read the definition out loud for him. "The act of stimulating a man's penis with the mouth for pleasure." I then show him the definition in print as to leave no doubt in his feeble little mind. "Are you sure you want to suck this girls penis?" I say with a hearty laugh. "My brother is the one who gave me the word. I didn't know," he tells me with a confused look on his face. The only guy dumber than Arthole at Madison High was his brother Del...everyone called him Deldo. "Look, genius," I say with a wry smile, "Why don't you get your brother in here and I will read the definition of fellatio to him. I am pretty sure the word you two Einstein's are looking for is cunnilingus. You want to perform cunnilingus on her, not fellatio." I then take the liberty of looking up the definition and sure enough it read as follows. "A sexual activity in which female genitalia is stimulated by a partner's lips and tongue."

He takes a minute or so to absorb things and then says - "How do you say that again? Cunningit, cunnigleekit." I shake my head at his futile attempts and then tell him to repeat after me. "Cunnilingus, cunnilingus, cunnilingus." After a few minutes or so of practice he finally masters the phonetics. As we are walking out of the library and back to class I say one last thing to him about our discussion, "Just to make sure, next time you see this girl. Why don't you ask her if you can perform fellatio on her. If she says yes, forget about her! She is too stupid to mess with."

The Mensa club of Madison High.

"Astle, do you ever think you will be a member of Mensa?" My old high school chum Arthole was and still is a real funny guy. "Right now I am getting a mental image of your picture in the Madison News," he said, "The headline will say, 'Robert Astle, local moron, awarded Mensa membership.' Can you see it? I know I can!" Whenever I had trouble doing something simple, like changing a tire, Arthole would always give me a load of his sarcastic yapper. "Astle, I am going to call Mensa and tell them they have a candidate. That's if you can ever figure out how to change the tire."

It took a little longer than usual, but I managed to do it. Both of us hopped back into the car and then he said - "Astle, there should be a law outlawing people as dumb as you. A lot of times I wonder how you get up in the morning and tie your shoes. That's how bleeping stupid you are." He ran his mouth a few minutes longer and then I said, "Shut up for a minute! Something is not right. I don't think I got the tire on tight enough. I am going to pull over and check it out." I pull to the side of the road, get out of the car, walk to the back, open the trunk and pretend to grab the jack out of the back. "Goddamn boy," I hear him say from the passenger seat, "I knew I should have changed the tire myself instead of leaving it to an imbecile like you. After I take a piss I will do it." He then gets out of the car; takes about twenty steps to the side of the road, pulls out his Johnson and starts pissing. That was the break I was looking for:

"Arthole!" I yelled as I closed the trunk and jumped back into the driver's seat, "Go bleep yourself! Who's the Mensa member now?" I threw the car in reverse to put a little more distance between us. Before I could get it in second I hear a loud thump. I look out the windshield and he is straddled across the hood with his pants half down. "Astle, I am not falling for this trick again. Stop the car and let me in!" I thought about taking off anyways - but then I thought again. What if he fell off and killed himself? So I stopped the car to let him in. When he gets in I notice his pants are wet. "What the hell," I say to him. After the statement he looks at me and says, "I was in the middle of pissing when you were taking off. I didn't get to fully finish so this is what happened."

I begrudgingly accepted the fact a long time ago that I was never going to be a member of Mensa. That is how life go's most of the time. Before I end this post I must share another absolute certainty with everyone. My old high school chum Arthole...No Mensa membership for him either!

The Madison High rocket science club.

"Astle, did anyone ever tell you that you are a worthless bleeper? You are so bleeping stupid that I am convinced you don't know your right hand from your left...Duh!" My old high school chum Arthole was an obnoxious bastard to say the least. "Jesus, I will be married with five kids before you get that thing changed. What is wrong with you boy? Are you mentally challenged?" The more he needled at me the more nervous I became. "OK Maestro! If you're so bleeping smart, why don't you do it?" I then threw the wrench I was holding at him. The task of changing the starter in my 1960 Ford Falcon station wagon had become more than I bargained for.

"I am positive that you are destined to be a rocket scientist one of these days Astle. That's if you can ever manage to graduate from high school." Listening to Arthole flap his mouth while he replaced the starter in my car was driving me bonkers. But I didn't want to piss him off. I needed the starter replaced and he was the guy to do it. "Einstein" he called me, "All you have to do is unscrew the screws, take the old starter off, put the new starter on and then screw the old screws back in. You would think a guy who is destined to be a rocket scientist would know that...Duh!"

I started the car after he finished and it purred like a kitty. He then closed the hood and said, "It's no wonder why you don't have a girlfriend. You are so bleeping stupid, you wouldn't know what to do with one anyways." The starter was replaced and the car was running. What did I need him for? "Bleep you Arthole!" I yelled as I locked the passenger side door, "Who's the idiot now? Bleep you!" I then threw the car in drive and sped away, leaving him covered in a cloud of dust and rocks.

"Get back here you bleeping bleephole! I am going to kick your ass! Astle get back here!" I kept stopping the car at hundred yard intervals. Once he got five yards or so from the car I would take off again. After the third time he became angry and threw a rock at the car, shattering the back windshield. For the next six months I drove around town with a couple of garbage bags plastered over the damage. Here's the part of the story I think is funny. When I explained to my dad what had happened to the back windshield, he looked at me, shook his head and said, "Arthole is right about you - you are never going to be a rocket scientist."

The Madison High brain surgeons club.

"Astle, do you want to know when the best time to bleep a chick is?" It was fun being sixteen in small town Kansas. Not a care in the world. Things were so much easier back than. "I always thought it was any!" I stated. My old high school chum Arthole and I had some high level intelligent talks when we were young. "Astle," he piped - "The best time to bleep a chick is when she is pregnant - that way you don't have to worry about getting her pregnant."

A double entendre is a literary device that can be defined as a figure of speech that might have multiple meanings or could be understood in two different ways. "Arthole," I said with a puzzling look on my face, "Let me make sure I am understanding what you just said. You are telling me that the best time to bleep a girl is when she is already pregnant. Because you can't get her pregnant again because she is already pregnant? Am I understanding you correctly?"

Further clarification of his statement was required, and he provided it. "That's what I am saying exactly," he blurts. "It makes sense. Think about it - it is impossible to get a girl pregnant when she is already pregnant. So if she accuses you of making her pregnant. You can use the excuse that she was already pregnant when you bleeped her." A couple of Ivy Leaguers we were not! I did have one last thing to clarify before we put the conversation to rest. "Arthole, would the girl who is pregnant that you would be bleeping already be pregnant because of you? Or would you be bleeping a girl who is pregnant by another guy's seed. Because if you are the guy who got her pregnant in the first place. I mean, the damage is already done - Right? But if you are bleeping her after someone else got her pregnant. Then I can sort of see what you are thinking in that twisted little mind of yours." He looks at me after the query; scratches his head, raises his eyebrows, scratches his head again and says, "This conversation is too confusing. Maybe you are better off wearing a condom no matter what." I nodded in agreement.

The Snack Shop.

I received a message from cousin Sally yesterday. The message read, "Your Village Idiot of Las Vegas blog is vulgar." She also wanted to know - "Where I picked up my potty mouth from?" For as long as I can remember cousin Sally has sported a holier than thou attitude. The sensible thing for me to do would be to simply ignore her. Which I plan to do after this post is complete. But she did specifically ask where I formed my potty mouth. The answer is simple: The Snack Shop in Madison, Kansas.

The Snack Shop was an establishment of a bygone era. It was a place where a kid could be a kid. It sported three or four video games, a couple of eating booths, a soda machine, hamburgers & French fries and an array of the finest characters Madison, Kansas had to offer. If Peter Pan wanted to grow up and be Dice Clay - the Snack Shop would have been the place for him.

"You stupid bleepsucker! Bleep you! Give me another bleeping quarter. Donkey Kong you suck bleeps!" Hanging out in the Snack Shop was like watching a never ending Richard Pryor stand up routine. "Astle, you are a bleephead! You bleeping bleephole!" The leader of the Snack Shop potty mouth gang was none other than my good friend Arthur Spotter, better known as Arthole. If anyone in the tri county area deserved to have their mouth washed out with soap - it was him.

"Arthole, why do you swear so much?" I remember asking him that exact question many years ago. And I still remember his answer like it was yesterday - "Because I bleeping like to. So bleep you!" Arthole wasn't the only guy in town who needed his mouth washed out with soap. There was my buddy Pecker (his real name was Peter) but everyone called him Pecker. As far as I know, he still holds the Madison record for most swear words spurted in a minute...believe it or not, such a contest existed at the Snack Shop.

There were many other characters from the Snack Shop who influenced me as well. But for posterity's sake, I will refrain from mentioning them. My goal was to simply answer cousin Sally's question as pertains to where I learned to talk (vulgar). The answer is the Snack Shop in Madison, Kansas.