The funniest guy in Madison High history.

I chatted with the funniest guy in Madison, Kansas history today. Needless to say the discussion found its way back to the days of our youth:

"Do you remember when those four girls were fighting over Legend in the bank parking lot?" Our friend Legend was just that in Madison - Girls threw themselves at him on a daily basis - "I remember it like it was yesterday," I say - I then add, "Everyone referred to it as the Battle Royal of Bitches." I then say - "Do you remember the time Grover sneaked off at halftime of the Olpe football game and smoked a joint? He came back all glassy eyed and reeking of marijuana."

We both roar with laughter at the long ago memory and he says - "Yeah, Rutledge (the football coach) wanted to know where he went. I remember him yelling - 'Where the hell did you go Grover?' He was pissed because we were getting our ass kicked as usual. Grover yelled back at him 'I was taking a piss coach.' Only Grover would have enough balls to pull a stunt like that."

The laughter was almost uncontrollable at this point as he adds - "What about the time Arthole pulled his noodle out and flashed Barney Fife. Now that was the ultimate in guts glory. Do you know what he told him his name was when he was stopped? - Theodore Cleaver."

We share a few more laughs and I ask when he is setting his sights on Las Vegas again - "Soon brother, very soon," is his response. 

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.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 7

There is a certain camaraderie that one finds growing up in a small town. With that said, many years have passed since I have called one home. In a way, I still long for it. Well, after researching and writing a semi-autobiographical account of the experiences Scott endured as a youth. I am going out on a limb and saying this. "A big part of why Scott is still alive and kicking to this very day can be chalked up to a few things. The first is luck, the second is care, the third and most important, family and friends - the kinship of sorts that can only be found in small towns.

Summing up Scott's experiences as a youth in just a few blog posts proved challenging. The story deserves a book versus a blog style of five paragraphs at a time. I hadn't seen or heard of Scott for many years before we reconnected on Face Book. Now when I say this, the intention is not to come across as a heartless bastard or such. I am just being honest. Most assumed Scott would be six feet under before he reached his twenties. Back then, if you would have asked me to lay odds on whether he would have made it to forty...honestly, I don't even think Las Vegas would lay odds that high. My take on Scott nowadays is a complete reversal of how I felt when we were youths. My guess is that he will outlive us all.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 6

"Well they showed you a statue - told you to pray. They built you a temple and locked you away. Ah! But they never told you the price it would pay. The things that you might have done.... Only the good die young."

Billy Joel - Only The Good Die Young

It had been eight grueling years since the Grim Reaper and Scott Edwards had first made acquaintance. To his family and him, it felt like a hundred. At the still tender age of twenty two. Most assumed his dalliance with the Reaper was at its end. It wasn't! The Reaper had grown incensed with Scott. He had tried and tried to make Scott his and was rebuffed every time. "This time nothing is going to stand in my way. I will get this bastard if it's the last thing I do." The Reaper's thoughts were as firm as ever as he packed his bags for yet another visit to the young Mr. Edwards.

"Let's get something to grub on. I am starving." It started as just another typical Saturday night in small town Kansas. The scene was familiar, four guys cruising the main drag, killing time, yelling at girls and then one of them decided they were hungry. "Where do you want to eat?" the driver quipped to his hungry passenger. "Let's go to Taco Hell. I am broke and the eats are cheap." Scott and the other passenger in the backseat suggested McDonald's, but in the end they were overruled. Taco Bell is located on the south side of 6th street in Emporia. Scott and his friends were traveling west on 6th and were going to have to turn across traffic in order to get there. The turn proved tragic.

As I stated earlier, most had believed the affair between Scott and the Reaper to be over. Unfortunately, it was now getting ready to reach its highest level! "Jesus Christ, watch out!" It happened in an instant. A drunken eighteen year old had slammed his Camaro into the side of the car Scott was riding in. "I'm going to kill you! You hurt my friends!" The driver of the car Scott was in fell into an instant rage when he looked into the back seat and saw his two cohorts motionless. Unfortunately, his frantic yells were a mere whisper to Scott as he faded in and out of consciousness. All the near misses, all the treatments, all of the heart ache, all of the surviving. None of that mattered to The Reaper. "I can't find a pulse!" When the paramedics arrived Scott and his friend in the backseat were trapped in the wreckage. Neither were breathing. "There it goes. He is breathing again." When the paramedic lifted Scott's head, he resumed breathing. The two were pulled from the wreckage and subsequently air-lifted to a hospital in Wichita. After a lengthy period of rehabilitation, Scott was released.

Just like that, Scott Edwards had used up another one of his nine lives. But things were different this time, much different. The Reaper didn't walk away empty handed that fateful night. Scott's friend, the one who was sitting next to him in the backseat, had absorbed the ultimate brunt of the crash and ended up passing. The waste of a promising young life, by such a selfish act, would loom over Scott and the rest of Madison for many years to come.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 5

"Well, since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell. It's down at the end of lonely street at Heartbreak Hotel. You make me so lonely baby. I get so lonely, I could die."

Elvis Presley - Heartbreak Hotel

The Grim Reaper and Scott were now six years into their game, and even though the Reaper had failed in his previous attempts to take him. He had succeeded in leaving a path of destruction in his wake that resembled the plight of a dead man. "Scott, I love you and I always will, but things are so much different now." The plan was simple, after graduation Scott and his high school sweetheart Lizzie were going to attend college together and most likely get married after. The Reaper altered that course! "It is time for me to move on. Things have become too hard between the two of us. You will always be a part of me." Lizzie was in her second year of college while Scott was cooped up in Madison recovering from his illness. She had stood by him through all his misfortunes, but now it was time for her to go her own way. As she was leaving, she turned to him and said one last thing. "Scott, I wish nothing but the best for you and I want you to know, no matter what course our lives take. I will always love and care for you."

She was his first love and those are always the hardest to overcome. The years of fighting off the Reaper had taken its physical toll on him, but the pain he was feeling after Lizzie left him was unimaginable. He loved her and she loved him, that was never the question. It was circumstances beyond both of their controls that drove a wedge between them. By now he was use to the pain cancer had caused him, but the agony he was feeling this time was different. Maybe it wasn't going to be the cancer that killed him in the end. Maybe it was going to be the loneliness it caused, or a broken heart.

Despite the breakup, his physical condition continued to improve. His family decided to take a long awaited vacation to his Aunt's house in Texas. Upon arrival in the Lone Star State, everything seemed normal. Scott and his family had just finished a day at the beach and upon their return to his Aunt's. Things went wickedly awry. "Scott, are you OK?" His mother, who long ago developed a sixth sense for his well-being could tell something wasn't right. "I must have ate something that didn't agree with me. I am going to lie down for a while and see if that helps me feel better," he told his mom.

The Grim Reaper had wasted enough time with the young Mr. Edwards. So much in fact that he decided to follow the Edwards clan to Texas in order to finally finish him off. "I can't find his pulse!" The seizures were something new, and then they stopped suddenly. It was now time for the Reaper to make his final move. "Please Scott, come back to us. Don't let it beat you." His mother was hovering over his limp body whispering words of encouragement to him. "You can do it my love. Come back to us," the whispering was now accompanied by a stream of her tears dripping across his cheek. "He's breathing again!" Scott's father yelled. An ambulance showed up shortly afterwards and whisked Scott to the hospital. The doctor's prognosis was encephalitis-condition that occurs with a weakened immune system-somewhat common with a lot of cancer patients. Fortunately, the medical experts were able to bring his condition under control and Scott was released from the hospital a few weeks after the incident.

At twenty years of age; Scott Edwards had been diagnosed with cancer three times, received two bone marrow transplants, survived a bout of encephalitis and lost the love of his life. When he returned to Kansas from his near fatal trip to Texas, he was a changed man forever. All he wanted to do was continue his college studies and proceed with life. Well, the Grim Reaper is afforded the luxury of wearing many hats. He was growing tired of Scott's ilk. The next time they were to meet, he would be disguised as a drunken eighteen year old in a souped-up camaro.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 4

"I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page. If my name is not in it, I get up."

- Benjamin Franklin


It was the summer of 1990 and the future for Scott Edwards appeared bright. He had just completed his Senior year of high school; his girlfriend of three years and he were discussing which college they wanted to attend; most importantly, the Grim Reaper was nowhere to be found! Unfortunately, like so many other times in his life, things were about to take a turn for the worse.

He had seen the look before, the doctors' look of sorrow that is. "Scott, I am so sorry to tell you this, but you had a relapse and you're going to need another bone marrow transplant." His monthly doctor's appointment was supposed to be routine, and why not. He had already beaten the Reaper twice, the game between the two of them was over in his eyes. To the chagrin of many, the Reaper wasn't through with him, not by any stretch.

It seems almost out of a bad horror movie, the date his second bone marrow transplant was to take place, that is. Friday, December 13th, 1990 is a day that will forever be ingrained in Scott's memory. "Why in the hell did they have to schedule my surgery on the Reaper's favorite day of the year?" He made this statement to his mother moments before the nurse was getting ready to wheel him into the operating room. "Scott, you will beat this! You have already done it a couple of times and you will do it again! Just remember that all of us love you!" Scott's mother Karen was frantic. The Edwards clan had been down this road before, but it was different this time. The insurance money was basically depleted from all of his previous treatments. Long gone was the specialist from the Mayo clinic. This go around would be performed locally; it's not that his current surgeon wasn't skillful, but it wasn't the Mayo clinic and everyone knew it.

The second transplant proved treacherous for the young Mr. Edwards. When he finally woke from the procedure, everything was amiss to him. "Scott, can you hear me? Scott it's your mother. Please say something." The comforting voice of his mother was an echo to him. His eyesight was filled with images that he would later describe to me as flying cockroaches, the pain was excruciating. "Scott you're going to make it. Hang in there, the doctor is on his way." His mother's echoes were of little solace to him at this point. The Grim Reaper finally had his boot on Scott's throat. The only thing left for him to do was apply the necessary amount of pressure.

For one reason or another, the Reaper decided to let him go. Most believe that he got distracted, or maybe he had a previously scheduled appointment that he was late for. After spending the next two weeks recovering from the Reaper's grip, he was discharged. As his mother pulled into the driveway of their home, he couldn't help but crack a smile when he saw a couple of his schoolboy chums waiting anxiously to cheer him up. For a while it worked, he actually felt happy, but it turned out being a false sense. "Jesus, watch out. I am going to throw up." He then jumped off the couch, darted between his family and friends and opened the door to the bathroom. The vomiting was intense. When he finally finished, he looked down at the muddle and noticed that pieces of his intestines were floating on the water. Scott Edwards was eighteen years and eight months of age at the time. If the Grim Reaper was going to have his way, he was never going to see nineteen.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 3

"Who says life is fair, where is that written?"

- William Goldman, The Princess Bride


The day was finally upon the young Mr. Edwards and he was scared, very scared. "Everything is going to be OK. God is going to guide you through this. When you wake up, the healing process will start. Remember something my love. Your family loves you more than anything and you're a survivor." The last minute words of comfort from his mother were endearing; but now it was time to face the Reaper head on. His bone marrow transplant was mere minutes away from starting. "Are you ready for this Scott?" The prep nurse asked. He took a deep breath, looked at his family and said, "Looks like it's now or never. Let's do it." The nurse began to wheel him away. As he was leaving, he turned his head to his family members and said. "I love you guys and when this is over, all of us are going to St. Louis for a Card's game."

Bone marrow transplants are extremely risky procedures; the first trick is finding a match. He was fortunate in that regard; his younger sister Alana ended up being a perfect match. Now, the two months prior to the procedure he was basically quarantined from everything. See, the body's immune system is highly susceptible and extreme caution had to be exercised. Fortunately, he was in the hands of professionals and the procedure went off without much complication.

After the procedure was completed, he was required to stay in the hospital another two months for monitoring. On the 50th day of his stay he was finally given the go ahead to return home. Scott had spent his time in recovery at the Mayo clinic in Minneapolis. Upon his release, he was picked up in a new rental van by his father. As they traveled through Iowa on the way back to Kansas the air conditioning gave way. His constitution at the time was of such a delicate nature that the hot flashes he was experiencing when the AC went out caused him to think briefly about his old nemesis the Grim Reaper. In the end, he sloughed the thought off as just another bout of bad luck.

Upon his return to Madison; he was greeted with a hero's reception. Half the high school was camped out in front of his house waiting for him. A number of his cohorts at Madison High were holding signs that read, "Way to Go Scott!" and "We are Proud of You!" It had been quite some time since a smile had appeared on his face; the wait was now over. He thanked everyone for their show of love and then headed into his house for some much needed rest.

Everything was OK now, the bone marrow transplant was a success, he was feeling better and his well- being was gradually improving. Most importantly, his dalliance with the Reaper had finally come to a conclusion, or had it? Unbeknownst to the young Mr. Edwards at the time, the Reaper was still lingering. See, he was sure he had Scott boxed in; but once again he managed to slither out of it. Most would think by now that he would have grown tired of Scott and moved on to more tranquil prey. Not the case, the Reaper plays by a different set of rules than everyone else. Besides, it was only halftime in their game. The second half still had to be played.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards...Part 2

Everything seemed routine. Scott's mother was dropping his brother and him off at the movie theater in Emporia. They had just finished his weekly doctor's appointment "I have some shopping to do and I will be back for you guys after the movie is over." It had been a year and a half and the Grim Reaper was nowhere to be found. The thought at the time was twofold. Either he had moved on to terrorize someone else or maybe he was lying in wait, biding his time to strike at the young Mr. Edwards again. Unfortunately, the latter ended up being the case. "Scott, please come with me." Hearing his mother's voice in the darkened theater that Saturday afternoon as he was in the middle of watching 'Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure' is a moment forever etched in his memory.

Scott Edwards was 16 years of age and in his second year of recovery from lymphoma when the Grim Reaper decided to knock on his door for the second time. How could this be? Life was starting to look-up for the young Mr. Edwards! He had a nice car, a hot girlfriend, his grades were good. Life was normal.  "Scott, we have to go now." His mother didn't have to say another word, the tonality in her voice said it all for her. The Reaper was back on his trail.

A litany of tests by the doctors in Emporia had uncovered a number of discrepancies. They had done all they could for him. It was time to see a specialist in Wichita. When you're as sick as Scott was, time is of the essence. His mother and he made the two hour trek to Wichita immediately after receiving the news. By now he was somewhat used to the turmoil; his recovery from lymphoma had hardened him well beyond his sixteen years. But this time, things would prove much more deliberate. "Scott, I have some difficult news for you and your family." The specialist in Wichita was having a hard time with his words and Scott was losing his patience. "Doctor, don't beat around the bush with me. Please tell us what is wrong with me." The doctor gathered himself and said, "Scott, you have leukemia and it is going to require a bone marrow transplant."

The ride back to Madison was somber. "Everything is going to be OK! You beat it once! You will beat it again!" Karen Edwards was a strong, loving mother and she was doing everything in her power to keep her composure. Underneath it all. he could tell she was terrified. "We are going to stop in Eureka and see our minister," she stated. Eureka is a town located 30 minutes from Madison. The Edwards family attended services every week at a church there. If there was ever a time for "a man of faith's" comforting words, it was now. "What did I do to deserve this? Have I done something wrong?" He felt confused by all the turbulence that was in his life and he wanted an answer. The minister's reply was gracious, yet he found little solace in it. "It's not your fault. God has a path for everyone. He has chosen a difficult one for you my son. Rest assured, in the end you will follow whatever path he decides to lead you on."

The news of Scott's relapse hit Madison like an Olpe running back. Everyone was proud of him for beating lymphoma a year and a half prior. But this time he was staring down a much greater foe; leukemia coupled with a bone marrow transplant. The odds were high and the stakes were rising. The consensus at the time: the Grim Reaper was angry! Scott had escaped his clutches once before and he'd be damned if he was going to let it happen a second time.

The nine lives of Scott Edwards

"'It's a hard knock life for us, it's a hard knock life for us. Instead of treated we get tricked, instead of kisses - We get kicked. It's a hard knock life."

Jay-Z - Hard Knock Life

He can recall it like yesterday, the hot summer day of 1985 that is. To most, it was just another lazy summer day in small town Kansas; but not for him. See, it was on that day when he first received the news that would change everything for a young Scott Edwards and his family. For reasons that make sense to none. That was the day the Grim Reaper first set sights on a normal, healthy, fourteen year old lad from small town Kansas.

The Edward's family lived three houses up from me and it was commonplace to take shortcuts through each other's yards on our routes home. It was a hot summer day and I was outside trimming the bushes when he decided to pull a prank on me. "Boo!" At the time, I had my headphones on and was in the process of trimming the bushes at the Astle abode when Scott decided to sneak up and give me a scare; he succeeded.

"You scared the hell out of me Scott. Jesus what's that on your neck?" This was the first time I remember seeing him sick. It was impossible to miss the lump on his neck and pale features. Looking back, I now realize I should have taken a more tactful response to my query. Judging by the somber look on his face when he answered, I knew right away that he was in big trouble. "I've been diagnosed with lymphoma," he replied. "What's that?" Back then, I was clueless to what lymphoma was. All I could surmise at the time was that something was wrong with my friend Scott. "It's a form of cancer," he replied. "You can't have cancer! Cancer is for old people, you're way too young for that kind of stuff!"  Ignorance was bliss in my quip. At the time I thought cancer was an ailment restricted to old people. "How do you get rid of it?" I asked, "I've been getting chemotherapy treatments and the doctors think it will go away," he replied.

Back then I was clueless to what chemotherapy actually was; all I knew for sure was that my buddy Scott didn't look very good. "You want to play some basketball or something?"  I thought some hoops would be a good way to loosen the somber mood he was in. Scott was a sharp-shooter and rarely lost a game of HORSE. "I am sorry, I would like to play, but I'm not supposed to be outside. The sun is damaging to my condition. I just saw you and wanted to say hi." After his reply, he then turned and walked solemnly back to his house.

News travels fast around small town Kansas: "Scott's cancer has gone into remission." For a brief period, most believed Scott was going to be OK and life would return to normal for the Edwards clan. Unfortunately, the feeling was short lived. The Grim Reaper is a heinous bastard and he was infuriated that Scott was able to dodge him. The truth of the matter was quite disheartening. The game between the two of them was just beginning.

The greatest upset in Quiz Bowl history

The Well Oiled Machine..aka the WOM..was without question the best quiz bowl team in the area. The WOM was made up of 4 of the brightest minds at Mayfield High. Curt Cringle, Sam Worthington, Nathaniel "Nat" Frader, and Bob Castle. The WOM started their Senior quiz bowl year as the team to beat (That was no surprise, the WOM had won the last two league titles and were entering their final season together as an over-whelming favorite to 3-peat). Everything was looking good for the WOM, as expected they rolled through the regular Quiz Bowl season unscathed, and for the most part untested. The leauge title was their's for the taking, all they had to do was show-up, and the rest of the competition would just roll-over and hand them the coveted '3-peat' trophy..IT WAS A DONE DEAL..or so Bob Castle and the rest of the WOM thought.

"Heah Riggins, what do you have the WOM going off at in the league tournament" Kenny Riggins was the town 'bookie' and Bob Castle wanted to know what the line was for the WOM. "Castle I have the WOM at even money (bet a dollar win a dollar)" "What's the line for our closest competition?" Castle asked Riggins.."The scab's are going off at 10-1 (bet a dollar win 10 dollars)"..The scab's were the second team quiz bowl unit at Mayfield High..They were lead by a young up-start named Justin Krug..Krug and the rest of the scab's had served as punching bags for the WOM for most of the year. Every once in awhle they would give the WOM a run for their money, but never, and I mean NEVER, had they beaten the WOM in a head to head Quiz Bowl meet. "The scab's are the nearest competition" Castle thought to himself.."Riggins give me 5 bills on the WOM to repeat as champs" Castle stated..Riggins nodded his head and stated simply "You got it, 5 bills on the WOM to win it all." Castle was so confident that the WOM would trounce all of the competition, the thought of actually losing never entered his mind.

The scene was set, it was the finals of the leauge tournament and as expected the WOM had trounced all of their competition. By some miracle the scab's had made it to the finals.."The title and the money is as good as mine" Bob Castle thought to himself as the championship match was about to begin. Now most people think that Quiz Bowl competitions are mundane. You want to know how to get past that feeling? Wager some money on it! Castle had 5 bills riding on the WOM winning the championship and everything was looking good..All they had to do was beat the scab's one more time, and the trophy was theirs. One hitch, Sam Worthington, the ace player on the WOM was disqualified from the title match for excessive celebration in the previous match..That was gonna leave the WOM one man short, but Castle was still confident that the WOM had enough fire power to win.

It was the final question of the championship match. The score was tied and whichever team answered the last question correctly was going to be crowned leauge champions..At this point, Bob Castle was starting to get really nervous about the WOM..Not only were they going for their 3rd straight league title, but Castle had 5 bills riding on the WOM winning. If they lost he was going to be out his entire bankroll. Castle glanced across the room and noticed two things..Justin Krug, the captain of the scab's was mouthing "the WOM's going down" to him..Kenny Riggins, the town bookie was standing in the corner waiting to collect his money from Castle if the WOM lost..Everything was riding on the final question! You could hear a 'pin drop'..To this day Castle still remembers the final question..

The narrator asked "what Sesame Street character lived in a garbage can?" Without hesitation, Castle pushed the buzzer and answered "that would be Oscar".."Yes" Castle yelled out..He had the correct answer and the WOM had their '3-peat', not to mention Castle was 5 bills richer.."I'm sorry that answer is incorrect" the narrator replied.."WTF" Castle yelled..The next thing Castle knew, Justin Krug the dreaded leader of the scab's pushed the buzzer and answered "that would be Oscar the Grouch." "Correct" the moderator said.."The scab's are the new Quiz Bowl champs." Castle could not believe what had happened. He immediately asked that a protest be filed halting the outcome of the championship match..To his dismay it was denied. "Oscar was only part of the answer, the answer was specific..It was Oscar the Grouch, not Oscar." the ruling committee stated. After exhausting all of the WOM's options. Castle was forced to accept defeat, not to mention handing over 5 bills to Riggins..It turns out Justin Krug had placed a $50 dollar wager with Riggins at 10-1 on the scab's winning. "Here you go Riggins" Castle was getting ready to hand over the money he had lost..to add insult to injury, Riggins told Castle to give the money to Krug. Castle then walked over to Krug handed him the money and walked away without saying anything..As he was walking away, Krug yelled at him..Castle turned around to acknowledge...Krug than said.."Castle, i've been waiting a long time to tell you this..Thanks Scab."