Mr. Bill Sez . . .
Bill King was a retired guy I used to see just about every day on my morning walk at Fort McHenry. We had a ten-year friendly interaction, then he died about two years ago. I miss him still. He would usually say “good morning,” then launch into an extended, often profane, monologue about what ailed him. One day, his spiel began thus:
Bill: Felt so bad this morning I almost didn’t come.
Me: But here you are.
Bill: (ignoring my cheerful comment): Then I took a huge crap and felt better—easy two days worth. (Pause.) So that must have been what it was, that buildup of crap.
On another occasion Bill greeted me, then proceeded to relate a vivid story about his feet:
Bill: So I wake this morning and stand up and both my feet are all swole up and blood-red. (Pause.) Then I touch ‘em and they turn green.
That colorful anecdote was delivered without a trace of irony—Bill had no idea how funny he could be—so all I thought to say was: “Damn, Bill!” Then I smiled and kept walking. I knew that if I asked him to explain he’d own my ear for at least ten minutes, and I was pretty sure he couldn’t top his opening lines. I’m sorry I didn’t make notes of more of his stuff over the years—and in greater detail. By now I could have had reams of high quality humorous content for this blog . . .
Copyright © 2014 Jim Sizemore.
This is an edited re-post from August 11, 2010.
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