26 Mar 08
From Two Tonys (Letter 2)
Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences. A Tarantino character whose acerbic wit may upset the politically correct.
Greetings & Salutations,
Forgive me for taking so long to answer your letter dated 2-10-08. What can I say? “I’ve been busy” or more like “I’ve been lazy.” It’s like this, Did Michelangelo just pick up a brush on demand and start turning out masterpieces? Hell no!
I’m trying to slow down on my cursing and foul language. I can’t explain why. I guess the only thing I can say is that it’s the right thing to do. I mean I don’t have the best vocabulary on the planet but I know a few words. I mean it’s not like I’m a George Bush – a real giant of English verse. But I like to think that if fate should ever move its huge hand and you ever throw a cocktail party that I was invited to, I would not be an embarrassment to you with all your English friends. Do you know any dukes or earls? How about a baron or two? But I’d really prefer a countess or maybe a baroness. How’s this sound “I say there my lady may I get you another spot of tea or a glass of sherry?” I mean I wouldn’t want to appear thuggish to your friends, if that situation should ever arise, which it won’t. But I can dream can’t I?
Hey, bro, time to get serious. I’ve got some sad news for you. Your friend Xena cut off his nuts Friday afternoon. Yeah, I said cut off his nuts like in testicles. Poor guy. I can’t help but feel bad for him. They choppered him out and he’s in hospital as I write this. I’d seen him the day before and he seemed in good spirit. But you never know what currents run through a person’s mind. Anyway, whatever, he dealt with it as the poets say “in his own fashion.” But wow, I always thought I was a tough old bloke, but imagine cutting your own nuts off. Uh, no thanks. I’ll pass on that one. Now I can see myself cutting off another guy’s nuts, sort of as a payback for a personal affront. You know what I mean. But my own! Uh, I’ll wait for the next bus, you go ahead, enjoy yourself. I don’t mean to be cold but I feel bad for him. I hope Xena’s alright and he finds what he’s looking for, which I gather is a vagina.
Ogre finally left. He got picked up by California. They had some kind of beef on him. Probably smelling bike seats in front of the YMCA or some shit like that. Now he can go to those Calif yards and tell all those guys how he was a big man in AZ, “Running those yards.” Yeah, right. I’ll never forget the time I put him on his fat ass in front of the whole yard. I just got lucky, but sometimes even a blind hog will find a truffle. Hey, bro, I’m going to miss him. Yeah, right, like a dose of the clap. I’ll always remember him walking around wiping his runny nose with the back of his hand then wanting to shake hands later or reach into your chip bag for a chip, catching attitude when told to fuck off. We never spoke for the last year. We just glared at each other. Those Calif guys will show him how the cow ate the cabbage once they figure out he’s a fraud. OK, time out hating. You know me. I’ve really got a lot of love in my heart, just not for frauds.
Hey bro, how’s the folks? Give them my love. Has your being back wore off yet? Do you have a job? A car? A girlfriend? These are things I want to know. “Why?” you ask. Because I have an inquiring mind. I’m sort of living vicariously through you. In fact as I pay my penance for past sins and a wayward life and I am scrubbing down the showers, I often stop and as I’m getting all the pubic hair out of the drains I’ll ask myself I wonder what old bloody Shaun is up too now, and I’ll picture you out in your English garden enjoying your tea and scones or a nice kidney pie as the hounds run by chasing the fox down.
OK bro, keep in touch, and be pulling for Obama in the race. He’s crooked as hell but they all are. He’s one of those southside Chicago blacks, they ain’t nothing nice, God bless em. Let those young blacks get an issue. We all know McCain and Hillary got theirs. It’s Obama’s turn to stick it to the masses, the great unwashed. His turn to piss on their heads and tell them it’s raining. I’m sorry. Do I sound bitter? I’m really not. You know me, I’m just venting about how stupid the public is. I saw one of those so called men of God the other night on the TV. He was selling handkerchiefs annointed by God. And I thought of all the poor folks getting fleeced. Then I thought fuck em, if he don’t get them then the plumber will or the insurance man or the doctor or the lawyer. Bottom line is this: there will always be an England and there will always be suckers.
Write me, ye bloody bloke, ye prince of the misty isles, you ex con from AZ.
PS) Read Kite Runner, really good, a 8 ½ to 9 out of 10. Khaled Hosseini wrote it. I’m reading Oil by Upton Sinclair next, also a book called Martha Peake by Patrick McGrath, a Londoner. It’s different. I’m enjoying it. You might like it. I just reread Sol’s Ivan Denisovich. It makes me keep a grip on conditions. Silly, I know, but it works. If old Ivan did it in those Siberian conditions with all those Slavs, I can do it here in Sunny AZ with French toast and pancakes. No fish eye soup for me.
Once again sorry about your friend Xena. I know he is a friend of yours. I’ll try to keep you posted on updates.
Long Island is done, put a fork in him.
You remain strong out there. No silly shit in your path. You got writing skills. Hone them me lad, hone them.
Hey! Kudos to Bonnie Prince Harry. I like that kid. In fact he’s my favorite royal. And he’s got a good eye for the lassies. Yes, he does. Maybe he should be king. I guess I’m just a Britphile at heart. It’s me Irish blood, I guess, me lad. Cheerio!
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