“I ever tell you about the summer I spent on a ranch?”
Once or twice.
It’s pretty much your origin story.
“On Saturday nights, local, uh, friendly women would swing by the bunkhouse.”
“They had this old Caddy, from the 40’s. Could hear the thing miles off. Girls piled in it. Like a clown car, but more makeup.”
“It would be good time, y’know? I’d play guitar and Pervert Chuck would sing from in the closet.”
In the closet?
“He got overexcited around the girls. Boundary issues.”
What about when the girls weren’t there?
“Then he’d molest the guys.”
“But, you know: a fellow could handle himself. The girls just didn’t want to deal with it, so in he went. One of ’em would go in there and take care of him before they left, but Chuck couldn’t be trusted free.”
Nice of you to sing with him while he was locked in the closet.
“Nothing nice about it. Man had the voice of an angel. Hands of a pervert, but nobody’s perfect.”
“There’d be dancing, and foolin’ around. Bottles going around, and food. Bunkhouse had a great cook.”
What was his name?
“That’s the law. Any sort of western setting? Gotta be called Cookie. Then, later in the night, the ladies would take the guys out to the Caddy.”
You ever indulge, you sly dog?
“Course, yeah. But, you know: didn’t have to pay.”
“You ever seen a picture of me at age 15?”
“I was a twink. Now I’m a bear, but I was a total twink.”
Why do you even know those terms?
“If I was a teenager these days, at least two high school teachers would be in jail because of me.”
This has gotten weird.
“Maybe I’d be a camboy.”
WHY DO YOU KNOW THESE THINGS?