Retelling Online By Request
So, this little nugget of absurdity goes back to when I first knew O (as in Pant's lesser half). At the time, say early to mid 90's, he had the bookstore on the same block where I had a new and used computer store. Given the nature of our businesses, neither of us could say "no soliciting" and the result was that all sorts of people would come in and offer to sell us all sorts of things. Sometimes they were worthwhile, but most of the time it was surreal or frivolous.
The computer joint was a long narrow hallway of a place with computers lining each side of the path from the front door to the counter in the back. From the door to the counter was probably 50 feet. Behind the counter I sat filling time. Then it happened: the door flew open with excessive force and the door jamb was filled with a strangely human shaped mass. With the first damp and gurgly sounding "step" the creature advanced into the fluorescent light and I began to feel the shock of confusion and fear. Advancing toward me was a six foot tall water buffalo of a woman whose gait was apparently well lubricated judging from the sounds emitted. In concert with this was a grunting kind of wheeze that was also rhythmically in lock step. She was doughy and big, with a lumpy quality that seemed to affect her face and fingers. One or two curlers remained in her violent hair and her expression was angry. With every weeble-wobbling step she splortched ever closer- the pattern of her house dress or mumu became more discernible with each wheezing grunt. Although time seemed to be slower than real time, she finally made it to the counter where I sat, frozen in awe. In her lumpy hand was a clipboard which she whacked down on the counter between us. On the clipboard was a form with pictures of candy bars- the kind that you find with schoolkids that are fundraising for their school/band camp/whatever. Then she spoke to me.
"BUY SOME CANDY, JERK!"
I couldn't help it. I said no while laughing. She turned on her heel (hoof?) and made for the door. Her stride was more rapid and louder, with the splortching sound higher in pitch. This time however, she was swearing like a sailor with Tourette's about me the whole way. You'll have to imagine something like this: "Fucking (spotch) *wheeze* Bastard (scunch) Son of a *wheeze* Filthy (splortch) Cocksuck *wheeze* (squich) Shitsack *gurgle* Douchebag *wheeze*" and then the door exploded the other way and she turned the corner and was gone.
All of this happened within about two minutes. It felt like an hour and shook my sense of reality. There was another fellow there in the computer store with me who witnessed this and was similarly speechless (assuming laughter isn't speech). For whatever reason, she never visited O's place. Lucky bastard. Thus, a new phrase in our neighborhood parlance and ineffective marketing method were swiftly invented.