Being "Outed" By Google Reminded Me Of A Funny Tale
Andy pointed out this- my being "outed" by Google Ads which reminded me of a fond memory in the spirit of gay cowboy things. More or less.
One of my best friends growing up was Bobby. He was tall like me, but had HUGE feet. Size 17 in high school. I was told by a girl named Margaret, that the feet/dick size thing held true in his case, and that was his rep. Bobby got a lot of bootay. I got a lot of cold showers and had to endure hearing of his accomplishments- but no matter. Friends are friends, even when they are more talented, endowed, whatever.
So Bobby was a bit of a chamelion and could fit in with the jocks, preppies, rednecks, or with me and the potheaded burnout types. There was another fellow we both knew named John, and he was a hippie in the most stereotypical way possible- this guy literally looked like an R. Crumb drawing, and had smoked so much dope that he was permanently affected. Mellow and perpetually losing his train of thought. Fun guy though-
Bobby died young- at the age of 20. Very fucked up scene. I'm not totally convinced there wasn't foul play involved, and I really regretted the timing- I'd recently been a dick to him and felt like an ass- hell, I still do. After Bobbies funeral, many of us who knew him well were commiserating over booze at a local haunt, and I was surprised at how many people were also really close to Bobby that I hardly knew about. I spent so many hours and days with Bobby, I couldn't imagine how he could have found the time to have experiences with anyone else. It was an important thing for me to learn the breadth of a life- the net we cast is much wider than we'd expect.
At any rate, there we sat telling "Bobby Stories", and I think I told one about going to Bobbie's family farm for spring break and smoking dope, shooting fish with bottle rockets, fishing, and learning how to ride a motorcycle. Other folks told other tales, all amusingly in character. John sat there taking this all in, and with him, you never were sure what was registering. A pause in the conversation happened, and John finally spoke up. He said (as though it was in response to something, but totally wasn't) "Yeah, man. Bobby was the only dude I ever kissed on the lips..."
He had our undivided attention. We insisted on hearing this anecdote and he began telling us about how he (John) was inexplicably at some redneck party, where he knew no one and wasn't really being made to feel welcome. He was loitering against a wall, drinking a beer, and acroos a sizeable room stood Bobby, resplendant in cowboy hat and ginormous custom-made Tony Llama boots. Next to him was a hillbilly girly that was fixated on John and pissed by his presence.
"Who let that fucking hippie in here? Why is he here? He should leave! Gawd! Someone should go kick his ass!" Bobby, who knew John well, and knew that John didn't have a mean sprited or violent bone in his body, was plaing into Hitlerina's rant. "Yeah... Yeah! YEAH!!! I'm gonna go kick that fucking hippie's ass!" He set across the room. The angry girl was beaming with delight- "He's gonna kick that hippie's ass! This is gonna be great!"
Bobby makes a b-line for John, and John didn't notice him until Bobby was almost face to face with him. From across the room the angry girl watched Bobby walk directly up to John, grab him by the ears, and kiss him squarely on the lips. With feeling.
John was more confused than normal. Those of us telling Bobby stories had all been bested.