DayLXIX

Fat Ass Bubba

     That cat was from the west side, but had been down there so long you would have thunk he was a Texan. He was dating a cute Texmex chick, and he was so in love with her. He was always on the phone with her, and when he wasn’t on duty, he was in town with her. He had decided to stay, and become a Texan. In his civilian clothes, he wore a tall, black hat, like a cowboy; a western shirt, he drove a pick up truck too, and even said hewston, instead of houseton, like we do.

     “Ah ya ain’t no noo yawkah no mo, man.”

     “Oh I am dude, it’s jest det…well someday y’all find out.

     You couldn’t blame him, she was one good looking lady, and she would have done anything for him. He’s the only guy I ever knew who met a good looking girl at a USO dance. I went once or twice, but it just wasn’t for me. I had partied at some of the best clubs to real live music, and well the USO dances just weren’t for me.

     “So watcha doing hea, man?”

     “Waiting fo a cab ta catch a plane, dude!”

     “Come on man, I’ll give ya ride.”

     Before I could say anything, he grabbed one of my bags,

     “Follow me bwa,” he commanded. 

     So I followed him to his pick up, and when he lit up a smoke, he started to:

     “Cough, cough…hack hack…He hee, heee hee hee!”

     “What’s up dude?”

     “Ya na dat fat ass Bubba?”

     I smelled a rat, and said:

     “Don’t tell me, yada one who cold cocked his fat ass?”