The Beautiful Kind

We went to Columbia this weekend. If the tire hadn’t busted on the way out of town…

- We wouldn’t have ended up desperate at Wal-Mart watching a completely flaming homosexual with absolutely no ass carry on about the nail in his tire, explaining that he had smoked a “marijuana cigarette,” so even though the car was down, he was UP!

- We wouldn’t have gone on to two different tire places only to accept defeat and resign ourselves to another night in Columbia.

- We wouldn’t have made the best of it by getting drunk and going to see American Hardcore at Ragtag Theatre. (Ragtag’s motto: “A theater without beer is just a museum” — Bertolt Brecht) FYI, you can easily replace the whole music concept with sex and get off on the energy and intensity of the film.
- We wouldn’t have wandered a disgusting, shitty strip mall full of filthy black snow the next morning, waiting for the tire to get fixed, and eaten at Russell’s Bison Cafe, where the sassy server invited us to dig into her pockets to retrieve the syrup for our chemically laced french toast.

- We wouldn’t have killed time at the thrift store, where not only did we score a Richard Simmons work out album (”This is not the time to defrost a pizza!”) and a gnome killing-a-fish-and-scaling-it figurine, but a fabulous sock monkey for 50 cents. She was perched on top of the mound of gross stuffed animals, front and center, so as soon as I walked in the front door she was batting her lashes at me. She was TOTALLY waiting for me. Her name is Patty. I knew she would hit it off with Rufus Lafayette, and sure enough…