Myrtle Beach 2012/2013
The Revolution Revelation
This story is dedicated to Simon James Atkinson Turney a Brit author I discovered in The Twitterverse. Through our tweets he has somehow unknowingly awakened my muse.
Due to an egregious editing error by my staff, the 2012 story was invaded by 2013 events and personnel. I fired my staff but kept the invasion going. The result is a mix ‘n match story of 2012 and 2013. I hope I have done it seamlessly and humorous enough to justify not firing myself.
The main characters in this story are real; however, their true character has been subjected to:
- Hyperbole – 10%
- Poetic license – 73%
- Plain old made up stuff – 15%
- Truth – 2%
The gallery has gathered around the 18th green here at Pawley’s Plantation, each pair of eyes straining to get a better view as one of the most exciting sporting events that this or any other century has ever seen is reaching an exciting climax. Ocho has stalked around this oasis of Bermuda grass, seemingly surveying every blade, every subtle break and curl, his concentration shutting out the murmuring of the crowd and the derogatory catcalls from his fellow Hoovers. Never before in Ocho’s brilliant career has a putt meant so much. With this one stroke, this one gentle nudge with the new belly putter, Ocho can at long last claim the title of The Hoover Myrtle Beach Champion. He steps off the putt to get a true and accurate length; it is 13’ 8”. Ocho has been almost automatic this week with his new belly putter, anything within 10’ has been a lock. This one will surely test his nerves and skill, a 13’ 8” gut check….a 13’ 8” putt that will gain stature and length with each new telling of the tale….if he makes it. Okay, it is slightly uphill…about a three ball break to the right. The practice strokes are smooth and perfect…he stands over the ball and brings his new belly putter straight back and straight through. The ball leaves the brand new belly putter face and begins its journey to glory and renown or will it be another soul-sapping defeat?
In the posh downtown Boston offices of Dewey, Cheetum and Howe, the mega successful sports agency, Rocco is holding fort on a number of issues concerning all things Ocho.
‘Ocho???’ queried Ocho’s agent Rocco Ian MacDougal, ‘Have you heard a word I said?’ You seem to be distracted or something.’
‘Oh man! Now I’ll never know if the putt went in. Thanks Rocco.’ replied Ocho, ‘ I was in the middle of a cool daydream and sort of lost my focus on the conversation at hand. Big tournament coming up you know. Gotta finally get that monkey off my back or at least get the banana out of my pants before the monkey notices it.’
‘I understand your concern but that’s still three weeks away.’ said Rocco, ‘The fine folks from The Petoskey Daily Shopper will be here tomorrow to do a serialized bio of you. Hey I have a great idea, how about we let them follow you around Myrtle Beach the week of the big tournament. I’m sure they will jump at the opportunity to see you in action as you finally destroy your buddies.’
“A great idea, Rocco. It’d be nice to have some reporters around when I finally win this thing.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident, oh grand and mighty Ocho. Your track record ain’t too sparkling.”
“This time for sure. Every shot is important…focus and smarts will win it. We’re playing some Nicklaus designed courses so I’m gonna think my way around just like old Jack used to do. Can’t miss with Jack’s method and my mental acuity. Oh by the way, who are the Petoskey Daily Shopper reporters?”
“You’re gonna love this one. None other than Joan Rivers and Nick Faldo.”
“Great, let’s hope Joan has enough time to cover my story given her infatuation with The Rick. And Faldo? How’re you gonna keep him out of the Gentlemen’s Clubs? Oh well, I can’t worry about that. Gotta focus on the task at hand. Oh yeah, I didn’t see any of the partners around. Where they off to now?”
“I’m glad you asked me that Ocho”, replied Rocco as he sat back in his chair, put his feet up and relayed the following tale of mischief and mayhem starring Sam Dewey, Vinny Cheetum and Clyde Howe as they turn another vacation into chaos.
MOOSE AND SQUIRREL
The globetrotting, golfing, and heavy drinking trio have discovered a new passion, big game hunting. So we find our imbibing heroes in Alaska on a guided moose hunt on the Katmai Peninsula. Everyone in the group is armed to the teeth with the latest in modern big game hunting weaponry with the emphasis on being able to stop an angry grizzly. The exception to this show of massive firepower is Sam. He loves the lore of the mountain men and how they survived the wilds with their wits and a 50 caliber Hawken. Men like Daniel Boone, Kit Carson, Jim Bridger and Jeremiah Johnson carried this gun so it was good enough for Sam.
‘Sam!’, argued Clyde, ‘You are a stubborn, mule-headed, crossways sonofabitch.’
‘Those were the exact words of my third ex-wife at the divorce hearing.’ replied Sam, “Besides, I don’t know what the fuss is about. My gun has enough stopping power, as much as yours in fact.’
‘That’s not the concern.’ countered Vinny, ‘the concern is your ability to shoot the damn thing.’
And so the argument went all through the daily tramps through the meadows and forests in their search for moose. Sam stuck to his guns, so to speak, and carried that Hawken every day, locked and loaded and ready to destroy any poor beast that got in his way. As the days dragged on with only one shot at a moose, a miss by Vinny, the drinking became steadily heavier. Finally, toward the end of the fifth day they stumbled upon a large bull moose grazing in the meadow. Miraculously, the moose was unaware of the less than covert approach being made by 3 drunken fools and 2 bewildered guides.
As furtively as possible, Clyde rose up to take a shot. At the same moment, Sam saw some movement in the brush to their rear. Spying a patch of brown-grizzled fur through the underbrush, Sam fired his ever ready Hawken 50 caliber screaming, “I got me a bear!” Not very well braced and more than slightly drunk, Sam was thrown backwards by the kick from the 50 caliber Hawken and plowed into Clyde. Clyde, tangled now with Sam, stepped into a varmint hole twisting his ankle and sending him sprawling to the turf as he was pulling the trigger on the moose. The shot went wild ricocheting off of a boulder barely missing the now aware moose. The butt of his rifle struck Vinny in the Schlitz can he was guzzling from sending beer everywhere and knocking loose two teeth. The two bewildered guides were shouting in tandem, “Shoot the moose!” but alas, the moose decided to head for a quieter corner of the meadow and was soon out of range. At long last the three hunters recovered enough from their various new injuries to inspect the bear shot by Sam and so they slowly made their way to the bushes.
The remains, mostly blood stained foliage, of the poor, almost unidentifiable squirrel were scattered everywhere. Not even a morsel for the crows could be found, only the end of its bushy tail. Vinny sat down, pulled the top off of a Schlitz and toasted Sam and his excellent marksmanship. The two bewildered guides finally gave in and joined their clients in a festive send-off to the obliterated rodent of the woods. They had to fix up an old fashioned stretcher to carry or pull poor Clyde out of the bush and back to the cabin. Luckily he was feeling no pain so the constant jostling and the occasional falling off didn’t seem to bother him too much. The rip roaring laughter probably caused more discomfort than his ankle did.
They decided they needed to recuperate somewhere warmer, so they are now headed to Maui for some golf and relaxation. Who knows, maybe they’ll do some deep sea fishing and Sam can bag a sunfish with his Hawken 50 caliber.
As Rocco finished his tale, Ocho got up from his chair, shook his head and started out the door. “Give them my regards. See you in Myrtle next week.”
Every year it seems we come up with a new scoring system. The main reason for this, aside from exercising brain material, is that Ocho needs to find one that works for him. If Ocho ain’t winning under a given format then like a smelly, poopy diaper it is time to change the format. This year’s format is courtesy of The Rick. I copy it here verbatim from his email so that the vast Ocho Legion can read between the lines of this cleverly engineered document.
Here is a suggestion on how to play the matches.
Round 1 everybody plays for dots and score. Based on round 1 dots (?) results, teams are made from #1 and #4 against #2 and #3
Round 2 – Team match play based on total score per hole.
Round 3 – 5 same teams as round 2, but the winner of each round has to give the other team a starting lead based on winning difference of previous round.
That is, if one team wins by 2 holes in round 2, they start with a 2 hole penalty in round 3.
We could also mix in one day of Best Ball Match Play if we wanted to.
Winning team takes the trophy – based on rounds won, tie breaker – holes won, 2nd tie breaker – total stroke score.
Losing team buys winning team Dinner on last night.
Let’s examine this closely. First off, The Rick says it is a suggestion. Yeah right….come on, The Rick has spoken – so let it be done. Secondly, the first round and choosing of subsequent teams….The Rick knows that Ocho probably won’t finish fourth thereby making it more difficult for Ocho to win as he will most likely not be paired with The Rick for the match play events to follow….and this throw away consolation prize of the losing team given a “head-start”????….give me a break…The Rick will control the action so that his team doesn’t win by more than two holes….The Rick can make up a 2 hole deficit by the third hole of the next round. Thirdly, The Rick, he of an inexhaustible supply of funds, wants a free dinner.
There you have it my faithful Ocho Legion. Once again Ocho is faced with an uphill struggle to prove his worth on the hallowed, sacred turf of the South Carolina coast. It will be a test of wills, ability and whether The Rick can be his best with Joan Rivers melting at his side. Yes….maybe this is the approach to take….egg poor Joan on and disrupt and destroy The Rick.
Cast of Characters
The Usual Suspects
Rick: caught up in his own self- importance – concerned with his image as perceived via the quality of his posse
Bob: as newest posse member he’s still feeling his way – does have tendency to reflect the mindset of a NASCAR driver, sees himself as Ricky Bobby – during the whole trip he is pestering Rick to let him drive
Joey: prototypical gopher, always aiming to please The Rick even at the expense of others or himself
Jimmy: only answers to Jimmy Two Birds – conflicted in his relationship with Rick – would love to stage a coup – an unabashed Obama supporter
Ocho: official chronicler of Hoover activities – host of the popular videos, The Real Ocho Reality Show
Supporting Cast – Cameos – Walk-ons
- Joan Rivers – the face that launched a thousand scalpels – now a reporter for The Petoskey Daily Shopper – has a serious crush on The Rick and will go to great lengths to prove it.
- Nick Faldo – multiple major winner on the PGA, once glib and insightful as a TV color man for CBS he is now reduced to covering Ocho for The Petoskey Daily Shopper with Joan as his partner.
- Clyde Howe – 72 born in Altoona, PA. He is a distant relative of Lord Richard Howe, the British commander during part of The Revolutionary War. Graduated from The Naval Academy in Annapolis in 1959 and had a minor role in The Bay of Pigs Invasion. Also, it was his ship that was fired upon by a North Vietnamese patrol boat in the Gulf of Tonkin. The Ancient Mariner, as he is known by, retired as a Rear Admiral. Has always expressed great admiration for the movie, The Big Lebowski so he drinks White Russians day and night. The exception to this is when he brings out a 29 year old Cragganmore single malt Scotch that he sips while smoking Cuban cigars
- Various and sundry beverage cart girls.
- Old hippie accordion player at Villa Romana.
- Lisa and Heather – volleyball team mates from Coastal Carolina University.
- The Des Moines, IA Near Sighted Optometrists Club
- Darius Rucker & Toby Keith – I only want to be with how do you like me now
- Dr. Clement Mayhew – plastic surgeon in a coordinated effort
- Rocco Ian MacDougal – age 47 born in Dover, DE of an Italian mother and Scottish father. This mixed heritage explains his drinking preferences of Sangria in the morning and Chivas Regal after noon. Took part in many black-ops as an Army Ranger, none of which can he talk about but he has let it slip it that one had something to do with Saddam Hussein. One of the top agents employed by the Sports Management Agency of Dewey, Cheetum and Howe and has Ocho as his top client. Not a golfer, he is here to see to the needs of his client, in other words he is a high priced gopher this week.
- Samuel Dewey – age 62 born in Ogallala, NE. Graduated from Renssalaer Polytechnic Institute in 1970. His friends call him CR from his earlier career as a corporate raider. Indeed, the founding of DC&H was as a result of a corporate takeover. His business acumen is so sharp that he has been married and divorced three times and has never had to pay a settlement or alimony despite being one of the 50 wealthiest Americans… He drinks Stoli Elit before, during and after breakfast and switches to Southern Comfort at lunch.
- Vincent Cheetum – 59 born in Piney Green, NC, a little fart of a town just outside of the largest Marine Corps base on the East coast, Camp Lejeune, where his father settled after retiring from The Marines as a highly decorated Master Sgt. After a brief stint as a roadie for The Grateful Dead, Vinny followed his dad’s footsteps and also retired from the Marines as a Gunnery Sergeant, hence his nickname of Gunny. His beverages of choice are Schlitz and Jack Daniels.
The Hoovermobile Road Trip
The drive down to Myrtle is traditionally a festive event filled with laughter and all manner of gaiety. Talk of the seven day forecast is one of the many topics that will be dissected over the course of the next few hours, along with a hefty pile of trash talk to stoke the competitive fires within our Hoover souls. Ocho is on the receiving end of the trash pile quite a bit given his proclivity to flame out in spectacular fashion in these annual jaunts to the heart of the Confederacy. ‘Not this year!’ claims our hero, ‘I’m winning it his year….and this time I mean it!!’
The Rick as usual is behind the wheel of this elegant yet practical vehicle that was built specifically for The Hoovers, as we wend our way southward. Despite his churlish nature and despotic tendencies, The Rick is a mild mannered, considerate driver. I have only seen him get riled up once while driving and that was when he learned that Joan Rivers was going to be following us around all week.
‘WHAT??!!??’ screamed The Rick as he turned around to look at Ocho, ‘that’s just great. You keep her away from me, Ocho. You hear me!! All of you guys keep her away from me. Do you understand??? Do you hear me???’
‘You got it, Chief.’ responded Joey, ‘You want we should have a quiet word with her?’
‘I don’t care what you do. Just keep her away.’ said The Rick.
You may ask, with good reason, dear reader, ‘If The Rick was turned around screaming at Ocho, who pray tell was driving the vehicle as it sped 75 miles an hour down I-95?’ Well, no one was. Jimmy Two Birds leaped up from his back seat position and made a grab for the steering wheel remarking, ‘I can land this thing.’ The Rick recovering his composure, and shrugging off the lunging Jimmy Two Birds, returned his hands to the wheel and his eyes back on the road leaving poor JTB sprawled out on the console section with a can of Joey’s Diet Coke spilling into the pocket of his custom made silk, Obama in 2012 golf shirt. ‘Dagblastit anyhow’, howled JTB, ‘We’ve defaced the President.’
Another of the activities that takes place during our fun-filled frolic down the interstate is periodic napping. We are, after all, a bunch of old geezers now and need periodic naps in order to function. Ocho especially needs a few naps as he has been up all night working hard in the secret underground location at 115 Waterman Ave., Providence, RI, of Brown University’s state of the art data center where he keeps all the essential systems running to provide the students all the necessities of life such as ITunes and the ability to swipe their ID cards to do their laundry. It was just after waking from one of his periodic naps that Ocho noticed the vehicle in the lane next to them was The Petoskey Daily Shopper media van (well not exactly a van….it was a renovated El Camino with the TV cameras bolted to the floor in the back. Now many of you have probably seen the Chevy Chase Vacation movies where the beautiful blonde in the red sports car comes zipping by and begins flirting with Clark Griswold. In this case it was a lime green El Camino being driven by Nick Faldo with Joan Rivers hanging out of the window screaming longingly at The Rick.
‘Oh Rick. Hey there Rick…can’t you hear me? Yoo-hoo Ricky!!! ‘
This goes on for a couple of miles. Joan desperately trying to get The Rick’s attention and The Rick desperately ignoring her. Finally, The Rick can’t take anymore and floors the Hoovermobile leaving the poor El Camino shaking from the turbulence and with Joan almost falling out of the window.
‘I told you it wouldn’t work.’ stated Nick to a crestfallen Joan. ‘You know as well as I that The Rick will be trying to avoid you all week. Give it up girl.’
‘Not on your life buster.’ replied Joan, ‘now put your foot down and catch up with them. Maybe if I flash a little skin.’
‘Forget about it. This car can’t go any faster and besides if you start flashing stuff we could get arrested for environmental pollution or something.’, answered Nick as he slowed the El Camino down to a more manageable speed. ‘Anyway, we know where they’re headed. You’ll get another shot at disappointment soon enough.’
Long Bay – A Real Sandblast
It’s always a mesmerizing and sobering fact that even when a day starts out with great promise, the weather is great, the expectations are running off the scale, the course is magnificent, etc, etc.; things can turn on you faster than a diving red tail hawk on a bunny. Ocho has an abundance of confidence in all parts of his golfing acumen except for getting out of sand. His bunker play is a topic of great amusement to his fellow Hoovers, not that any of them are much better. In fact, Joey almost took out the rest of us with a mighty blast from a bunker that he, as we say, “got all of that one.” A screaming dimpled cannonball came directly at the three of us standing on the other side of the green. Fortunately for us the miscreant missile was on a rising trajectory and passed safely over our heads and landed some 50 or so yards back down the fairway.
‘Hey Ocho ‘, yelled Rocco as he made his way over to the practice green, ‘Got some exciting news. Joan and Nick are going to be doing a radio broadcast of the matches on WCRP, a local Petoskey station.’
‘See if you can arrange a press conference for after the round.’ replied Ocho, ‘Maybe Joan can ask The Rick some embarrassing questions.’
On the air:
Nick: ‘We’re live from Myrtle Beach to bring you the play by play of this exciting golf championship –round 1. The opening tee shot is just moments away so we’ll take this time for a station break and a few commercials to pay my salary. You’re listening to WCRP – The Voice of Petoskey and Beyond – WCRP all the crap you can’t do without.’
Nick: ‘We’re back just a reminder that after the round we will be conducting a press conference, so stay tuned. Update on the round in progress after these messages.’
Nick: ‘Okay, we’re back; finally. The competitors have shaken hands and are walking off the 18th green and headed for a brew or two I imagine. Good, they’ll be nice and lubricated for the press conference which will be starting in just a what? Another station id? Well we’ll be right back after this station identification. You’re listening to WCRP in Petoskey. How much more crap can you take?’
If You Give a Hoover a Microphone
The press conference is being conducted by Nick and Joan in the bar. The Hoovers are seated at the bar and are passing the mike back and forth as needed.
Joan: NASCAR Bob, we didn’t see you playing today. Some kind of injury?
NASCAR Bob: ‘Well Joan, I wasn’t here in 2012 but I am looking forward to the big NASCAR race a year from this Friday.
Nick: ‘JTB, kind of a rough start today, a 109? What happened?’
JTB: ‘First off Nicky, the name is Jimmy Two Birds. I’ll tell you what happened today, I played like a Hoover unlike some of my companions who like to lord it over you even if it’s the first time any of us has played in three months. I bet that The Rick wouldn’t be so high and mighty if our wonderful President, the ever kind and thoughtful Barack Obama, were in our foursome.’
Nick: ‘Jimmy Two Birds, let’s talk a little of your devotion to your chief, The Rick.
JTB: “Hey I only have one chief who I’m devoted to and that is Obama. The Rick is nothing more than a stepping stone in my rise to power in the Obama regime. He’s already looking into a pet project of mine which is to annex Canada so we can adopt their socialist policies. If he gives it the ole thumbs up I could be governor of the state of Canada.’
Joan: ‘Hello Joey, pretty nice round today for a three month layoff.’
Joey: ‘I coulda shot in the fu#$%^g 90’s if it weren’t for that fu#$@%$ driver of mine. But it was a pleasure to play alongside The Rick.’
Joan: ‘Do you have to cuss so much there Joey?’
Joey: ‘Let me just say this. I am a man of few words. I only speak when I have important things to say, so if I have a tendency to swear a bit you can be damned sure those words are fu%$^&* important.
Nick: ‘Ocho, I don’t know how to say this in a kindly fashion but you sucked today!’
Ocho: ‘Well said Nick old boy. I did indeed suck today. Out of 18 holes I must have been in 16 bunkers, that’s a whole lotta beach time and a whole lotta strokes.’
Nick: ‘At least you provided some comic relief there on 16.’
Ocho: ‘Yeah, had some fun in that bunker. After two failed attempts to get out I just went postal and kept swinging at the ball in rapid fire motion until it finally made it over the lip and into the rough. Think I took an eight on that hole.’
Joan: ‘Oh Ricky, I must say you are looking dapper today.’
Nick: grabbing mike away from Joan, ‘Sorry about that your Rickness, er your Ricktitude, your Rickerino, anyway that was a fine display of golf you put on today.’
The Rick: ‘Naturally. I really enjoy beating these guys.’
Nick with Joan whispering in his ear: ‘Ahh, excuse me The Rick but Joan wants to know if you’d have a drinky poo with her after this is over?’
The Rick storming out of the bar: ‘That’s it! I’m outta here. Posse! On me now!’
What Do You Mean I Can’t Have Liam Neeson?
After finally escaping the press conference, The Rick and most of his posse head for a secluded area of the golf course so The Rick can take part in a video chat with the renowned film director, Peter Jackson. Well maybe not quite most of his posse, Jimmy Two Birds was conveniently waylaid by Nick Faldo and the two of them are now three shots of Swan Creek to the wind. Meanwhile NASCAR Bob is popping wheelies and squealing rubber in the parking lot with golf carts like he was born to it. Ocho in his role as instigator was leading a drooling Joan over to the supposedly secure area where she could observe The Rick; ready to make her move if the situation was right. That leaves only Joey to protect The Rick and Joey is dozing contentedly in another golf cart 20 feet away from The Rick.
Ocho is in a prime location for over hearing The Rick as he discusses possible actors to play the lead role in the upcoming big screen telling of ‘The Rick’ a film presentation by We Can’t Help It, We’re Morons Media Productions and directed by Peter Jackson.
The Rick: ‘Whaddya mean I can’t have Liam Neeson? He’s perfect for the part.’
Peter Jackson: ‘I didn’t say we couldn’t get Liam, I just said we need a couple alternatives, say like Tom Cruise or Kevin Bacon.’
The Rick: ‘No way I’m gonna be played by either of those guys. How about George Clooney or maybe that DiCaprio fellow?’
Joan: as she slides into the seat next to The Rick, “Oh Ricky let me run my fingers through your magnificent head of hair! Oh Ricky, what is that cologne you’re wearing, Eau de Irresistible?”
The Rick: “What the heck? Where’s my posse? Joey, wake up and get this woman off me!”
Peter Jackson: “I say there, Rick old chap, having a spot of trouble?
Joey, at the mention of his name awakens with a start, sees Joan in the cart next to The Rick and springs into action. Slamming his foot down on the accelerator Joey finds himself hurtling backwards as the cart was in reverse; he rolls over three sets of clubs before he can slam on the brake and in the process douses himself with a 2 liter Diet Coke. Putting the cart in forward gear, he re-rolls the three sets of clubs and heads over to save The Rick. “Hang on chief, Joey’s on the way” cried Joey as he bounced over the curb he hadn’t seen.
NASCAR Bob hearing all of the commotion and seeing The Rick undefended did a tight two wheel turn into the wooded area separating the parking lot from the practice area. Zig zagging his way between magnificent, old growth oaks and new growth jack pine trees, Bob became Mario Andretti and Jackie Stewart rolled into one. Hairpin turns around tree roots and the occasional stump were taken at maximum speed yet with the grace of Baryshnikov. Momentarily distracted by a rabbit Bob was unaware of the large pile of sand he was rapidly approaching. The ease in which Bob transferred from race car driver to pilot was rather a moot point as there wasn’t much Bob could do except eyeball the magnificent old growth oak tree looming on the immediate horizon. A quick lean to the left and the cart came to rest wedged in the crook of two large branches about 12 feet off the ground. Clambering out of the precariously perched golf cart, Bob managed to half climb-half fall his way to the ground where he was almost run down by Joey going over the curb he hadn’t seen.
Startled out of her very focused attention to The Rick, Joan became aware of Joey, wild eyed and Diet Coke stained, getting closer and saw Bob gaining ground as well as he half jogged-half stumbled his way forward. With a last peck on The Rick’s cheek, Joan ran off squealing with delight. Joey and Bob arrived in time to hear The Rick say to Peter:
The Rick: ‘And as far as casting my posse, I don’t want anyone portraying them as they are. I want a posse that does what a posse is supposed to do, namely keep Joan Rivers away from me!’
What Would Obama Do?
After a short settling out period in which The Rick berated his posse in very descriptive and colorful terms we all piled in The Hoovermobile and prepared to head out for a leisurely and pleasant lunch. ‘Where do you all want to go?’ queried The Rick as he shooed Nascar Bob out of the driver’s seat, ‘Not that it matters much.’
‘I wanna go to Hooters. Obama wants us to go to Hooters.’ voiced JTB, to which Joey started to agree with until he saw the look on The Rick’s face. ‘Maybe we should see where the Chief wants to go.’ Joey sheepishly proposed.
JTB: ‘I’m telling you, Obama wants us to see some hooters. Give me one good reason why we should be deprived of the liberty to see some hooters. A liberty, by the way, made possible by our beloved President. What do you say, Nascar Bob?’
NB: ‘I just wanna eat and have a few brews somewhere where they have racing on a huge screen TV.’
The Rick: ‘Our beloved President notwithstanding we are not going to see some hooters. We are going to Cheeseburgers in Paradise where unlike Hooters, the food is good. I will brook no more debate on the subject. One more word out of you Jimmy Two Birds and you’ll find yourself confined to quarters with no TV privileges. Do I make myself clear?’
A chorus of ‘Sir, yes Sir’ rang out from the four chastised posse members. JTB, more seething than chastised just turned away and muttered under his breath while climbing in the back seat of The Hoovermobile. Ocho could hear snatches of the one sided conversation, words like revolt and coup and gonna get his were repetitive themes. ‘Say Jimmy Two Birds.’ whispered Ocho, ‘Just want you to know that whatever you have planned, I am behind you 47%.’
We have developed certain traditions through the years we have been coming to Myrtle as a group, such as; I supply and brew the morning coffee, or bedroom assignments, or, and this is a big one, TV viewing seating arrangement. The living room in our posh, four bedroom condo is sort of rectangular in shape. Facing the TV, there is the dining room area to the left; Ocho traditionally sits in a tropical style rattan chair in that area. There are two couches, perpendicular to each other; one sits between the two sets of sliding glass doors that lead to the relaxation room, or veranda. The other is against the back wall, furthest from the TV. Jimmy has over the years been relegated to the back wall couch while Rick, not unlike Dr. Sheldon Cooper, has claimed the sliding door couch as his spot. Joey kind of moves from couch to couch saying he does that as part of his bodyguard duties, but I suspect he moves to where the best snacks are at the moment. Nascar Bob, since this is his first excursion with The Hoovers to Myrtle, doesn’t have a seat yet. I imagine though he’ll be back wall couch assigned. What a picture, the three Hoovers of girth squeezed together cheek to cheek while The Rick is sprawled out on the sliding door couch, a bag of Oreos and a glass of milk at hand.
JTB, still smarting from the no hooters incident, comes down from his second floor bedroom, a copy of What Would Obama Do? in his hand. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs Jimmy gives out a cry of acclamation in response to an Obama quote in the passage he is reading. He looks up and notices that The Rick has not yet come down from the penthouse bedroom and that the sliding door couch was available. After a short visit to the kitchen, Jimmy is now sprawled out on the sliding door couch, a bag of Doritos and a liter of Mountain Dew at hand. The revolution has just gone up a notch.
The Rick: coming down the stairs; ‘Ocho, I’ve got a…What is Jimmy Two Birds doing in my spot? And why is there a NASCAR race on TV?
JTB: ‘You know this is rather comfortable. I think Obama would love to sit here too.’
Nascar Bob: ‘Oh sorry Chief. I was just helping Jimmy Two Birds to understand the intricacies of racing; like drafting and so forth.’
The Rick: ‘Get out of my spot immediately or be banished from the posse!’
JTB: pulling out his cell phone he hits speed dial #1, his hot line to Obama. ‘Yes I’d like to speak to our beloved President. What do you mean he’s not taking my calls anymore? Uh huh, uh huh. What do you mean he’s not gonna invade Canada? ‘
A much deflated Jimmy Two Birds tried to fight back the flood of tears coursing down his face and into his Mountain Dew. He sets down his phone and picks up the Obama book as he ambles up the stairs to his room. ‘What am I gonna do now?’ he asks no one in particular.
The Rick stopped JTB on the stairs and said softly’ ‘Sorry Jimmy Two Birds but you see, I own Obama,’ Jimmy just looked at The Rick, nodded his head and said, ‘I’m going upstairs for a bit; maybe play a little poker online.’ Rick continued on down and after wiping up Dorito crumbs and a spot of Mountain Dew, assumed his favorite sprawled out position. Nascar Bob handed over the remote and The Rick surfed through the channels until a sigh of glee erupted from him, ‘All right, Duck Dynasty!’
Ocho was beginning to wonder if he would be able to pull off his next caper when at last Joey and Nascar Bob went out the back to feed the ducks and The Rick got up to use the bathroom. As soon as The Rick shut the door Ocho was up like a flash and opened the front door and hushed and hurried Joan up to the third floor penthouse. ‘Hide out on the deck then surprise the heck out of him when the moment is right.’ Ocho told Joan. ‘Oh don’t you worry about me. I’ve a feeling tonight is the night.’ said Joan giving Ocho a big wink.
‘Well’ said The Rick, ‘I’m off to bed. I left a couple of cookies; you guys help yourselves and don’t forget my coffee in the morning.’ He had barely made the stairway before the cookies were gone and the TV was back on the NASCAR channel.
The Beckoning Deck
The Mask of Salvation
As The Rick climbed the stairs to his third floor penthouse, Ocho sent a quick text message to Joan letting her know that The Rick was on his way. She positioned herself behind the portion of the glass doors that was covered by the curtain; her hands were clammy and her heart was racing, could this be the night of romance she’s been dreaming of? The Rick, not suspecting anything, casually went about his night time ablutions complete with farts, belches and scratching. He emerged from the five star bathroom dressed in his finest silk pajamas and silk robe, both emblazoned with THE RICK on the pockets. A look in the mirror and a final toss of his head to settle his magnificent hair and The Rick sauntered into the bedroom portion of the penthouse. Once he was settled in the super king sized bed and under the imported Egyptian cotton sheets he donned his sleep apnea mask and turned off the light.
Joan was still hidden on the deck, barely breathing so as to not alert The Rick. She watched as The Rick climbed into bed but turned away to remove her jacket and did not notice The Rick putting on his sleep mask. When she deemed enough time had passed and that The Rick was now sound asleep she slid the door open and entered the room. Her plan was to climb into the bed and kiss The Rick and then see what developed. Using her cell phone flashlight she shined the beam on The Rick’s face expecting to see a beatific sleeping beauty. What she saw instead was some sort of hideously masked face linked to a weird contraption on the bedside table. Letting out a very loud and very frightened scream, she ran out of the penthouse, down the stairs and into the night, screaming the whole way.
The Rick startled from a pleasant dream sequence in which he ruled the world, sat up and saw the back of Joan as she ran screaming out the door. Pulling off the mask The Rick began shouting for his posse ‘Joey, Jimmy Two Birds, Nascar Bob, Ocho stop that crazy woman!’
A Bandana, a Halter Top and Chaps with a Codpiece
A slight detour into factual events will occur from time to time in order to separate the fictional Hoovers from the real thing. This is one such detour. In the story, Rick is portrayed in a certain villain-like way whereas in real life he is nothing of the sort. A conversation that took place this morning regarding the teams in today’s upcoming match. Rick and I are partners by virtue of my extreme ineptitude yesterday at Long Bay. “Well”, says Ocho as he rises from the table, “Time to get dressed.” “What are you going to wear?’ asked Rick, “Let’s coordinate outfits.” and “Let’s call ourselves the Ricketts” and “We can have our own victory dance.”
Fortunately, the closest we came to accessorizing was to wear the same color golf shirt. The alternative is frightening to think about or to try and picture. Later that day while having our after round beer we started discussing the look of our coordinated outfits. The winning costume is a bandana, halter top and leather chaps with an optional codpiece. I’m not sure why the codpiece was rendered optional. Maybe we thought that would just make us look silly.
A Synopsis of the 2012 Golf – The WCRP Highlight Reel
These highlights were gleaned from the WCRP broadcasts during those rare moments when golf was actually being described. It was decided by the author and would surely have been seconded by his staff had they not been fired earlier on in the project, to condense the golf proceedings and to separate them from the tension filled drama that is the other subplot in this massive two year written dioramic undertaking.
Round 1 – Long Bay – described in Chapters1 & 2 – as a result of the scores today and per this year’s rules, Jimmy Two Birds and Joey are team mates vs. The Rick and Ocho for the rest of the week.
Round 2 – Blackmoor
Nick: ‘Much better results for Ocho today as he is sinking some putts and not one bunker, a huge improvement over yesterday.’
Joan: ‘I think the shot of the day was when he skulled a tee shot to a par 3 fronted by a large pond. His Titleist did its best impression of Jesus on Lake Galilee as it hopped at least ten times across the pond before smashing into the wooden wall that serves as the bank of the pond.’
Nick: ‘A close second was his tee shot that landed in a waste area 3 feet from a gator sunning itself on the bank of the pond. Ocho wisely left the ball there.’
Joan: ‘The two day stroke totals – TR 99/92=191….JTB 109/95=204….Joey 102/104=206….Ocho 109/97=206….the match play is all square.
Round 3 – Wild Wing Avocet
Nick: Ocho’s ball lies in the rough on the right side about 20 yards from the hazard, a difficult shot around the trees, over the 30 yard wide marsh with hopefully a fade that will curve back towards the green. Ocho looks like he has his hybrid.
Joan: Yes Nick, that is his favorite club, his go to club. I guess the smart shot would be to start his ball left of the trees with that fade you mentioned.
Nick: Okay…he starts his backswing…the ball is away…oh my goodness; I don’t think that was what he had planned. The ball, instead of going left of the trees has gone right through a gap of no more than three feet between two of the trees. Now it hits the cart path on the other side of the protected area and bounds off the backside of a mound and into the fairway. What a great shot!!!!
Joan: What great imagination…no one but Ocho could even conceive of such a shot….well except maybe The Rick. BTW have you seen how dreamy he looks today?
Ocho: Whew!! That was not what I intended, meant to go left of the tree.
JTB: Yeah you got lucky there…but once again we have proved that for a Hoover, aiming in golf is just a theoretical concept.
Nick: ‘The stroke totals after Round 3 – TR 99/92/96=287….Joey 102/104/99=305….JTB=109/95/102=306….Ocho 109/97/100=306’
Joan: ‘The match play totals has The Ricketts ahead by 3 holes; that means that Jimmy and Joey get a three hole head start tomorrow.’
Round 4 – Prestwick
Author’s note – Due to technical difficulties both with the broadcast team and with the golfers, we do not have any highlights from this round. Four players-72 holes-4 pars-22 triple bogey or worse. Best thing to do is to just walk away and forget this round ever happened. Four day stroke totals – TR 107=394 Ocho 101=407 Joey 104=410 JTB 105=411. Match play now has Jimmy/Joey up by three holes.
Round 5 – Tradition
Another author’s note – The technical difficulties for the broadcast team has been resolved; however, WCRP was so far behind in airing commercials that today’s broadcast was nothing but the running of said commercials. For Joey and The Rick this is a good thing as they were worse than yesterday shooting 112 & 110. Day five – TR 110=504 Ocho 97=504 JTB 100=511 Joey 112=522. Match play – The Ricketts are up by two holes.
Round 6 – Pawley’s Plantation
Nick: ‘Welcome to the final round of this painful to watch championship. We’re changing up a bit today as WCRP is still catching up with their sponsors so we’re doing a taped walk about with the players as they slog their way to victory on a very difficult course. Just how difficult? Let’s ask Ocho, who played here one time many years ago.’
Ocho: ‘That’s right Nick. This place ate me up and spit me out; think I shot something like a 116, so when the chance came to subject my buddies to this horror chamber I jumped at it; even though that means I have to play it again but the frustration will be worth it.’
Joan: ‘Those par 3’s along the causeway are just so hard. I hope my Ricky poo doesn’t lose his balls in the water.’
A few holes later…
Nick: ‘We have reached the short island green par 3 on the causeway and Ocho has hit a beautiful tee shot, he’ll have a putt of about 11 feet for birdie.
Ocho: ‘Hot damn! You see that? Too bad for The Rick, I think he splashed two.’
Joan: ‘Oh poor, poor Ricky poo, how it must burn his very soul to take a 7 on a hole while Ocho gets a 2.’
Many holes later…
Nick: ‘We’ve reached the 18th and The Ricketts need to win this hole to tie the match.’
Joan: ‘I’m here with Fairway Joey and he’s feeling a little nervous.’
Joey: ‘Boy oh boy, sure hope the deciding putt isn’t up to me. Could be bad if I’m the one to beat The Chief.’
JTB: ‘Well ain’t this something? It’s all up to The Rick now.’
Nick: ‘A snaking downhiller; about 8 feet. It’s impossible to leave this putt short and he needs to make it to square the match.’
Ocho: ‘This is just like my dream how come I’m not the one with the putt to win?’
Nascar Bob: ‘Cuz you already missed your putt.’
Nick: ‘Hello Nascar, nice to see you here from the future again. Okay, The Rick has lined up the putt, he is standing over the ball almost frozen in place, is that fear or just intense concentration?’
Joey: ‘Ahh, he always takes a long time to pull the trigger. Oh there it goes!’
Nick: ‘I don’t believe it! He not only left it short, he left it 2 feet short!’
JTB: ‘Holy crap! We won! Viva la revolution!’
Joan: ‘Wait…he gets a mulligan…my Ricky poo deserves a mulligan.’
Ocho: ‘Damnation, now we gotta pay for dinner.’
The Rick: ‘Wha, wha what happened?’
Nick: ‘For those keeping score the final stroke totals are TR 103=607 Ocho 108=612 JTB 105=616 Joey 109=631.’
The Beluga Brothers
Probably the biggest non-tournament event that took place this week was the WCRP Beach Party. The Petoskey Daily Shopper in conjunction with WCRP pulled out all the stops…spared no expense as they feted everyone involved with the Hoover Championship, and a few extras that just happened to be around. Everyone was keyed up to have a good time including WCRP’s Joan Rivers.
Joan to Nick – I hope to get The Rick to take me on a romantic walk along the beach where we can watch the sunset over the ocean.
Nick to Joan – Uh Joan? This is the Atlantic Ocean ain’t gonna see no bleedin’ sunset.
The affair was catered by Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburgers in Paradise and live music was provided by Hootie and the Blowfish. The spread was delectable with any kind of burger you can imagine including the monster ½ lb. Bacon-cheeseburger topped with chili. Jimmy Two Birds and Fairway Joey, faces and shirts now coated with tasty chili drops, proclaimed them to be the best burgers in existence. In keeping with his time honored tradition of downing frozen strawberry daiquiris whenever he dines at CiP, JTB quaffed 3 of the concoctions and was ordering his fourth when Fairway Joey coaxed JTB to join in a game of beach volleyball with some of the lovely bikini clad denizens of the beach. So there they were these two leviathans, these behemoth specimens of man gone badly, amongst the young, nubile, and hot enough for SI Swimsuit consideration, specimens of woman gone superlative.
It was decided that Joey and Jimmy would play against Lisa and Heather, two of the more comely lasses who also happened to be team mates on the Coastal Carolina University Beach Volleyball Team. On the face of it this match shouldn’t have gone more than 11 points all of which would have been garnered by the nubile ones but for reasons that can only be speculated upon Joey and Jimmy were putting up quite a fight and the two teams found themselves tied 10-10. It could be argued that Lisa and Heather were taking it easy on these two sorry looking, out of shape couch potatoes and indeed that was the case for the first few volleys. However, when Team Nubile realized that despite appearances, their foes were superb athletes underneath the flab, they turned it up a notch and the match became the primary focus for most of the merrymakers at the WCRP Beach Party. The only real exception to the interest in the sand court excitement was Joan as she kept her eyes peeled on The Rick waiting for a chance to strike.
Volley after volley, some lasting minutes at a time, found Joey and Jimmy reaching some heretofore unknown level of volleyball prowess. Beautifully setup passes and slams careened off of their stubby and calloused fingertips some finding pay dirt on the other side of the net, some being returned with the same ferocity and intent. It was still any one’s games when it was mutually decided to take a five minute break with the score 10-10 and match point in the offing. Joey, his bald head glistening in the afternoon sun, gulped down another liter of Diet Coke while Jimmy practically inhaled two more frozen strawberry daiquiris. Their strategy to win the contest was simple and straightforward, do whatever it takes to get the ball back over the net.
Nick: ‘Hello, this is Nick Faldo, reporting live on the beach. Joan Rivers was to join me but she is down in the crowd somewhere stalking The Rick. Just behind me you can see Fairway Joey and Jimmy Two Birds having some refreshment, probably Gatorade or some such nutrient mishmash, gimme a stout and a shot of Swan Creek any day. Now they are making their way to the court where they have the serve.
This is it. Match point, the behemoths vs. the nubile in the Hoover Beach Volleyball Championship, sponsored by The Petoskey Daily Shopper and the makers of Swan Creek Irish Whiskey, remember when after a long day of menial labor and heading to the end of a mostly menial career looking at computer screens, get a grip on a double shot of Swan Creek, it’ll do the job.’
Fairway Joey twirled the ball on the index finger of his left hand while guzzling down the last dregs of a can of Diet Coke. His right hand crushes the can and flings it out into the crowd where a fierce battle breaks out between string bikinied babes for ownership of the can. Jimmy Two Birds, a look of befuddlement on his face, sort of staggers to his position by the net. He turns around to wave to the cheering masses hollering “JTB, JTB”. He tries to give the okay sign with his right hand but the shift in equilibrium toppled him into a surprised Lisa who was not facing JTB but was talking to Heather about strategy. Talk about your primal greeting.
Nick: ‘Okay, Fairway Joey tosses the ball up with his left hand and slams a missile towards the right back corner of the nubile side. Oh what a play by Heather; she comes out of nowhere and sends a perfect pass to Lisa who sets up Heather at the net for a slam. Jimmy Two Birds can only flail in desperation as the ball flies by. Fairway Joey attempts to make a dive for it but only succeeds in falling on his face, his outstretched hands about 6 inches short of where the ball hits with a thud sending more sand in Joey’s face.
The serve goes over to Lisa and Heather and they seem to have momentum on their side after that masterful last volley. Heather sends a bullet to Joey’s right. This could be the match, but wait, Joey takes a tremendous leap sideways determined not to come up short this time. The ball comes down only this time Joey is able to return it not with his fingers as he has overshot the mark but the ball deflects off of his head and heads to the net. JTB having turned the wrong way is stumbling backwards and just manages to keep the ball aloft with a rapidly descending hand as he lands in the sand. Joey knowing he may be needed arose as soon as the ball hit his head but while on the way to the net he trips in the large divot made by his now sand covered cranium and is sent sprawling face first; however, the ball hits his left hand and starts upward and over the net. Both Lisa and Heather are caught too close to the net and the ball sails ever so slowly over their heads. In sheer desperation they both lunge at the ball and probably could have made a play had they not collided mid-air rendering them incapable of reaching the ball.
Unbelievable! The behemoths have won. The scene on the sand is pandemonium. Adoring fans struggle to lift the exhausted winners out of the pits of sand in which they lie. The pair raises their hands together in triumph, their sweaty oversized bodies covered in a layer of sand. On the other side of the net paramedics are administering mouth to mouth to Lisa and Heather, although it doesn’t appear that they were unconscious. ‘
“I don’t know about you Joey but I need a drink and a dunk in the ocean”, quipped Jimmy as he made his way to the bar.
“Let me just say this, lead on Jimmy Two Birds.”, replied Fairway Joey.
So after procuring a couple beverages they amble down to the water’s edge and judging the temperature to be acceptable they gallantly plunge in, washing away the sweat and sand of victory. Floating amiably and in a slightly sleepy manner on their backs they come to the attention of the members of the Des Moines, IA Near Sighted Optometrists Club who are attending a convention this week. Convinced that the two pasty white objects floating just off shore are actually Beluga Whales that are in trouble some of the members rushed into the water and they proceeded to float the poor whales toward the beach while others flooded the 911 emergency lines. Once on the beach the excited yet misguided rescuers confiscated all the sand buckets they could from startled kids building forts and castles. Bucket after bucket of water was poured on our two heroes until Joey was able to sputter, “I say do any of you have a Diet Coke?”
All at once the beach is overtaken by the sound of many sirens as the Horry County Police arrive on the scene followed by a convoy of Department of Natural Resource vehicles and for good measure a Coast Guard Cutter and helicopter are deployed to help with the whale rescue mission. Two of the more zealous of the near sighted optometrists begin pushing and prodding the DNR agents toward the two white whales just as the whales rise up on two feet and begin walking back up the beach to the bar. “Well glory be!!” exclaims one of the optometrists, “I didn’t think evolution happened that quickly, those whales developed bipedal motion in a matter of minutes.”
She Broke My Heart So I Busted Her Jaw
(From the 1973 album of the same name by Spooky Tooth)
The merriment shifted from the volleyball court to the makeshift stage where Hootie was getting ready to rock. Jimmy and Joey, a bevy of bikini babes in their considerable wake, having replenished their beverages were leaning against the stage being completely knackered by sun, booze or Diet Coke, and the physical exertion their bodies were definitely not used to or ready for. The sun drenched and well lubricated crowd broke into spontaneous dance as Darius started I Only Want to be With You. Joey and Jimmy got caught up in the frenzied excitement and totally forgot their posse duties and protecting The Rick.
At the end of the Hootie’s set, the crowd clamored for more not having fully sated their festive mood. All of sudden there is a loud whoop from Nascar Bob as he is leading Toby Keith up to the stage. The crowd is even more frenzied now and when Toby joins Darius for the encore the noise was deafening. Nascar Bob, hailed as the bringer of Toby submits to the urging of the crowd and climbs on stage just in time to join in on How Do You Like Me Now? and Whiskey for My Men Beer for My Horses. One may safely assume that Nascar Bob isn’t giving much thought to the well-being of The Rick at the present time especially while he is being surrounded by a bunch of middle aged women handing him items to be autographed or gifts such as lingerie and one set of keys to a cheap motel on the edge of town.
One may also safely assume that The Rick is oblivious to his vulnerability as he is sitting on the beach engaged in a video chat with Donald Trump. It seems that The Donald is a little miffed at The Rick for using The Rick as his name when everyone knows that The Donald was using The Donald for his name long before The Rick started using The Rick and is threatening legal action against The Rick. Thus we find Joan hidden behind a mobile drink cart that Ocho borrowed for her, stealthily approaching The Rick.
The Donald: ‘Listen, I don’t want to be unreasonable. How about you don’t capitalize the t in the Rick? I could live with that ’
The Rick: ‘That sounds fair. Let me run it by Sam Dewey and I’ll… What the fu??
From behind the drink cart Joan springs forward and lands next to the Rick. ‘Oh Ricky poo isn’t this just so romantic; just the two of us here on the beach with the sound of crashing waves.’ The Rick acting on pure animal instinct reared back and with an I-Phone 5 assisted right cross hit a startled Joan right square on the jaw sending her backwards where she crashed into the drink cart and hit her head on a wheel hub knocking her unconscious. Now a word about the physiology of Joan’s cranium and face. She has undergone many surgical enhancements over the years to the point that during the last procedure the surgeon had to implant titanium to help augment the now thoroughly abused facial muscles. So basically now her skull and face are encased in a titanium shell. The result of the punch was a dent, shaped like an I-Phone 5 seen from the top. The wheel hub left a quarter sized indentation on the back of her head. While there was no real structural damage to muscle and bone, the residual expression on her face was rather frightening in appearance.
The Donald: ‘Hey! Did I just hit Joan Rivers in the jaw?’
The Rick: ‘Yes The Donald, you did. Good job that. Well I gotta run.’
The Rick hangs up on The Donald and hits speed dial for his personal helicopter. ‘Yeah I want you here at the beach helipad in 5 minutes. Go!’ Spotting Ocho crouched over the still form of Joan and her dented face, he says, ‘Help me carry her up to the helipad. I know just where to take her.’
The Head of Reconstructive Surgery at The University of South Carolina Hospital was an old college pal of The Rick’s back in their undergraduate days at Washington and Lee. Being slightly beholden to The Rick for years of generous donations to his department, Dr. Mayhew was more than happy to take on this case. ‘Now listen Mayhew’ said The Rick, ‘when this is done just send the bill to Sam Dewey over at Dewey, Cheetum and Howe. He’ll take care of it no questions asked.’ The Rick then grabbed Dr. Mayhew by the hands and pulling him closer whispered, ‘Just one other thing Clement…’
Dr. Mayhew watched as Ocho and The Rick walked away down the hospital corridor. With a sigh he opened his hand and wondered at the ingenuity and engineering that went into this miniature gps transmitter. Now, where to put it?
A Revolting Development
It was a tough morning for some of yesterday’s celebrants but Ocho was up at his duty bright and early. “Now that’s a good pot of coffee,” remarked Ocho as he headed to the closest bathroom. “Why is that?” asked Joey. “Because it is still brewing, haven’t had a drop yet and it has already kicked in.” answered Ocho. Joey, his normal pleasant smiling face masked by the pain exuding from every muscle and joint, fell into one of the chairs begging Ocho to deliver his coffee. Jimmy Two Birds made the trip down from the second floor in a record time of 10 minutes, the strawberry daiquiris playing the Soul Sacrifice drum solo in his head in addition to the Ibuprofen proof pain the rest of his body felt. Nascar Bob was also slightly unsteady on his feet but perked right up after two sips of coffee. The Rick strode down demanding to know why no one delivered his coffee.
Ocho emerged from the bathroom to find his pals, his buddies, his fellow Hoovers gathered around the dining room table. ‘Uh, Ocho? Have a seat why dontcha? We have something we would like to discuss with you.’, said The Rick. Ocho sat down and felt the steely gaze of those with grievances, ‘Okay what’s up?’
Joey: ‘Here’s the thing Ocho, we have had enough of the vile character assassinations we have to put up with in these stories.’
Jimmy: ‘A zealot for Obama? That’s taking poetic license too far.’
Rick: ‘Leader of a posse, while I like the idea you know that isn’t really me. I mean I do seem to attract the ladies and I do like to wear L.L. Bean and I do like the idea of telling people what to do but I’m more like the let’s coordinate outfits kinda guy.’
Ocho: ‘So what do you guys want or think I can do about it? After all I’m just an alter ego, a figment of the author’s vivid imagination. Let me call my agent, Rocco. Perhaps he can come up with a solution. By the way, how do you feel about the way you’re written, Bob?’
Bob: ‘Hell I kinda like it. Now is this confab over? NASCAR race on in two minutes.’
Yeah, I’m a Feckin’ Genius
What does an author do when the characters he has created decide to rebel against the tyranny of creativity? On the one hand how much longer could I stretch out the whole Joan vs. Rick thing? It’s been a staple topic for me to play with since 2009 and I indeed had fun with this out of character caricature of a close friend. Well as they say in the old country, ‘all good things blah blah blah’. Rocco did indeed come up with a solution, a very equitable if only a slightly one-sided legal agreement drawn up in the offices of Dewey, Cheetum and Howe. To wit:
The author agrees to cease and desist casting his Hoover buddies in the fashion heretofore utilized over the course of the last few years and stories. This does not include this story as it is still in progress and the since the author fired his staff there is no time for a re-write.
This agreement does not preclude the author using a different set of characterizations in the future in depicting his Hoover buddies. This clause is especially important as the author has already done so. You can glean these new works of superb craftsmanship at http://mystoriesandsuch.wordpress.com/ .