Letters from Smitty…(Missing Again!)

 

Dear Friends,

 

I believe it was Albert Einstein who once said “A man who has no sense of smell is a man who probably doesn’t have a nose or something.”   I have never heard a more poignant thought put so succinctly.  It’s no wonder he invented the Adam Bomb.   (I don’t know much about the bomb and much less about Einstein’s overall theories.  However, judging simply from the context I’ve been given regarding that powerful weapon, I can deduce that we gathered several men named Adam and somehow unlocked their intrinsic powers of destruction.   We consequentially used these men to destroy parts of Eur-Asia during the first War of the World.)  This quote has been jogging laps in the racetrack of my brain for the past weeks as I have found it extremely relevant to my current situation.

 

As many of you know, my roommate “Smitty” has finally returned to his rightful place by my side in Sheridan, WY.   His disappearance several weeks ago was the result of an ill-timed cold streak in the high stakes world of Tamagachi trading.  Smitty has made quiet a mint by raising and keeping his digital pet healthy for longer periods of time than his competitors then selling them at a more than fair price to local enthusiast, but that well has run dry.

 

Since he is the main bread-winner in our relationship (I have been on a leave of absence from my job after that disturbing incident at the Blacksmith shop.   After fashioning a splendid set of high-heeled horse shoes, [Retail Value: $199] the Horse I was fitting them on gave me a strong look.  I thought nothing of it at first, but the look slowly evolved into a stare.   There was a flood of palpable skepticism in his eyes.  Consequentially, I was emotionally distraught and filed immediately for long-term disability from my employer) he was off-put by the new found lack of income and went very much insane.

 

He left me without saying goodbye.  Nearly three weeks later he stumbled back into our studio apartment drunk on O’Doul’s (I know what your thinking, O’Doul’s cannot cause symptoms of drunkenness.   However, Smitty, brings a small, flask-shaped flask of pure absinthe wherever he goes.  He uses it to “Irish up” any drink, sauce or small animal.).   What was left of his trousers was badly burnt (the odor of cooked corduroy fabric is actually a surprisingly pleasant one.  We have since tried baking it for dinner with mixed results.) and had a book that he picked up during his travels entitled Using More Parentheses in Your Daily Life (A Guide to Paranthetical Asides).  I have since leafed through this book and found its contents very useful.   The book was published in Montana so I know that in his travels he had crossed the state border.

 

Smitty had gone on a vision quest, evoking the spirits of his dead parents who are actually not dead, yet.   You should note that not just anyone can evoke these spirits.  The average human mind is too narrow to open the doors necessary to access the realm in which these entities reside.   Smitty (like he had done nearly a baker’s dozen times before) used the ancient Native American ritual of drinking two bottles of Benadryl Day Formula to prepare his brain to travel in parallel realities.   He learned this ritual from a man named Josh, who explained this process to Smitty while he was rummaging through our garbage can for credit card numbers.   Josh told Smitty that he was 1/16 th American Indian and to Smitty, that was good enough.

 

The spirits of Smitty’s still-living parents guided him to the small town of Wyola, MT where he camped outside of the local CVS Pharmacy in nothing but a lean-to fashioned from old wooden pallets and an unused recycling bin.   Unknowingly, Smitty was on the turf of Wyola’s most ferocious pack of homeless ex-basketball players…and in for trouble.

 

The Wyola Jack Rabbits were a franchise of the NBA (National Basketball Alliance) in the mid-seventies.  They were known on the court for hard-nosed defense and legendary trash talking.  They were known off the court for audacious drug use, bombastic xenophobia and creative methods of terrorizing the public disguised as Fan appreciation (The Jack Rabbit’s Sodomy Night in 1974 is still listed as one of, if not the worst fan giveaway prize in sports history.  It’s only main competition came later in the form of the Pittsburgh Pirate’s Fransisco Cordova Bobble Head night).

 

The Wyola franchise experienced misfortune in 1984 following the release of the Talking Heads’ concert film Stop Making Sense.  The song “Burning Down the House” was taken so literally by the team members, they burned down several houses on adjacent streets to the arena where their practices were held.   After several court hearings, most players found themselves imprisoned, others found themselves living on the street, beating up out-of-towners for money and fun.

 

Now, Smitty is not one to back away from a fight.  He studied Kempo Karate in Peoria, IL underneath Grand-Master Ralph Solewski of Ralph Solewski’s Karate and Radial Tire Emporium.   He was approached by the former point-guards and power forwards( 5 total…a full squad) who strictly told him that if he wanted to retain his life, he would vacate from that CVS and relocate himself to the next CVS which was 10 yards down the street.   Smitty refused and accepted the violent consequences.  After a ten minute fracas, Smitty had crippled one player and legally neutered another.   However, their numbers were too strong and he was chased out of town.

 

It should also be noted that Smitty was a 1991 Olympic alternate in the sport of power walking.   Smitty could walk 8 miles an hour, without lifting both feet off the ground.  He power walked back to Sheridan (a nearly 35 mile distance) at an aggressive rate.   By the time he reached Kleenburn, WY; the corduroy pants he was wearing had caused so much friction against his thighs that they had ignited.  Smitty stopped at a local pub, ordered a six-pack of O’Doul’s, used one of the bottles to douse his flaming pants, and “Irished” himself up with his absinthe bottle to dull the pain and continue on the journey.  Smitty briefly took the time to explain to the barkeep what had happened. The bartender mistakenly thought that Smitty was a Liar Liar, judging from his pants.

 

At 4:00PM, right when Judge Joe Brown takes over the small-screen in our living room, Smitty stumbled in the door and slept for nearly three Earth days on our foyer.   His night terrors were subdued for the most part, except for a few outbursts regarding a “double jointed Asians” and the typical appearance by those “God Damned spiders” shrieks.

 

Regardless, I am pleased to have my friend and roommate home safely.  I read Einstein’s quote and realized Smitty was my nose and his friendship smelled of burnt corduroy.

 

– Alan Gibbons

 

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