Ella Speed knows Rube’s not fooling around when he says, “Pipe down, woman, the boys are trying to get some drinking done”

Mr. Bongo Fury wants a piece of the Rube?

I’ve been busy, man. tony.jpgWhy just last night I had to break up a bar fight and knock a bit of the old common sense into a belligerent 300-pounder at Charlie’s End of the World Pub in Bradford, Pa. Got the old rocket launcher twisted up a bit, mind you, but I came out OK. In any case I bet Two-ton Tony will listen up next time when the old Rube tells him to pipe down or else. As they say, you shoulda seen the other fellow.

Last week I saved a young woman in Wheeling, W.Va., name of Ella Speed, from the horror of future virginity. oldstyle.jpgBefore that I played in a rugby tournament sponsored by a tavern in Hamtramck, Michigan. We won the whole shootin’ match, and in all modesty I have to say yours truly played some pretty fair country rugby. So I had to stick around a while to collect my pay, which was all the Old Style the old Rube could swill. Suckers! Those fellas thought they were getting over on me. In between I stopped in Hoboken to audition for the role of the general in Mourning Becomes Electra. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

But I am back now and rarin’ to go, Mr. Fury. So you be sure to mind your P’s and Q’s and keep your eyes sharp, for you know a 100-mph fastball ain’t easy to spot in the failing twilight down in the Texas Hill Country.

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7 responses to “Ella Speed knows Rube’s not fooling around when he says, “Pipe down, woman, the boys are trying to get some drinking done”

  1. Reverse stage diving is a mighty fine sport. Much more challenging than hitting a blue blazed pill thrown at your head. That and navigating one’s way among the lyrical temptations on so many levels. Smoldering ruins have been left that the locals will soon not forget. Yep, there be some more burning and looting to come.

  2. What the hell is this guy talking about? Don’t listen to him, Mr. Waddell.

  3. Mr. Fury is presently wreaking havoc among the gentle folk of the People’s Republic of Austin. Bar tabs are flying around the finer establishments and the locals are reeling under a tidal wave of pale ales, weizen and anejo. Smoldering, as in minds wondering where the last night and the next day went. No one is tempting the Rube, Rube’s reputation as a ruiner of pop culture and consumer of frequent stiff drink is like a 50 foot tall electric Jesus calling out from atop the state house. Don’t listen to Fury, the converse is true, how woefully true.

    Let Fury have the hour, anger can be power D’you know that you can use it?

  4. Mr. Fury,
    No one can really know Mr. Waddell. He is an enigma wrapped in a tea leaf, a Finchy, an Omar Little, a, dare I say, Billy Campbell. He is all those things and more. A chocolate Jesus masturbating to the God’s of Milton Friedman, a kerfuffle amid the tides, a weightless jester, always dreaming of levity and road trips and eating lobsters in maine and sucking lemons in cancun bay. And yet, and yet…He carries a great burden, this Mr. Waddell, one he loathes to speak of, for his noble ancestry is tainted. He is, above all else, a Cornelius the Ape Man.

  5. ooops. meant “Gods of Milton Friedman.” Sorry for the extraneous apostrophe.

  6. good woman, ruth. you can’t imagine the kind of abusive tirade Seven would’ve unleashed if you hadn’t gotten right with the god of the apostrophe. we are all spared an orgy of violence.

  7. Couldn’t help but notice Unsportsmanlike Comment hasn’t had an update in a week. Could Mr. Waddell, or Omar, or Rodrigo, or even Osamayourmama be slumming on other sites?

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