To Be A Story or Not To Be A Story

A little ditty about Bob.

To Be a Story or Not To Be a Story

Ah, writing, where to begin? First person, third person, omniscient, limited….tell a story, SHOW a story? Screen play, memoir, short story, novel, fiction, non-fiction…. NUTS! Lets call the whole thing off. Potatoes and tomatoes….dahdahdah. Phooey. 

I’m looking at you, you’re looking at me, we ain’t readin’ or recitin’, we’re just talking’. Talking about a guy, doing a thing, over at the place. Do we really need more? Where’s the police when you need them, they always show up just in time for a lousy job of mop up…. 

Did you hear about Bob? He stole a pig. He was hungry and had no money. Why? Good question, demonstrates yer ears work. Old Bob had trouble holding down a job because he was too high to function most of the time and what little money he had, …you guessed it, he spent on bitchin’ weed. In a heightened state of mind, he figured it would be easier to cut out the middle part, i.e. money, if he just stole the pig. He figured stealing a pig wouldn’t land him any hard time if caught, not like robbing a Dunkin’ Donuts, using a starter pistol, and depending on how long it took John Law to catch him, he’d probably have eaten and digested the evidence. Seems Bob could almost accomplish stuff if he put his mind to it. 

How do I know about Bob? Now that’s another story, but I’ll tell you this much, we used to be musicians, and roomed briefly, for a week of musical festivities on a big band gig hosted by some speakeasy era resort in southern Indiana. Yeah, Bob was originally from Indiana, and if you know anything about that fine state, you’ll know it has a high percentage of parolees, federal fugitives and shirtless, redneck thugs. It is what it is. Whats that? What instrument did Bob play? Bob squeezed a wicked accordion. 

What happened to Bob? Well, word has it that he got sick from undercooking the filched pig meat. Terrible sick. He near died. The authorities found him laying in a congealed puddle of vomit, with his head propped against a fat chunk of left over pork butt. Unfortunately, that portion of the pig still had the stock yard brand on it and that’s how Bob got caught. 

Yeah, Old Bob certainly could almost accomplish some stuff if he put his mind to it. Too bad he didn’t roast the pig in a pit and have a Hawaiian Luau. Don Ho loves to hear his signature song “Tiny Bubbles” played on accordion. How do I know the famous Hawaiian crooner, Don Ho? And that, is definitely a story for another time. But Bob tells the Don Ho story much better than I do. If you visit him every third Sunday at Indiana State correctional facility, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to spin it for you. Just don’t mention anything pertaining to pork. Come to think of it, don’t mention me either.

THE END

Author's Note

Didja hear about Bob? Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Critiques and comments welcome.

Reviews

[Philip Gaber]

Nice, Roark? What's your first name? We're not in the Marines. I can tell we both have aesthetics in writing. That was entertaining, dude.

[roarke]

Thanks man, heh, Marines…Roarke is just my “online” moniker… my name is Bill, nice ta meet ya. I started out here on writers cafe about 13 years ago, I wanted to start treating my writing seriously…and the group of people on here at that time were very good and very helpful. But things change…I’ve always lamented that writerscafe would be more accurately described as poetscafe these days… I’m no poet, though I pretend when provoked. thanks for the read, and feel free to critique any time.

[Philip Gaber]

Same. I'm Phil.

[Philip Gaber]

I like the name Roark. It's kinda badass.

[roarke]

Heh, I wanted to name my son that…. My ex wife didn’t go for it. She was the type that like if the first letter sound of the first name, matched the first letter sound of the last name…hahahahha, god, I dodged that bullet. lol

[Philip Gaber]

Hilarious!