The Good Ol' Days

Irv here--

Yes, Uncle Vick, I remember the good times. I am weeping while I type this. When my father was gone so often and my mother was in rehab, you took me on hunting trips with the neighbors. You and I would sit in the back of that jeep and you'd get high and drink Jack Daniels and tear off your clothes and try to kiss Mr. Klieg. Mr. Klieg would chew tobacco and spit and hit the accelerator with his boot, and you'd fall off the back and then chase the jeep through the fields naked. Mr. Klieg would finally stop, and he and his weird wife would be laughing, only...I wouldn't. You'd jump back in the jeep with thorns and pieces of grass stuck all over you and then you'd vomit.

Oh yes, those were happy days!

I remember when you fought my own father for custody of me when my mother was in rehab. You claimed my father was out of control on meth when he was really out working on a job with the cops. You said my father had huge "chicken fighting" underground parties at the school auditorium late at night and that he fed meth to the chickens to make them fight harder, and that he could make chickens stay up three days in a row.

It's so moving!

I remember when you ballooned up to 279 pounds on those lemon squares and then went on disability at the expense of "Wrap Around Care" or "Who Really Health Cares?" or "Under and Over Medical Insurance" or whatever bullshit company you work for.

Man! As I watch the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge this evening from my new car with my new girlfriend, I wish and I wish that I could have THOSE fucking days back again!

Love,
Irv