Henrik phoned last night. He knows I have just about given up on television as being useless except for killing time when you are in the hospital. But there was a show on he knew I would want to watch. "Beer, how the fuck are you? Turn your tv on to CBC."
I asked him, "What the fuck for? There's no hockey on tonight even."
"Just turn it on you drunk motherfucker."
I turned on the tv. There smiling and singing was my hero, Anne Murray. All my troubles vanished like an airplane crashing in a deep mountain lake.
"Thanks Henrik. I always like to know when Anne is on, even if it's a repeat. It is not like she ever drops by any of our country fairs and sings us a few songs like the old days. I hope you aren't naked."
"As a matter of fact I am. The old dear is off to her quilting club and everybody else is off smoking pot somewhere."
"Have you got the lotion out?"
"The Anne Murray Special Lotion?"
"Save some for when kd lang sings."
"I was thinking of saving some for when Glen Campbell comes on."
"Thanks for phoning you sick bastard."
"Fuck you too Beer."