For the last couple years Hunky Z was my roller derby buddy. His daughter had twin girls and he loves them like I like beer so I do not have a roller derby buddy any more. I could use a new roller derby buddy. Be nice if you had a nice rack and were generous with your skull. Hunky Z is a little lacking in those departments.
Saw Grandpa Hunky Z and Kitty tonight at a Punk Rock party. There are so many stories about Hunky, I will never tell them all here. Kitty told one tonight I had not heard before.
"You know how Hunky drives, right? If a car could be driven 500 miles per hour he would do it all the fucking time." Kitty looked at me and continued, "He makes Beer drive like a Grandpa." I am a known lunatic.
"Anyhow, one time he is driving his mom up to Penticton to see her sister. She was dying or some fucking thing and Hunky is driving through Manning Park at about 300 miles per hour. A little fast for his mom who says what all moms say when they think they are going to be killed by their sons in a car. She says, 'The important thing is to get there in one piece.'
"Just as soon as she speaks up Hunky's car dies. From 300 miles per hour to zero in two seconds. He gets out and fiddles with the motor, gets his tool box out and fiddles with it some more. Nothing. The car is dead as the Canucks' dream of the Stanley Cup.
"You know how guys get when they cannot fix their car when it dies in the mountains. He freaks out. Starts kicking the motherfucking shit out of the car with his Daytons. Lays into it like the Canuck fans laid into those cop cars during the riot. Would have lit it on fire if his mom was not sitting inside. When he finally figures he has kicked the car enough to fix it he gets back in the car and his mom asks him, 'What good was all that ever going to do?'
"Hunky just looked at her, looked at her the way his old man used to look at her before he got sent up the river, and turned the key in the ignition one more time. The car's old motor turned over and off they continued to Pentiction or I never would have told you the story."
2 comments:
I went to Penticton once with my cowboy brother. It was Sunday and we couldn't get a drink or in a fight so we headed back down to civilization. At the border a Mountie asked us if we had purchased anything in Canada? I said "No. The fucking bars are all closed." They ripped up Dannys car for having a loudmouth wise ass brother, but mine was safe back in Moses Lake so it was just fun for me. Dan and me had a fight later, after we got drunk in the good old USA. I don't know for sure but I think he won that one.
It's true: once upon a time you could not get a drink in this country on Sundays. Not even during the Stanley Cup Final. Not legally. Boozecans and bootleggers charged double on Sundays, made a killing. If you'd asked a Penticton taxi driver, he would have drove you to the nearest underground bar in less than a minute. Probably would have served you some of their famous peach whisky.
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