Thank-Q, Quincy; I Got Your Yang Right Here

 

So. When last we left off, I had blown a big chip stack with the second nut flush because I sometimes make seriously stupid decisions, and I was headed to Jackson, Mississippi to meet Quincy, the Thank Q who sits perched over there =} on my Bloggie Roller. And first, maybe I should have said, “When we last left off,” and also I wonder why I cannot spell the word Mississippi without singing the song.

As a child sufferer of the dreaded ADHD, and a quite significant case at that, howinthefuck did I manage to so completely learn that silly song? It took me until the fourth grade to be able to say the alphabet all the way through without a digression—with the Alphabet Song or without—so why did the Mississippi Song resonate with my addled brain? I need to call Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson to see if maybe I’ve discovered something significant, an ADHD breakthrough if you will.

Maybe it’s the repetitive letter dealie matched with the catchy tune that assisted my overworked mental capacities in absorbing and retaining the information. Maybe it might also have been the simple fact that it was funny to me. Funny shit always manages to hold my attentions far better than anything not funny.

Which brings up two points. The first is that when I was at Murfreesboro with the guys up there, they would keep me on track by reminding me of where I was before the fritz hit. Every time I would wander off the mental tracks, and each time I got that vacant-eyed stare on my face, they’d remind me of where the tracks got jumped. I’m thinking that I could hire a special assistant, one who has acute abilities of concentration, and pay them to keep me on track.

Maybe a young Oriental woman with shiny-black bowl-cut bangs and onyx eyes, like the Reckmonster. I’d have her wear Michigan tee shirts and make her learn their fight song. We’d go everywhere together.

The second point is now lost on me, which reminds me that I was telling you about meeting Quincy. I pulled into Jackson around 3 pm and checked into the hotel next to The Bulldog Pub, my meeting place with the Q-man. I had left the casino early, and without a shower, so I took a shower before walking next door to meet Quincy. On the sink counter top were the typical mini containers of shampoo and conditioner and shit, one of which said, “Quince” in big, and quite bold letters.

“Fate,” I said aloud to myself. “This is a good start to my visit.”

OK, and now I remember what the second thing was. I have been re-reminded that I cuss a lot and possibly way too fucking much. “Your cursing will drive people away from your writings, Mooner,” was Mother’s words at breakfast this morning.

Then she said, “But maybe that’s a good thing.”

My sainted and heavily-martyred mother needs a child who heaps shit onto her heavy-hearted soul. Mooner Johnson, shit heaper for the stars, to the rescue. Shit Heaper is my middle name and Martyr Management is my game.

And I just had a glimmer of genius thought because Quincy and I are complete opposites when it comes to cussing. Curse words are part and parcel to my speech and thought patterns—adjectives, verbs, adverbs, nouns and pronouns and every such grammatical invective—is used by me commonly and constantly. For me, if a cuss word says it best then fucking say it. Always.

Not the same with Q. Quincy is, as I said before, the most wholesome man I know. And not that sanctimoniously silly and fake wholesomeness exhibited by right-wing Christian fuckwads. This man’s wholesome comes from his upbringing and his conscious choices. He’s likely the perfect yin to my yang.

OK, stop the presses. Yin is a light, feminine word by definition and yang is dark and masculine. While I’m not a white white man, I’m certainly masculine. Quincy is a black man and a manly black man at that. He’s wholesome but not sissified, and he’s not fussy in the least.

Oh Christ on crutches, I’ve digressed the shit out of all of us and wasted what little time I had to write this silly shit. SAC Ellen and I are headed to a house warming party for two of our friends, Amy and Valerie. They are two of my favorite people and I haven’t known them for very long. I’ve got to dress and grab a bottle of red wine to take with us, so I need to check out.

So, please buy my stupid book—now available as a paperback and on Kindle as well. Manana, y’all.

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6 Responses to “Thank-Q, Quincy; I Got Your Yang Right Here”

  1. Holy shit! You think my bangs look like they’re bowl cut?! Sunuvabitch! I pay that hooker a shitwad of money to make my hairs look rad…and all I need to do is slip a bowl over my head and snip, snip, snip around it?! I could save a lot of money. And how funny…as I sit here reading your post, I AM wearing my Michigan tee shirt! AND..I was teaching the hooli all of the words to “Hail to the Victors” yesterday!

    I’m not in the least bit surprised that Q is as stand up of a guy in real life as he appears on his bloggie. We’ll have to be sure that he attends Blog-Con 2012…even if it means that you have to kidnap him! lol

  2. admin says:

    Reck. I think bowl cut bangs are H-O-T hot hot hot! UM had a big win yesterday, but my beloved Longhorns stumbled yet again.

  3. melanie says:

    Hey Reck…I would describe you as having more “blunt cut” bangs…no matter…you are too cute for words with your Michigan bad self!!

    Mooner…I am both troubled and please with my ability to follow you and your ADHD ramblings. So I suppose that is the good thing that came out of my last car accident. Yaaaaaaay!

  4. admin says:

    Mel. As my Gram would say, “Blunt or bowl cut who gives a shit? Sumbody pass me that bowl a green beans.” As for your troubling ability to assimilate the addle-brained drivle that spills from my skull… maybe we can talk and you can give me some pointers.

  5. Q says:

    The laugh paragraph made me explode laughing. Focus, Mooner! LOL! So, was The Bulldog a lot of fun or what? It’s been a while since I’ve sat down and enjoyed myself like that. Now that I’m stuck in a knee brace and unable to work for another week or two, I guess I can get through some more chapters of the book.

    I’m still working on an idea for a giveaway for the awesome autograph you graced on a copy!

  6. admin says:

    Q-man. I’m responding to this at 8:23 T-giving eve as a part and parcel to my deconstruction in the public eye. I had a great time with you and came to like you better as a person, in person. If I were to respond to this in an hour or so, I’d likely say that I love you like a brother and we’d both find a need to separate the truth from the altered state.

    So. As a mostly sane and somewhat un-inherbriated man, please allow me to say that I think we could grow close with exposure and proximity. I also think that you would be the last to commit to the relationship.

    I’m going back to the kitchen so that I can cry in my beer and check the dressing. Nothing is worse than burned cornbread dressing.

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