Yes, apparently that’s one fine fellow’s nickname for Oakmont.
And while, it maybe so, that Oakmont has it’s jackass side, his biting bitterness was a little odd to me.
At my favorite writing spot, I really do write, I don’t do a lot of chit chatting.Ã‚Â Anyway, this guy hopped into a conversation I was having with the woman who works there and took that in as his chance to ask me what I was doing.
“What’re you doing over there with that computer?”
At this he looks down his nose at me and saunters over as though approaching a bandit in the old West.Ã‚Â “Issssss it about JOKEMONT?”
“No.Ã‚Â It’s not.” Chuckle, chuckle.Ã‚Â Ã‚Â Trying to be very polite.
“Well it could be.Ã‚Â I could tell you stories, boy I could tell you.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“Ohhhhhh, noooooo.Ã‚Â Ã‚Â I can’t tell you.”
chuckle chuckle.Ã‚Â I smile showing him that I am fine with him hoarding the Jokemont stories like chocolate in the depression.
He stands beside me, trying to read my monitor.
“That’s right.Ã‚Â Power.Ã‚Â Money is power.”
“Information is power, too,” I said.
“But not like money.Ã‚Â NO sireee.”
Wendy tells him his coffee is ready and he saunters back to the counter.
“Boy, I’d curl your toes.”
Wendy says.Ã‚Â “Why don’t you write a book?”
He braces himself in one of those wide based male stances where his legs are just this side of forcing him into a split.Ã‚Â
“I could.Ã‚Â But I’m not gonna do it.Ã‚Â No sirreeee.Ã‚Â I like to keep my secrets close.Ã‚Â In my pocket.”
Yeah, okay.Ã‚Â “Don’t tease me like this, baby.”Ã‚Â I wanted to say.Ã‚Â Or “get the hell out with that crap.Ã‚Â You know nothing.Ã‚Â Now leave me to my imaginery world, why don’t you?”