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Mar 31st
Home Columns A Cup O' Kapeng Barako Sumbich . . . How Do We Beat the Bitch?
Sumbich . . . How Do We Beat the Bitch? PDF Print E-mail
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Columns - A Cup O' Kapeng Barako
Saturday, 24 November 2007 15:05

So, call me a jester.  I have another joke.  Told to me by a friend.  A special friend.  He’s also my next door neighbor.  Well, not exactly next door.  Almost.  He lives just around the corner from my house, about five houses down the street.


Like me, he’s also retired.  He’s a retired truck driver.  He used to drive, cross country, those long, huge 18-wheelers.  He’s 70 years old.

He’s also my walking partner.  His name is Jerry Lytle.  He’s got a little friendly, affectionate dachshund, named Molly.  And a genteel, lady-like wife, named Marilyn.  And a son, named Bruce, who is a freelance photographer for National Geographic.

From Monday to Friday, rain or shine, at exactly 3:30 p.m., Jerry is at my door, ringing my doorbell, and knocking on my door.  He would knock and knock … until I would open the door to tell him, “I’d be right out.”

He’s like a clock, always on time, on the dot, at 3:30 pm, not a second less, not a second more.

And we would walk around the neighborhood, on sidewalks, on walking trails, up and down hills, on running tracks, round and round, in our two neighborhood parks.

We would walk for miles.  Three miles, five miles, seven miles sometimes, when the sun is gloriously out and we are both feeling good.  One solid hour we would walk.  Hard walk.  Power walk.  Jerry is in real good shape.  In a much better shape than I am.

And while we walk, we would talk.  We would talk and talk about everything under the sun.  Politics, current events, family values, race, sex, books, the war in Iraq, our aging bodies, anything that comes to mind, anything that we fancy, in any descriptive words, in any words that we feel like using … no holds barred.  We freely use the F words and the N words and all the forbidden and politically incorrect words in this world.

And yes, we would gossip, too, about our neighbors.  And, we would tell jokes to each other.  Dirty jokes, good jokes, racial jokes, awful jokes, corny jokes … anything goes.  And we would talk loud, too, because both of us are hard of hearing.  And we would laugh outrageously at our jokes … cackle and burp, hoot and fart.

I thoroughly enjoy our walks and our talks and our jokes.  He told me this joke the other day, titled SUMBICH:

“A filthy rich South Florida man decided that he wanted to throw a party and invited all his buddies and neighbors.  He also invited Leroy, the only redneck, in the neighborhood.

“He held the party around the pool in the backyard of his mansion.  Leroy was having a good time drinking, dancing, eating shrimp, oysters and barbecue and flirting with all the women.  At the height of the party, the host said, ‘I have a ten-foot, man-eating gator in my pool and I’ll give a million dollars to anyone who has the nerve to jump in.’

“The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a loud splash and everyone turned around and saw Leroy in the pool!  Leroy was fighting the gator and kicking its butt!

“Leroy was jabbing the gator in the eyes with his thumbs, throwing punches, head butts and choke holds, biting the gator on the tail and flipping the gator through the air.

“The water was churning and splashing everywhere.  Both Leroy and the gator were screaming and raising hell.

“Finally Leroy strangled the gator and let it float to the top like a dime store goldfish.  Leroy then climbed out of the pool.  Everybody was just staring at him in disbelief.

“Then the host said, ‘Well, Leroy, I reckon I owe you a million dollars.’

“‘No, that’s okay, I don’t want it,’ said Leroy.

“The rich man said, ‘Man, I have to give you something.  You won the bet.  How about half a million bucks then?’

“‘No, thanks. I don’t want it,’ answered Leroy.

“The host said, ‘I insist on giving you something.  That was amazing.  How about a new Porsche and a Rolex and some stock options?’

“Again. Leroy said no.

“Confused, the rich man asked, ‘Well, Leroy, then what do you want?’

“Leroy said, ‘I want the name of the SUMBICH who pushed me into the pool.’”


BTW, y’all heard about this?  It’s true.  I am not making this up.  About a week ago, a woman bluntly asked president wannabe, Sen. John McCain, at a GOP rally in South Carolina:

“So, how do we beat the bitch?”

McCain chuckled and said, “Excellent question.”

Though later on, McCain said he respects Hillary Clinton, aka “the Bitch,” I think, just like that woman who asked the question, Senator McCain revealed his own true feelings about Ms. Hillary with that immediate chuckling response.

And I bet ya, Senator McCain – and all the goofy GOPs – also have the same unspoken, unrevealed question on their minds: “Sumbich … how do we beat the bitch?”

Hey, y’all know what I mean?  I am a jester, you see. # # #


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"My grandfather's a little forgetful, but he likes to give me advice. One day, he took me aside and left me there."--Ron Richards