Homeward BOUND!!

I feel it is important to update you on the whereabouts of An Doof Ass. While typically ensconced in a disgusting railcar apartment in the Bronx watching poorly acted sci-fi and drinking wine spritzers, he is currently on his way to the great open spaces of Alaska. I know this because it’s all he could talk about when I called him to demand he wire the 10 dollars he owes me. I also know this because he used the Alaska trip as an excuse for why he couldn’t spend any money when I went to visit him a few horrendous weeks ago: "I can’t do anything, all my money is tied up in my trip to Alaska."


But all that is behind me now, I’m back in the safety of my city. And with the wife out of town for the next week, I’m free to sit in the kitchen eating melon slices and procuetto in my underwear like a real champ. It has also given the chance to catch up on my various novels, plays, poems, internet affairs and smoking in the bathtub. It’s been good. So good that I won’t even care when the envitable news arrives that An Doof Ass was found dead at the bottom of a ravine after stomping off drunk into the forest one night. It won’t be funny. Death is never funny. Instead, it will be sad. Sad like a kite getting stuck in an Abraham Lincoln tree. Sad like an empty pickle jar. The kind of sad that doesn’t really matter to anyone at all, but is none the less "not preferred." Anyway, since I have all this free time with the wife gone and my poetry being an untamable raven of doom like the grey alabaster cliffs of my mind’s eye, I’ve decided to spend a while constructing my eulogy to An Doof Ass. To the affair I’ll wear my finest junk clothes as my D&G will be at the steamers for the next night’s lifetime achievement awards ceremony.

An Doof Ass: A Foggy, Half-formed and Unimportant Memory of a Man-child of similar Characteristics.

I first met An Doof Ass when he was drunk as a Scotchman and trying to find his way out of a dumpster that some much more handsome and cool guys had thrown him into. Naturally I took pity on the wretch and dropped him off at the local branch of the Y in hopes he would clean himself up. To my surprise his parents, wise to his thrice weekly alone drunkenings, were waiting there in hopes someone would bring him in. As it happens, that some one was me. Now typically I don’t go in for charity case losers. But at the time I was between six figure book deals and all form of daughter of international dignitary was vying for my azure eyes and sandy blond hair, and I was burnt out–burnt out on the passion, the fame, the wealth. So I decided to get to know this particular bag of rotting potatoes in the hope he would provide fresh insights into the life of degenerates. And the rest is boring, boring history.


Now I know some of you today thought it was strange it took 2 weeks to find his bloated and distended corpse at the bottom of the not very deep ravine only 16 yards from the resort. But not me. I know no one looked for his body because people just didn’t care where he was. After a week and half they began to figure he was probably dead and then they really didn’t want to know where he was. It just wasn’t worth it. In fact, if it wasn’t for the Houghington’s basset hound rambling its way into that small little valley to take a nap he might never have been found. Thank goodness after an hour on the lamb a troop of 16 people was quickly formed to make sure "Poochie" was okay. And so the body was found.


I know some of you were shocked to learn that with his last dying breaths An Doof Ass summoned the strength to scratch a note into the rock face. But not me. An Doof Ass loves nothing more than to have the last word–it was always one of his most annoying and looser-like traits. Others still I’m sure were surprised to find not a single grammatical error considering the immense pain he must have been in after falling some 7 feet into that inch of mud in which he drowned. But here also I am not surprised. An Doof Ass had nothing going for him at all but a perverse ability to appear intelligent to idiots and passers by. For this reason he honed his grammatical and vocabularical acumen in order to grab at what little respect he was capable of accruing. But I will say I was surprised at the note itself. With only minutes to live I thought he would have wanted to do more than simply say: Tell them I died saving orphaned penguins, yeah, that’s pretty noble.


And so we commit this body to the earth from which it come. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust, etc... he was lame.