Sole Man

The "Un" Real Texas By Steve Bussiere, humorist

---

A few weeks ago, The College Park High School PTA held a fundraiser at Papa's Icehouse, which featured "The Grateful Geezers", a fabulously entertaining band, that plays all the music we old (?) folks got into trouble to, in our own high school days.

Revisiting the scene of the crime, in my mind's eye, brings back a flood of memories, which for a product of the sixties, is no easy task. Come to think of it, it was no easy task in the sixties either.

Looking around these days, I don't think I'd like to be in high school now, possibly due to one of those "flashback" things I hear and read about, because truthfully, I didn't particularly want to be in high school then, either. You wouldn't have known that from my grades, because a recent review of them indicates to me now, that I was seriously attempting to get another year or two in.

I was by Papa's recently, and visited with a few of my more astute friends, who are able to solve all the problems of the world, in a matter of mere minutes.

We were having a wonderful time of it, and had pretty much saved the free world, as well as a vast portion of the un-free world, and I can only surmise that we must have been feeling a little smug about how talented we were. That was when Rich shook his head sadly, looked down at his foot and declared he had suffered a blowout and was going to head over to Academy to upgrade his decrepit "plimsoles".

He held his foot up, for the viewing, and sure enough, he had run right out of one ply of rubber, leaving the bottom looking like a racing slick.

Upon closer inspection, I thought to myself that perhaps he ought to head over to see Tim, at Discount Tire instead. I didn't know they made shoes that were that big, unless they painted USS on the sides of them.

When I was younger, I thought I had big feet, but fortunately, they stopped growing by the time I was twelve, to let the rest of my body catch up. It never did, and apparently my brain and my feet were marching lockstep in the growth department.

That, in a nutshell, would completely explain my immaturity. I sleep well at night now, thanks to that revelation.

Rich lowered his foot, right after the "viewing', and someone who shall remain anonymous, (in the best interests of his own longevity), smiled cunningly, and spoke up. "Hey, Rich must have had a date last night, … too bad he had to sell his sole for it."

I have read Heloise in the newspaper, and you can remove blood stains by washing them off with cold water.

Heloise was in the newspaper, (and old looking), way back when I was in high school. So I figure she's probably even older now, and she must know a lot of stuff. I wonder if she was married to Moses once upon a time, back when she was a "cub" columnist.

I would write and ask her, but you need to send a self-addressed, stamped envelope with your question. But if I did that, she'd know where I live, and she could track me down, hurt me REAL BAD, and I know she knows how to remove the blood stains. So I think I won't bother asking.

"Hey Rich", someone else piped up, "you selling "sole food" in the kitchen now?"

Being bright enough to figure out not to write Heloise with a roadmap enclosed, I thought to myself, (knowing full well that I was myself), I wouldn't take a chance teasing a guy, who can apparently run right out of the soles of his shoes.

I would never have believed it possible, but the conversation actually deteriorated after that.

"The Beatles had an album named after those Nicaraguan Gunboats Rich." "What was that?" came his reply.

"Rubber Sole"! "Number One … with a rubber bullet!"

Then the entire Moron Tabernacle Chorus, began singing, "I'm a Sole Man", in several keys, including one or two which had never been known to mankind previously.

Some people should not be permitted to sing in public. If you don't believe me, just show up for a Karaoke Night.

I thought that we should have won some kind of award for our sparkling rendition, … but the entire place emptied out for some reason.

It couldn't have been because of Alton's dancing. Fred Astaire would've turned green with envy.

I think they probably went over to Academy.

To get dancing shoes like Alton's.

Or maybe to get running shoes like Rich's.

Or horse shoes, (we were, after all, a little off pitch.)

So I thought about it a little longer, and it came to me!

They sell ear plugs for hunters in that place.

Really good ear plugs! The kind that muffle gunshots.

Gunshots from guns which may be loaded with rubber bullets!!

"I'm a Sole Man!"

"Go dig a hole, man!"

……… Jeez! Everybody's a critic these days.