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Dumbo

April 2, 2009

I had a flash of memory today. It must have been repressed, as I have had no recollection of it until this moment.

I apologize for that first sentence, by the way. I think it’s grammatically correct… but somehow looks horribly, horribly wrong.

Anyway, here’s the memory.

I was at a bar with my friend B. That’s how a lot of my stories begin – “I was at a bar…” Usually “with my friend B” comes next. He has the ability to get me into trouble. Well, us into trouble. He’s 14 years older than me, so I think I bring out the youthful side of him. Which is not necessarily a good thing.

Clearly, I either have a wonderful imagination when I drink and think up the most fantastical things, or I have the good fortune to experience a myriad of good and bad events while drinking. Either way, it keeps life interesting.

I’m standing around, quietly sipping on my gin and tonic. Now this wasn’t the best G&T I’ve ever had. The lime was fresh enough, the gin wasn’t good enough, the tonic wasn’t fizzy enough and the ice… well, don’t even get me started on the ice. But it contained alcohol, so I was happy.

My eyes gaze over the patrons of this fine drinking establishment. There’s the old man who has drunk enough alcohol in his lifetime to fill the Dead Sea. There’s the crowd of ‘regulars’. These are the same regulars who have been coming here since they were 16, and still act like they’re 16. In fact they’re 45. They’re staying youthful, and not in the good way. There’s the guy who is trying so hard to be cool, wearing a fedora, not realizing that fedora’s are so 2007. He’s also wearing that kind of leather jacket that Billy Idol wore. The combination of the just-out-style fedora and the retro-but-not-cool-retro jacket is jarring, and he instantly earns my disdain.

But then my eyes catch sigh of the man standing near the foosball table. He’s dressed in smart pants, a nice white shirt, has a neatly trimmed beard and a head a shiny as new, polished hardwood floors.

And ears the size of Rhode Island.

I almost spat out my drink. I had a fleeting thought of “maybe I’ve had too much to drink”. But that’s ridiculous, and never true.

But his ears were enormous! A frightening number of comments came flooding into my brain.

 His ears were so big I could use them as a blanket
– His ears were so big he could use them as a blanket
– His ears were so big he doesn’t have to worry about flying commercially anymore
– His ears were so big when the wind blows he has to turn sideways or risk ending up far, far away from where he started
– His ears are so big he can pick up transmissions from the Int’l Space Station
– His ears are so big…

Anyway, you get the idea. His ears were big. He was like a bad “Yo Momma” joke. IN FACT – “Yo momma so fat she bigger than this guys ears!” How’d you like that? That was a horrible joke, I apologise.

Now, some of you may accuse me of being mean, mocking someone’s physical imperfections, and you’d be precisely right. But that’s only because I’m more or less perfect, so it’s allowed.

But seriously, he had huge ears. 

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