Clyde Langtry Speaks... and Speaks... and Speaks

Holy mother of god shit fuck Christ Jesus you have no idea.

Of all nights for me to treat myself to a homemade martini on an empty stomach.

Back when I was acting, I developed something of a reputation for memorizing dialogue. I may have lost the touch, which is tragic because, on this night, wackjob neighbor Clyde Langtry, he who takes up 15% of L.A. Nuts, ERUPTED IN A GUSHER OF GOLD, OIL AND LIQUID PEARLS! (If you thought I meant cum, go read another blog, you fucksickfuck.)

Precious metals, but in audio form. And me full of gin and without a recording mechanism.

On my porch. Martini half-gone. Clyde stepped out of his apartment and talked.

Did my best. Here ya go.

***

Clyde: “I made a third of a million dollars in 2007—on just two trades.”

Me: “Why don’t you own a house?”

Clyde: “I wasn’t in my head back then.”

Question: How do two adults with no kids in a rent-controlled one-bedroom apartment blow over $300,000 in three years if they never buy stuff and never go on vacation?

Answer: Clyde is probably full of shit.

***

Me: “You look like you’re walking better.” Clyde had a hernia operation, which is only amazing because he actually found someone he trusted to practice medicine on him.

Clyde: “I’m fine, just gotta lose the 15 or 20 pounds.” If Clyde lost 20 pounds, strangers would offer to buy him food. He protested my contention, then added, “All I gotta get is a ruler.”

Me: “You mean like someone who runs an empire or a 12-inch piece of wood with markings on it?”

Clyde: “Well, one longer than that, but yeah.” He gestured to his dick.

Me: “Did you just point to your dick?”

Clyde: “Yeah.”

Me: “Are you telling me that your recovery from hernia surgery can be gauged by the length of your penis?”

Clyde: “Sure.”

Me: “What does one have to do with the other?”

Clyde: “Well, the hernia’s connected to the hormonal system and when that’s compromised, it affects everything about the male. Testosterone levels,... there’s an increase in estrogen...”

Me: “I don’t think the length of one’s penis has anything to do with testosterone levels.” (Read whatever you want into that statement. You know you’re gonna.)

Clyde: “Well, I think it does.”

HOW HAS THIS MAN STAYED MARRIED FOR 30 YEARS???

I was so drunk that I actually headed back in to grab another chair so he could join me for an extended visit on the porch. At that moment, his wife stuck her head out, wondering why he hadn’t left yet.

Priscilla: “The library’s gonna close.”

Clyde: “Watch what you say or I’ll go pick up some young redhead.”

Me: “No he won’t. If I walked into a bar with him, they’d throw us out.”

***

He told of this guy he knows, a higher life form with some funny name. The name escapes me, so let’s just call him Harpo.

Clyde: “Harpo can channel people. Some channelers take a long time to get into a frequency match, but Harpo can step in and out of it immediately.”

Me: “Umm....”

Clyde: “Harpo’s from a place that’s so amazing that no negativity is allowed. Can you imagine that?”

Me: “He lives in Pleasantville?”

Clyde: “He promised me that he’d take me to another place, someplace really special.”

Me: “Vegas?”

Clyde: “No, not on this earth.”

***

Me: “What is your goal with all this?”

Clyde: “To become a higher life form. Then I’d fuck with the government.”

Me: “Wait a minute. How would you do this?”

Clyde: “I’d show up at the door of The White House.”

Me: “To do what, exactly?”

Clyde: “Well, I’d be able to get past security because I could dematerialize and then rematerialize wherever I want. So I’d just show up in The White House and they would have to accept me.”

Me: “And whenever the Secret Service tried to grab you...”

Clyde: “...I’d just disappear again.”

***

Me: “What do you say to people who tell you that you’re...”

Clyde: “... full of shit?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Clyde: “I don't give a shit.”

That I believe.