"Noel, Noel...did I ever tell you the time I invented Hot Banana Cocoa"?
Johnny Moore hastily approached the store counter which I stood behind, my chin resting on the palm of my hand, propped against the cash register, as I watched Johnny unwrap his honey bun I paid for, in exchange for a story from his time in Vietnam.
My first instinct was to correct Johnny on my name (Joel, not Noel) but then figured if he hadn't listened to me the first three thousand times I corrected him, there was no chance of that light bulb turning on over his head this time either.
No, Johnny had never informed me that he had created Hot Banana Cocoa and he wasted no time telling me how he did.
"Me and my boy Dickens, was on patrol one time. He was from North Carolina. Nice Black fella. Small and skinny, like me, but man could he eat. So, me and Dickens, we were patrolling in the jungle one time and got lost. We was walkin' and walkin', trying to get back to our unit and then we said, "Fuck it. We tired" so we decided to stop and rest. So, we found a good spot between...uh...under these big ol' banana tree leaves. We sit down and whup out our canteens and our MRE's and our tin cups out. Dickens had to go so, he got up to take a piss. I done took out my hot cocoa packet and poured it in my cup cause I was fixin' to make me some cocoa, but then Dickens comes back real fast-like and he says "Shhh! I hear somethin'." He buttoned up real fast and we got our rifles and we peeked out from under them big old, hangin' leaves and we got out, hunched up real quiet-like."
At this point, Johnny had devoured honey bun #1 and  was now slowly walking toward the ice cream freezer, no longer in the middle of a 24 hour market store, but in his mind, back sneaking through the jungles of Vietnam. Holding an invisible rifle, eyes wide and roving left to right. He was deeply immersed into his story. Almost as much as I was.
"So, Dickens, he walks one way and I walk another way. And then, we look out and we see them; the Vietcong. A whole mess of 'em. And they was coming our way. I duck behind a tree and I hear them getting closer and closer. And then I look over to Dickens and I tell's him to "Hush! Be quiet and get down!". But Dickens, he see's them getting really close and goes to hide behind another tree. And then,...SNAP! We heard it. I looked over to Dickens to tell him to be still and quit steppin' on shit but when I look at him, he looking down at something around his boots and then he raise his head real-slow-like back at me and then BOOM!! The whole jungle exploded. I got blown too. I just felt myself flyin'. I tried to get up but I was so messed up and couldn't see shit, I tried to go back to where we was under the bushes, but, b'foe I can get up, BOOM!! Another big explosion! And that's when I blacked out. That's when I thought I was dead."
At this point, Johnny, abruptly stopped. Poured himself another cup of free coffee and on the way reached out for another honey bun, which he proceeded to unwrap and engulf with no objection from me. He took a bite, swallowed some coffee and continued.
"When I come to, I was on my stomach. It was so dark and I couldn't barely hear anything but ringin', I thought 'Well. That's it. I'm dead." But then, I started movin' my feet and I got up and what happen was the explosions had me buried under a whole mess of leaves and wood and mo' leaves. Them Vietcong must'a walked right by me. I dunno. So, I get up and I look's around and it's smoky and cracklin' and I got this ringin' in my ear and I got this really bad blurry vision, that I can't shake away. I looks around and then I look over to my right and I start's screamin'! I can't see my right arm!! I was screamin' and screamin' 'Oh lord, I lost my arm! I lost my motherfucking arm!!' and I start reachin' for it, like a dog chasin' his tail, goin' in a circle reachin' for it. And then I realized, I didn't lose my right arm. The sleeve had done caught itself on one of my ammo pouches back here in the back (as he pointed to his lower back). So, I was happy about that. And then I looked down at my chest. See? I had made this vest with bamboo and used M50 shells, We was all doin' it, and I was wearing it when Dickens set off them booby traps. Man, they was all sorts of things sticking out'a that vest when I looked at it. That thing saved my life! Still, I didn't like all them things stickin' out of it, so I took it off. Then, I looked around to find my rifle and stuff and I ended up back where me and Dickens had sat down to eat. And when I looked down, guess what? My tin cup was still sittin' there, Noel! Like nothin' had happened! And you know what was sittin' in that cup, Noel? A banana. A banana had done fallin' from the tree and into my tin cup with cocoa in it and I thought 'Huh. Hot Banana Cocoa.' And that's how I invented Hot Banana Cocoa.".

Say what you will say about Johnny Moore, remember him as you want, but I never charged him for anything after that night. If he couldn't afford it, I covered it for him and my opinion and the way I looked at the man, went from one of frustration and annoyance, to deep respect and admiration.
I asked him why he would volunteer, not once but, twice for Vietnam. His answer was delivered in the calmest of tones, all the while chewing on a pastry. And one I would never forget:
"Because my country asked me to. So, I did."

Books.

So I walked into my favorite eatery today with a Bob Woodward publication tucked beneath my arm. As I set the book down and began to slide onto the barstool of my choice, my friend Jen, the hostess, walks up picks up the book and asks: "Trying to impress the ladies (by) making them think your smart?". I laughed the comment off mostly cause I love Jen to death and nothing could be further from the truth. It was simply a good read and as is the case with me, once I get into a good page turner, it goes everywhere with me until I complete it. But her comment got me thinking about the power and the message the presence of a simple book can convey.
You could see a guy a pushing a grocery cart filled with aluminum cans, clouds of dirt and dust repelling off his tattered clothing and think to yourself "Sheesh. Poor guy. What a life." But you take the same guy, and replace the grocery cart with a book, and all of a sudden you have a guy who has simply decided to take a most asthetic, soap-free approach to life. And there's nothing wrong with that!
And it doesn't even have to be a book of a serious matter. You could be walking across the street, thumbing through the pages of Dr. Seuss' immortal "Cat in the Hat" after purchasing it for your nephew as a birthday gift and someone from a distance will recognize you and think to themselves, "Man! Check out the brain on Joel!" It's "Cat in the Hat" for crying out loud, but more importantly, it's a book. And it just made me look like somewhat of an intellect.
Let's face it: Book = Smart.
And the more books you have, the smarter you're presumed to be. And there is no one who has benefited more from this simple fact, than I.
I have lot's of books. I love to read. But, personally, I'm as dumb as a bag of lint. By no means am I intentionally trying to confuse the reader with misleading contradictions. I do love to read. However, I also love beer and staying up late and  leading a lifestyle that makes it difficult for my brain housing group to retain a lot of the education and information I'm suppose to absorb from the pages of all these books.

The Doughnut Killer

So one night while running the register at Bert’s Market, I wore this t-shirt with a cartoon doughnut evading a pair of police officers. The inscription beneath the cartoon read: “Hiding from the cops!”

So guess who show’s up at the counter? Not a fireman. Not a doctor. But of course; a cop.

COP: “What? You think that’s funny?” (gesturing at my t-shirt)

ME: “What? My t-shirt? Nah. I think it’s f*ckin’ hilarious, freakin’ doughnut killer!!”

Okay! So, I really didn’t say that. I mean let’s face it, the man WAS wearing a sidearm.

So, instead I respectfully said: “It’s only funny cause it’s true.”

In the immortal words of my father who, as he was being hauled away by the police for having just kicked one of them in the groin, looking back his nine year old son while laughing hysterically in a Jack-Nicholson-"Herrrrrre's-Johnny!"-kind-of-way:  “F*ck ‘em if  they can’t take a joke!”

KNOW YOUR HISTORY: The Male Head-Nod

The male head-nod; A silent form of acknowledgement and/or recognition between two members of the male species who are far too engrossed in their own machismo-ness to exchange a hug or a firm handshake. A popular greeting whose usage can be traced throughout the annals of history, is commonly, though not always, followed with a slighted and barely audible “Wassup?”. Legend has it that Caesar himself received a casual male head nod from the emotionally torn Brutus seconds before violently thrusting his blade into the fallen dictators back. What is often overlooked, however, was the unexpected and startling “Who’s got yo’ back NOW, mutha-f*ckuh!!” Brutus snapped as he stepped back, pulling up on his crotch with one hand snapping his fingers down towards a dying Ceasar with the other.

Know your History, people!

Look! A CARTOON!: "Cookie Monster"

Look! A CARTOON!: Penguins Don't Smoke!

Look! A CARTOON: "Turkey Shoot!"