Subject: WOB: Sunday, Village Idiot
Date: Sun, 15 Oct 2000 19:45:46 EDT
From: "Marty Roach" <martye9e12@hotmail.com>
To: gopostal@seniorsix.org

There is a nice fellow in my town who fits the the traditional mold of the village idiot (this story is not autobiographical)

Fate hath shat upon him mightily.

He is a little slow. Comes from a broken home. Blind as a *($*($$ bat. Carpenter (go figure). Has at least half a dozen trucks in pieces at his shop. Fubar is not a sufficient term for the mayhem that goes on there.

He also owns the most bass-ackwards Ford cube truck I have ever seen. Looks like it rolled down the side of a mountain into a salt water bog: a hideous, rusty, open wound.

Today, at 1pm:

"Marty, can you help me paint my truck?"

Sure.

"Can I borrow some primer?"

Don't have any.

"Do you any spare paint?"

(((Borrowing paint is like borrowing toothpaste or toilet paper, no?)))

Well. I have some surplus air force paint I purchased from a white supremacist a few years back. Gloss white. That's it.

"I don't like white paint"

You can get Centari enamel, $20/quart, but you'll need about 7 qts, plus hardener and reducer. Prolly around $200-225. Any color you want.

"Well, white's okay after all . Do you have a paint gun?"

Yes. You can borrow it.

"Oh, my compressor is busted"

Okay. Take mine.

No filters, no stir sticks, no gloves, didn't have a mask ("Don't like to use them").

I watched the lad struggle with the myriad of screws on the paint gun such that I took pity on him. So, I painted the &*&*$% cube truck. Solo. Two coats. 3.5 hours. I was crazed and desperate, like Hillary Clinton at Arby's five minutes before closing.

Neither grease, nor dirt, nor rust would keep me from my appointed task. Masking?

When I was finished, it looked as though I had made a giant mound of rice pudding. Imagine, if you will, a glossy textured blob on four bald tires. Based on what I had to work with, however, I'd give myself a B.

Suddenly...I heard:

"You missed a spot" said he of incredibly poor vision.

Thereupon, he siezed the paint gun and and S-P-R-A-Y-E-D what eventually looked a pile of scrambled egg whites onto the side of the truck. It eventually obeyed gravity and began to ooze southward. This pattern would continue until all of the paint was gone.

...And there was much rejoicing.


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