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Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

OK, we don't normally do requests, but...:Me and Der Oberst Part Three

Part One is here.

Part Two is here

Sorry, duty calls.

Any fuckin ways, so I go through my Friday, with visions of scary Klink running through me head.

And, since it soon became Friday night, I headed over to Peach's place.
I'd like to stop for a second here, if you don't mind, because I'm hitting a bit of a logic blank.

Like I said before, I'm placing this incident at about 1975, so I was 14 or 15 at the time.
And I can't for the life of me remember from whence we got our fucking beer.
I do recall distinctly that we only drank beer when were over at his place.
And, while I had actually been going into the bar and drinking since I was like 13, I certainly wouldn't ever have tempted fate enough to walk down the fucking street carrying a case of beer when I was 15.
Sorry, you should note that, at this time, you could only buy beer in bottles,

Yeah, only the one shape and size, no matter the brewer

in a "case" of 12  or "half sack" of 6.
We didn't actually drink that much beer when I was a kid, since it was so hard to transport surreptitiously.
Rum or whiskey was much more likely, since you could walk around with the bottle under your parka.

Peach was a bit older than me, but he wasn't legal then either.

Well, whatever, anyways, I head over, and we're sitting down there smoking and drinking and all, and Peach's Ma yells down for us to come up for a moment, and we go up, and there, standing in the kitchen (and if you didn't see THIS coming, stop reading, go find a bigass jackfish,

exceeding one metre in length and preferably frozen solid, and whack yourself in the genitals with it. Repeat as necessary), is Herr Klemperer!

As he had that morning, he looked mad and mean.
And I can distinctly recall that he was wearing brown corduroy knickers (knee pants, not underwears, you dumb Limey bastards), for feck's sake.
And this  fucked up bright red cable knit sweater, with a zipper running from the neck to the shoulder, real fuckin Kraut style.
He looked like he'd just taken off his X-country skis and was heading off to stand by the giant hearth with a glass of schnapps.
As it was, he had a glass of whiskey in his hand, and I'm pretty sure he was smoking a cigar, although I might be making that bit up.
Still no monocle.

Anyways, Ma Peach introduces Peach and then me, telling us that he's in town to guest conduct the Symphony, hence his presence there, and he's just putting out this palpable vibe, like a nearly audible message, saying
"Mention Klink and I'll have you killed."
"Mention Klink and I'll have you killed."
"Mention Klink and I'll have you killed."

Needless to say, neither me nor Peach mentions Klink or Hogan's Heroes or anything else.
But I feel like I need to come up with something, so I say "You sat in on my Drama class this morning."

And he stares right at me and says, sounding a lot more like this:

Fräulein Ravenwood, he, he, let me show you what I am used to...

than this:


he tilts his head back and says

You see everything, don't you, hmmm???
Needless to say, me and Peach beat cheeks back down to The Hole.
I'd had more than enough Klink for the rest of my life, never mind one weird Friday.


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