How's goes the battle, Doppelgäng' by name?
So, crazy story, remember how you said you kinda wished your life was a little more crazy like mine? (Even though I argued we were quite similar, me the Brian Dykeman holding down the west and you the Brian Dykeman holding down the east, both former Marines. Yut!) At which point you then said you meant some of the seemingly crazy things I tended to find myself getting into didn’t happen in even your wildest of dreams. (like the time I found myself with a full box of Corn Flakes® filled with chocolate milk and what happened when I took it to the lumber yard or the high school story about getting into a car with friends at lunch, and how I was there as one of the kids threw a smoker's old and gross donated computer down a dirt road at sixty miles an hour as a Sheriff's deputy passed. And how he or she; probably a he in those conservative past times, stopped to look at the resulting calamity, but didn't chase us down.)
Well, good, sir, what if I told you I happened to have just the opportunity to diesel inject some JPcrazy into your life? Something that would really get the ol' Geiger counter clicking and set you apart from
the other nuclear physicists over cocktails at the facility's Christmas party? Where do guys have your parties anyway? At the facility itself or do you like, rent out a Sheraton conference room? Also, what do you guys do for fun at those things? I can imagine you guys and gals pulling on your Tyveks and sneaking into the reactor to Roast 'mallows over the heat of the cooling pools. Plutonium just depletes to hot lead right?
I have a friend in Iowa that once got together with his other backwoods neighbors to weld a fifth wheel hitch table they had laying around into the trunk of a four banger Olds' Aurora, and as the story goes, dropped a gooseneck loaded with alfalfa down onto it before redlining the Olds’ down and back some dirt county roads. (No tell of tossed away smoker's computers) Anyway, once the engine on the car finally seized, they apparently just rolled the car into the ditch and took away the trailer; still having cows to feed and bales to load in the morning.
So… what's the thing to get involved with, you may have been wondering in the midst of all my segue and storytelling? Well... It just so happens I recently got myself involved with writing letters to a woman named Bianca, who... as it turns out...
is incarcerated in a Female Corrections Prison out in Troy; right in your neck of the woods it would seem, state wise at least.
(Outline of the Old Dominion and a drawing of its state bird with the commonwealth of Troy & Suffolk outlined and colored in in blue and red, respectively.)
So... The idea was maybe you'd be interested in joining me forthwith on the ol' figurative Stade Roland Garros clay for a little back and forth, doubles, Pen Pal action. (How's that for satiating your love of a borderline tennis allegory... Maybe 'Exemplum' is more aptly utilized?)
(Picture of some exciting colored tennis balls kids wanted for anything but tennis.)
But seriously, as far as shaking things up in Dykeland, VA, you'd have another relief outlet for when the Lady Friend is giving you anti-aircraft flak about the mortgage or the dog's problematic hip after a hard day at the power plant. (or did you have an Australian Sheep Herder with the poo glads that need purged on a bi monthly basis? [I can imagine having to go after that like you do with a white head; with two thumbs.])
(Picture of cute dog in a hip dysplasia rig stepping out lines of cocaine)
And here's the coup de gras, the wheat grass shot half full viewpoint, how many female convicts would then be able to say two Brian Dykeman's were writing to them?
Pen pals can you believe it? Its so... Pre 1996! But as they used to say before then "Who gives a care?" Right!? Jesus, I almost can't remember back that far. Back when men were men, CDRom's had to be placed into plastic caddies for Macintosh to play the Amazon trail. My favorite part was probably catching and keeping the log and trying to take the humming bird's picture,
(Representation of the only computer protocol a child cares to consider)
but considering there was no real learning going on, I never actually got to put in more than what was probably only a solid hour and a half of cumulative gameplay. So maybe 'solid' is the wrong word. That was probably back when Pippin and Jordan 45; Post 23 fame, pre Wizards 23, were finally fading as the Giants
(Picture of Brotherly Love)
and when Rodman was dressing like a giant literal queen,
(Picture of how a Book Signing is apparently done.)
but nobody knew if it was because, like, he was actually jockying for that kind of position by swinging that way; back in a time when men were men, or if it was for attention, he was trying to sell a book after all. But then he started throwing the ol' baby elephant trunk around; allegedly anyway, at Carmen Electra,
so the question of his orientation was all of a suddenly overshadowed the question as to why on earth a goddess like that would go for a guy like him. Microwaves were probably still pretty important back then too; a real mainstay before BDA free and organic foods were the new precedent by which to live your life. Holy god, glass tube television sets! The big screens were so big you could have put on like three simultaneous Punch and Judy shows if you cut out the giant screen. Can you imagine three Punch and Judy shows at the same time? A desensitization to Domestic abuse would scar your psychosis at a compounded rate while also causing Charlie Kaufman to cream himself via some form of omni-global... telepathic osmosis. Tah dah! Pre 1996.
Anyway, all you really have to do to get in on the fun is write her. In the age of email, phone screening and texts to flakey people that never go unseen but all too often aren't answered, how can we deny sending a letter to a woman who will pour over our every thought as if they were succulent dropsof the the Gods sweet ambrosia? (Maybe I'm over stating things.)
In any event, I told her she should write a few different people in addition to me and that I would try and drum up some of the game day players from my own camp. So, first and forthmost I decided to reach for the top shelf, because I know you'll come through.
Dr. BDyke (East) PhD to the rescue, no deposit required, nuclearogical prescription pad, in hand.
Anyway, you can thank me later, Dev'.
Oh, hit the Blimpie and say 'Hi' to Big Sammy for me. (Throw on a little extra sour kraut and some horsy and it'll taste like I'm still behind the pastrami on rye. It'll be like I never actually left)
- B. Westingdyke!">
How's goes the battle, Doppelgäng' by name?
So, crazy story, remember how you said you kinda wished your life was a little more crazy like mine? (Even though I argued we were quite similar, me the Brian Dykeman holding down the west and you the Brian Dykeman holding down the east, both former Marines. Yut!) At which point you then said you meant some of the seemingly crazy things I tended to find myself getting into didn’t happen in even your wildest of dreams. (like the time I found myself with a full box of C...
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