RE: Fast/Slow Writing
Oh, shut up.
Height: shorter than Elvis but taller than Johnny. Eyes: Fulfillingness' First Finale. Hair: sometimes. Build: Tower of Babel, Gormenghast, Temples of Syrinx. Subject to change without notice.
George Jones speaks.
AP: "He Stopped Loving Her Today" is considered one of the greatest country songs of all time. Why do you think that song was so special?
Jones: It may sound corny, but all my life I've wanted to write exactly that song, or I've hunted for it. I wanted to hear a song or write a song about how you could express your greatest love for someone. Bobby Braddock and Curly Putnam brought it over that day and that was the first thing I thought of-—"That's the song I've been looking for."
AP: What do you think about the state of country music today?
Jones: They say they're upgrading country music. I tell them they need to find a new title and let us have back our traditional country music. They've stolen our identity. I don't feel like the real thing will be back for quite a while. I'd like to see new artists recording traditional country music. Not for me. I just hate to see it not heard. I hate to see the new country artists not doing their thing because they're told what to do nowadays.
AP: Is it true that you once took off on a riding mower to get a drink?
Jones: It happened in east Texas when I was married to my boy's mother, Shirley (his second of four wives, the former Shirley Ann Corlea). I had been on about a two-week binge. I came home and naturally nobody was there. All my vehicles were gone and the big tractor was gone. I couldn't find a thing that looked like wheels. It was a Sunday morning and I'm dying, you know. I am hurtin' and I need a drink bad. Finally, after I half-a-day suffered, I finally looked out my bedroom window and I saw this little Cub Cadet sitting there, a little 10 horsepower. I said, "There ain't no key in there. Surely they took that out." I went out there and sure enough the key was in it and it kicked right on. I headed to town as far as I could go on it.
Of course, the arguments have absolutely nothing to do with swallows, as anyone who understands the language of the two Tartars can testify.
"Of all the people I know, you are the biggest cronk," Calac says.
"And you are the biggest pettifor," Polanco says. "You call me a cronk, sir, but it's obvious that you've never boneyed your face in a mirror."
"What you're trying to do is start a fight with me, mister," Calac says.
The two boney each other with a fearful mulgh. Then Polanco takes out a piece of chalk and draws a zott on the floor.
"You are the biggest cronk," Calac says.
"And you're the biggest pettifor," Polanco says.
Calac bulls the zott with the sole of his shoe. They seem to be at the point of maphing each other.
"You're the biggest cronk," Calac says.
"And you're the biggest pettifor," says Polanco.
"What you're trying to do is start a fight with me," Calac says.
"You bulled my zott," says Polanco.
"I bulled it because you nicked me as a pettifor."
"And I nick you again, if that's what we've come to."
"Because you're a cronk," Calac says.
"A cronk is a lot better than a pettifor," Polanco says.
Polanco takes a terfulgh from his pocket and sticks it on Calac, who doesn't remune.
"Now you're going to reboy me for saying I'm a cronk," Polanco says.
"I'll reboy you for anything you want and I'll bull any zott you have," Calac says.
"Then I maphe you with this trefulgh in the mondong."
"And you'll still be a cronk."
"And you a poor little pettifor."
"And for a cronk like you every zott will be bulled, even if you pull a trefulgh with six stars."
"I maphe this trefulgh on you," says Polanco, who boneys it very tight. "Nobody bulls my zott or goes around nicking me for a cronk."
"The blame for what happens will be yours because you nicked me first," Calac says.
"You nicked me first," Polanco says. "Then I counternicked as you deserved and you bulled my zott and reboyed me by saying I'm a cronk."
"I reboyed you because you boneyed me first."
"And you, why did you bull my zott?"
"I bulled it because you were boneying me in an ugly way. No pettifor boneys me even if he pulls a trefulgh on me."
"All right, all right," Juan says. "It's getting like a session at the disarmament conference in Geneva, I can tell you from first hand."
"Didn't you ever maphe that trefulgh?" asks my paredros, who always acts if he knows what's going on.
"Watch out," Polanco says. "Put it so that it will rust on me later with all it's cost me to keep it in shape. Arms are a delicate matter, you know."
"My chest will be silver sheath which that filthy thing doesn't deserve," Calac says, "Go on, put it back in your pocket, because what you like the best is the fuzzy kind."
Last night an old guy yelled at me to zip up my jacket. He sounded angry. "Zip your jacket!" he said as he walked past. "What?" I asked him. "Zip up, it's cold!" he said. He was right. It's finally cold here, which sucks but we all knew it would happen eventually. Except for a couple of weeks right away in November this has been the wimpiest winter I can recall. My attitude is, you had your chance, now just get back in the corner until Spring gets here. Too bad the weather never listens to me.