It’s been tough to get going today. Started a post, didn’t like it. It’s been shelved, till later. What would Floyd have to say? If I know him as well as I think I do–something like this. “If you have something to say–say it! If you don’t have anything to say–then keep your trap shut!” Maybe this little talk from 2015 will do me some good.
“There seems to be a general decline in the ‘effimacaceousness’ of this blog,” Floyd observed–stroking his chin.
“How you figure?” I answered his question with a question.
“He who answers a question with a question is a fool,” Floyd philosophized.
“Will you get to the point and knock off the pseudo-intellectual shtick.”
“You’re first and foremost an imaginary character that exists only in my mind. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Did I hurt your feelings? Don’t get your shorts in a bunch. Just listen.
Floyd was attired for summer–bib overalls and slouchy railroad engineer’s cap. At least, this time he had on a t-shirt.
Customary brown chewing tobacco spittle stained the corners of his mouth. He expounded homespun philosophy with one foot on the front bumper of his light blue Ford pickup.
“All I was trying to say–is you need to lighten things up a bit,” Floyd answered. “Most people get #$%@^& tired of hearing the same negative, mopey )*%@%^* day after day. I failed to mention that Floyd’s vocabulary would make longshoremen blush.
“I’m glad to see you turned out smarter than your buddy Larry. He’s purt near broke with three ex-wives. Hasn’t got a pot to *&$% in. He should have had enough *&^#$@^! sense to quit after wife number two.”
I hadn’t thought about Floyd for a long time. Something about unshaven, sweaty men in bibs I’d prefer to avoid–as a general rule. He was a memorable character. If one looked past the disheveled, gruff exterior–he always gave good advice.