More Three Jerrys

The next time I saw llama-dung Jerry was at the home of the former Biggest Dope Dealer in Oshawa. BDDO had become mesmerized by the Roman Church and would brook absolutely no light-hearted remarks, negative viewpoints or Heaven Forbid! jokes about the Papacy. As we played Trivial Pursuit (llama-dung Jerry claimed that he had never lost) in the dining room, LDJ and BDDO endlessly discussed the next generation of chips coming from Motorola. Life would be worth living once more if we just had those chips! LDJ had, quite admirably, returned to school and had become an electrical engineer at Motorola in Houston. I thought that I had gotten my final piece of the pie by answering the question of Alphabetically, which state in the world would come first? with Abu Dubai, but LDJ pronounced me wrong, since the game said it was Afghanistan. The game is wrong, and I went to get BDDO's atlas, which backed my claim on the winning puzzle piece. No matter, the Game is Always Right says LDJ, so he took back my final piece. Rather than starting an unfair fist-fight which would garner me 8-12 for involuntary manslaughter, I put on my jacket, stood up and lied, Nice seeing you again, Jerry!, and left. Hopefully, never having to look upon ferret-face again. That was 26 years ago, and you just never know. I never saw BDDO again either. I discovered years later that my remark of I wonder which of his wives gets the Popemobile after he dies?, had caused offence in extremis in an upstanding Catholic household. Two fewer Christmas cards, It's all good!

Gentle Gerry of Oshawa lived in anticipation of becoming a wealthy man upon recieving his grandmothers' bequest of 5k on his twenty-first birthday. He certainly didn't live in anticipation of getting a degree anytime soon. His foray into the field of Statistics left him puzzled. All I saw were all these damn squiggly formulae to calculate Useless Stuff and all I wanted to know was How many blondes drove Ferrari convertibles in Paris, France!, pretty well summed up the complexity of GGs' thinking. Which was good, because he for sure was no pretend intellectual. He liked to drink beer, he liked to play his Stratocaster and he liked everybody. Them ain't bad qualities in this book. The Big Day finally arrived. He disappeared to The Fabled Land of Osh to collect his fortune, flew to NY to buy his Les Paul and see Johnny Carson, and he flew home with about $800 left. We had big plans for that money let me tell you. He and yours truly planned a party to end all parties. In the sunken room of LEC, he got his musicians together, we sold beer for 5 for a buck or a generous donation to our chosen childrens' charity and we should have said and because the bealthy wastards from UCC could drive a truck through that loophole, but we still raised $223 and change. Speaking of trucks, the Fire Department paid us a visit and made us limit the crowd in the room to 100, so we put Dresdens' Small Green Man and his uncanny ability to impersonate someone 3 times his size on door security and the unruly mob waiting outside was scared into being just a ruly mob. I won't say more, but that was the second best night of my life. GG went away and took his rightful place, penniless and happy, as a starving musician who, last I heard, was lead guitar for George Fox. Bye, Gerry.

Jerry III was none other than Jerry Jeff, who loved to come play for room, food and a case of bourbon. The more he drank, the better the show, and the better the show .... He got Mr. Bojangles out of the way while still sober and scared up a few moist eyes when he landed on Little Bird or maybe it was just me. I wondered why he had all those cushions around his stool but found out when he fell off his stool into the slumber of the just and the show ended just as my tequila ran out, a LONG way away from llama-dung Jerry.