Latest posts by entropy (see all)
- Boots on the Ground – entropy Visits His Local Chili Cook Off – April 25, 2017
- You Should Be Watching The Magicians – April 19, 2017
- entropy Reads the Classics…. a call for submissions – March 13, 2017
Interior, San Francisco Police Department precinct house. In the hall outside an interview room, two officers stand looking through the two-way glass at a figure seated inside.
Officer: Look, all I know is, the crazy bastard kept asking people up and down the street for a “nickel note” so he could put together a “road stake” and stop “padding the hoof.” Everyone thought he was some mental patient that escaped.
Desk Sergeant: You’re telling me no one recognized him, at all? Not one single person?
Officer: Why would they? He looks like someone dropped Mr. Monopoly in glue and threw garbage on him, all wrapped up in newspapers and shouting about cannonballs and greasing the tracks. We’re lucky he didn’t get shot.
Desk Sergeant: How the hell did we end up with him?
Officer: Someone got him into a church, and the priest finally understood he was talking about trains. One of the old ladies said he could find trains at a Hobby Lobby and directed him there.
Desk Sergeant: Oh no… (begins rubbing his forehead)
Officer: (points toward the window) Yeah. Captain Anachronism there wanders in, shouting about a hot shot to Santa Fe, wandering the aisles, and the goddamn manager calls us. Took four of us to get him in the squad car, all the while he’s calling us Bulls and saying he ain’t goin to the Big House. Called the K-9 a bone polisher, and Jenkins thought it was a gay slur, thumped him in the skull. And before you say anything, I already put him in for counseling, but you know Jenkins hasn’t been right since his husband divorced him.
Desk Sergeant: What the fuck?
Officer: I know. I haven’t heard anything like it since my grandfather was alive and would get drunk, shouting about railyard hobos and shit on the old train lines. He sounds like a 1930s mov–
The officer is interrupted by fists pounding on the glass.
Jim Tomsula: I CAN SEE YOU BASTARDS THROUGH THE MIRROR!! I AIN’T DONE NOTHIN BUT FORGET MY GLAD RAGS WHEN I SEEN THE SKY PILOT AND MAYBE SHOVE A BULL OR TWO!! YOU GIMME BACK MY CALIFORNIA BLANKETS AND GET MY BINDLE OUTTA HOCK AND LET ME OUTTA HERE!!
Desk Sergeant: sighs heavily —- Jesus Christ. OK, fuck this, we have enough to deal with here, what with Kelly asking us to arrest everyone darker than Kaepernick over at the Niners’ facility. Give this asshole his stuff back and put him on the next Amtrack down to LA. He can be the Rams’ problem now.
(OK, folks, this here is my inaugural post as a contributor, and I have decided that Travelin Music shall be the call of the day. If is it something that makes you move, makes you think about having moved, or damn well moves you, throw it on the Request Line. To start things off, we have the original hobo tune, The Grateful Dead, with Jack Straw, live from Europe 1972. Banner Image courtesy of Wikipedia)