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Use a plain brown wrapper

Letter by Clay Warren

July Edition – August 1998 – Colorado Central Magazine

Use a plain brown wrapper?


Every once in awhile ah git paid lots of money to practice self-abuse. No, no, not that kind of self abuse! Ah’m referin’ to driving long distances on Interstate highways with out either air conditioning nor adequate shock absorbers to combat the sorry state o’ the Nations highways, and then roamin’ around in insect, bar and moose infested forests in a funny git-up once ah git thar.

Which is why Quillen didn’t get mah usual free column inches regarding the contents of the June edition. Ah sincerely apologize to both o’ mah faithful readers, thank you dear fer yere kind words and yes ah do remember yere birthday is cumin’ up, and Angry in Alamosa, ah’ll deal with you later.

While we’re on the subject o’ ungodly travel, ah bet Chaffee County physically joining Club 20 on the other side o’the Divide has got sumptin’ ta do with Continental Drift. But don’t take mah word for hit, that rockologist guy who knows so much about silver water could probably give you at least six different mutually conflicting opinions o’ why that likely is so.

ln addition to the obvious defense for being late, promulgullated above (ah admit ah been hanging out with too many lawyers lately, but at least they don’t refer ta me as Clay Warren: Litigant, like they do some other people), even after the magazine come, hit took me a good long while to get over the twin shocks of that photo o’ Quillen and his name in the same sentence as a well known defense lawyer. Causin’ one to wonder if the juxtaposition of a journalist, even if he is a self admitted curmudgeon and some shyster can ever be lived down in the eyes o’ the reading public. Ah realize you TV viewers jist don’t care a’tall. And, that photo advertising his book would give small children pause, effen they wuz allowed to look inside. Keep that up, and pretty soon ole Colorado Central will have to have a plastic wrapper!

However, after more’n a few slices o’ the local cheddar, ah regained control o’ myself and perused the June issue with mah usual eye towards statements with them unanswered questions contained therein.

Now ah got to be forthwright and magnamious, as John Glenn wuz supposed to have said afore he become a serious astro-politician, (an’ ah thought only lawyers talked that way) and admit right up front that when ah seed thet picture in the article ’bout the CRT (which ah thought meant cathode ray tube at furst), ah had no idea why that gal in the big white hat wuz standing on the head o’ that other gal, while the geezer in the fez listens in. What in hell does he think he’s going to hear? Kenny begging to be spared just one time? Ah don’t reckon ah know yet, ’cause the story only made me want to go to the theater with a flask o’whisky, a handful of big seegars, and maybe a floozie or two and hit never did explain thet photo.

Thet July piece inside the front cover, thet one by the hyphenated Bowen, had a line about being near the bottom uv the economic food chain, which really did strike a nerve. She may be a veggie, but ah sure’s hell ain’t. This is someone what clearly don’t understand the real value of the ole multiple uses o’ the national forest concept, lessen yuh consider wait’n tables in some fern bar an act of environmental preservation. As fer as class wid the capital C goes, w’hell jist look at Quillen, he’s got hit and I know he owns more than jist that one T shirt he always has on (the color must flatter his eyes or sumptin’).

Fer another thing, ah was wondering effen we could bottle up that Summitville water, you know the kind ah mean, thet stuff with the liquid silver dissolved in hit? Folks could dose themselves for infections, tune up their nervous systems and what not, an’ avoid havin’ to pay for thet expensive collodial stuff the health food stores sell at roughly 5000 bucks an ounce. Yah could chug a few ounces and give yere fillings an annual retread at the same time, effen yuh wuz to slosh hit around between yere teeth like jelly. We could call hit Summitville Natural Dental Tonic, or sum such picturesque name. Effen we wuz to get the local brew pub to make beer with hit, why we could kill two birds with one stone and solve the whole dad gum (no pun intended that) problem the EPA was so concerned about back when they wuz diverting the public’s attention from the rukus, some would say boondogle, they wuz creating up at Leadville. Anybody else see a coincidence here, or have ah jist gone too long without a cold Coors?

One last comment about the June issue. Is hit really a function o’ government to provide a service to tell us when to plant tomatoes? What in the hell ever happened to personal responsibility? O’ course when yuh got a truly magnificent letter writer like that Bob Engle guy, huh can be just as irresponsible as yuh want, ’cause he’ll certainly straighten me right out.

While we’re on that subject, Angry in Alamoosa ah do appreciate the fan letters, lord knows ah never got one afore, but no, ah cannot do that. Hit is anatomically impossible even fer a proto-geezer like me. Ah did not say that you’all couldn’t be related, even if you do have the same last name. Based on mah cuzzins back home, ah just said it was mathematically improbable. And, hit is not my fault yere team lost to the Salida Spartans twice, nor that the Broncos finally won the big one. Effen yer self-esteem is really that low, why don’t yuh jist go up to a Cheesehead in some bar and ast him jist how many other teams have the Broncos beat in the Superbowl anyhow? That ought to do hit, an effen hit don’t, ah’ll always say hit should have.

Yers unless the bugs drain me dry,

Clay Warren Pseudo what ever from out there