Newsgroups: alt.butt.harp
Subject: RICHH:  AND IT DETERMINED WHAT HE COULD SEE
Message-ID: <1992May6.221600.8570@tigger.jvnc.net>
From: richh@tigger.jvnc.net (RICHH)
Date: Wed, 6 May 1992 22:16:00 GMT
Sender: news@tigger.jvnc.net (Zee News Genie)
Organization: JvNCnet, Princeton University, NJ
Originator: richh@tigger.jvnc.net


     My senior year girlfriend, Alison, called the other day. 
Seems that she was just up at school and had checked in on the
Gresge.  She was a year younger than I, and she and The Gresge had
developed an interesting friendship after I'd left.  
     She had started out quite fearful of him, despite his "nice
smile and heart of gold".  On our very first date, I, God knows
*what* I was thinking, brought her back to the Gresge's
apartment(this was second semester junior year, and the Gresge was
off on his own then) to watch a couple movies we'd rented
("Manhattan", "Mondo Magic", "Shocking Asia")  The last two were in
the Gresge's permanent collection.  
     "Shocking Asia", he'd said to me once.  "That's a keeper."   
     When we got there, the apartment looked much as you'd expect
it to:  food-encrusted pots and dishes in the sink;  Tv dinner
boxes everywhere(some unopened);  various hardcore mags scattered
about.  
     "This one's nice," said Alison, leafing through 'Ass Master'. 
"Do you think these girls like their job?"
     The place, somehow, didn't smell as badly as it should have,
and we went out all summer and senior year too.
 
     "You remember the Gresge's race," asked Alison, "That really
spooked me on him for a while."
 
     The car he would later paint 'Screw the Police' on was a huge
old Chevelle.  He'd dropped a 454 into it, as well as a
supercharger.  He had a number of nicknames for it, ranging from
'The Problem Solver' to 'The Woman-Tamer'.  But, since no woman
would go near the car, I guess the first moniker was more valid.  
     One night, he comes in and says to us all, "This kid, some
townie"(Ralph himself was a 'townie', but still liked to make fun
of them.  He came up with this list of requirements for being a
'townie': a.  a bizarre, ungodly limp
          b.  an unintelligible speech impediment
          c.  a tongue down a sibling's throat
          d.  one chromosome too many)
     
"...some townie wants me to race him for a thousand bucks.  Any of
you in?"
     "Yeah, sure, Ralph.  Whatever you say."
     "What if you win and he doesn't pay?"  But Ralph was already
checking the action on his .45.
     "Oh, he'll pay all right."
     "What if you lose?"
     "What if, what *if*?!  What if Joseph Conrad had been born an
American?  What if Susanna Hoffs were fatter than Belinda Carlysle?
What if Bertrand Russel played small forward for the--"
     "All right, all right, you've made your point."
     "I did?"
     "Have a good 'race', Ralphie.  Don't be out too late."
     So we went back to watching tv or whatever it was we were
doing.  An hour or so later, in swaggers the Gresge, counting out
a big wad of twenties.
     "Nine-sixty, nine-eighty, a thousand."
     "Holy shit, Ralph.  You won.  It was real."
     "Oh yeah.  Let's go.  Drinks are on me.  *BARANGUS*!!"     
And they all left, except me and Alison, who had gotten quite
spooked, especially when the Gresge had quite theatrically,
clicked clip of dum-dums into his gun.
     "He wasn't really going to shoot him, was he?"
     "Don't know that he didn't."
     So later, Alison made me ask the Gresge to pull out the clip
and show her that no shots had been fired.
     "But that's a pain in the ass. You gotta take out the--"     
     "If you don't, I won't be able to sleep."
     So he did.
 
     "Yeah," I said.  "I remember that race."
     "Well, I was just up there, and he's put on some weight, he
finished his degree..."
     "CS?"
     "English."
     "My God."
     "And now he's playing in a band."
     "But he had no musical ability at all..."
     "That's not true.  Remember the rap?"
 
     One day we were listening to the messages on our machine. 
There were way more than usual and most of them were just people
who'd called and hung up right away.
     "Check the message." someone said.
     So we played it back, and it turned out the Gresge had
replaced our normal message with this:
 
"No one am here this house be vacant
Got ten lil boys locked up in the basement.
Wake up in the morning and you know what.     WHAT??!
Feel like slammin' some hairy butt.
If Jon was here I wouldn't have to wait,
I'd just go up to his room and pump some weight.
If I see that guy named Jim,
I got one big surprise fo' him.
Like I tell my friend Ron Barrett,
Happiness be a big red carrot.
Sometimes I just be feelin' randy,
I think about my good friend Andy.
Can't help lookin' in his direction
But I hear he got a yeast infection.   Huh, huh huh HUH.  
When I see Rich lookin' mean
Gonna grease him to a glossy sheen.
So leave your message at the tone
Cause my hands too full to answer the phone."
 
     That stayed on for months.
 
     "Okay, you're right," I said to Alison.  "What else?"
     "Well, it's weird.  Every time I see him I feel really warm
towards him.  And he loooves *me*.  I think I'm the only girl he
knows with...with...Oh, *you* know--"
     "With 46 chromosomes?"
 
RICHH
--"Well he, wore a hat.  And he, had a job
--And he, brought home the bacon so that, no one knew..."