Newsgroups: talk.bizarre,alt.butt.harp,alt.prose,rec.arts.prose From: richh@netcom.com (richh) Subject: RICHH: WE FRESH PORK Message-ID: Date: Thu, 25 May 1995 14:45:17 GMT We Fresh Pork "So what was it like growing up next to the We Fresh Pork house?" they would always ask. "Oh well, you know, there was always plenty of Nitrogen about." No. We had absolutely no idea. But we had our memories. ------------------------------- TV commercial. Quick cut to a scene in Japan. Pork is being grilled in an upscale restaurant. "It's in Japan." People eating sausages in Germany. "It's in Germany." Similar scene in Mexico. Quesadillas. It's in Mexico. Family in US. Pork and beans. "It's right here at home. "Pork--it's what the world's coming to." ------------------------------ Paul and I were broke. We needed a new scam. "Rich, remember We Fresh Pork?" "September?" I nodded. "86??" "Uh huh." "Seattle? Four indicted?" "Bingo?" "You in?" "I'll rig up the P.A and you paint the van." "Done." And thus, our fate was sealed. Just 6 months in Long Beach and we're driving around from Casa Sanchez to Egg Heaven, to every franchised Taco Bell and a buttload of El Pollo Locos. Up and down Anahaeim, every restaurant. "What is it you do, you two men?" the owner and his arthritic wife always asked. "Well, we fresh pork." Shrug. "Your pork. You know. It stays too long, it goes bad. We'll freshen it right up. We're both trained trichinologists." We quickly opened and closed our wallets before they realized that all we were were members at Blockbuster. "You boys? Doctors? Scientists?" "Trichinology." "Porcinosurgery." "Vibeology." I always managed to sneak it in. We would see the owner's mind start churning, extrapolating out his new margin if a pound of pork would last even an extra day. He scribbled a note on a paper and showed it to his wife and said something to her in Spanish. Her eyes lit up and she grabbed her husband's arm tightly and he said, "How much?" "One hundred dollars a pound. That'll buy you an extra week." "At room temperature?!" He asked, clearly losing it. "Hell, leave it out in the sun." We never stayed in one town too long. -------------------------------- "Pork--the other night we met." ----------------------------------- "Where *are* they?" arthritic wife says. Shrug. "In freezer. Thirty minutes." They both shrug. "Money up front," they remember, and spit. --------------------------- Paul was trying to teach me Spanish. It wasn't going well. We were driving home on PCH from Seal Beach to Long Beach. "I'll tell you why I don't know my around, dude. Because all the street names are in Mexico. I'm outta here, man. When I get my money saved. I'm going away to Spain." I always, always, am lost. "Look, he said, "I know you know the roots. Look at the sign." We were crossing Mar Vista. "Yeah" I said. "Okay." "So what's it mean?" "Okay, mer in French is sea. Veesta is vista. View, Sight. Sea view?" "Very good." "So you know where we are, right?" he said, putting in a tape. "Oh yeah." [Jane says, I'm through with Sergio. He treats me like a rag doll...] I turned up the volume and said, turning onto 7th, "Ok, so wait a minute. If Mar Vista is Sea view, what the hell is Marv Albert?" "Hopeless, he said. "Fucking hopeless. "Hey, you gonna pass that or what?" [...try again tomorrow I'm gonna kick tomorrow I'm gonna kick tomorrow...] ------------------------------------ God, I hate southern California sometimes. The radio stations in LA just suck. It's unreal. 101.9 and 106.7 are okay but LA is by and large a radio wasteland. "Check it out, man. Rick Astley is covering 'Closer'. We scanned every station. They were all just so wrong. "Hole doing Dancing Queen?" "And doing it justice!" Debbie Gibson singing 'Night in My Veins'." "Why is Amy Grant doing Electric Avenue?" "I don't know but I like it. We're gonna rock down to--" I woke up in a cold sweat when I dreamed I heard Duran Duran singing 'White Lines'. RICHH