Golf Rage, Power Naps, and the Ghost of Bob Crane
Mar 14, 2016 18:27:23 GMT -5
Crazy Croc and Roosroan like this
Post by Harry Hates Golf on Mar 14, 2016 18:27:23 GMT -5
I was sitting calming on my leather recliner, drinking soothing Old Fashions and smoking an Ashton Cabinet #8 cigar. Early, the gaming rage had been ripe. My sweat glands leaked pure hatred towards Kipahulu Reserve and of my gameplay. The usual top ten players and the goddamn sloping greens. Yeah, there were moments of envy and crazed laughter, but also of desperation and despair. Yet, overall, there was that pure hatred. The course winds had been strong during play, and (insert golf course) is one of the @!$#ing hellholes that really isn’t structured to pity the idiot playing in high winds. There isn’t any reason to fight it. All you can do one a course like that is swing the club, have a drink, and keep all breakables out of your reach.
There was a hint of cheer, though. I had missed the cut by one stroke, so I could now say “@!$# it” and not advance to CC-A so I could a week later be kicked back down to CC-B (and soon to CC-Z, where the stank of shitty play is appreciated). I’ve never choose to be put up in a higher class. It is just done automatically. As I have said before in earlier ramblings, I would have rather not to be bothered with being promoted (or whatever you want to call it). There is enough failure in my gameplay (and in life overall), and I do not need another episode of it, no matter how small and insignificant it is. Obviously, if I would have known I was going to “miss the cut” by one stroke, I would have just golf raged play the entire rest of the 36 rounds and enjoyed the frenzy. Missing the cut by one stroke, or by one hundred strokes, ends in the same results. Pack your bags, you’re heading to Butthead Town.
Accept your destiny, Loser
There was a hint of cheer, though. I had missed the cut by one stroke, so I could now say “@!$# it” and not advance to CC-A so I could a week later be kicked back down to CC-B (and soon to CC-Z, where the stank of shitty play is appreciated). I’ve never choose to be put up in a higher class. It is just done automatically. As I have said before in earlier ramblings, I would have rather not to be bothered with being promoted (or whatever you want to call it). There is enough failure in my gameplay (and in life overall), and I do not need another episode of it, no matter how small and insignificant it is. Obviously, if I would have known I was going to “miss the cut” by one stroke, I would have just golf raged play the entire rest of the 36 rounds and enjoyed the frenzy. Missing the cut by one stroke, or by one hundred strokes, ends in the same results. Pack your bags, you’re heading to Butthead Town.
Accept your destiny, Loser
But that was all over now. My 72 moments of being a @!$#ing idiot were finished, and I was drained. I still had appointments with numerous families and their loved ones, and I simply wasn’t in the emotional and physical state to deal with all their bullshit. I was going to have to do a power nap.
Yes, my eyes were heavy, and I could see one of my power naps in the near future. Power naps are highly underestimated. They are useful tool to have in your bag of tricks. A power nap at Shadow Creek in Las Vegas is what saved me after being up all night at the crap tables at Caesars Palace. At over $500.00 for 18 holes, and reservations that are a nightmare, I didn't want to spend my day at Shadow Creek vomiting and sweating out vodka. While waiting for our tee-time, I headed to a booth inside the clubhouse's bar. I sat down, and immediately began Master Toi's bhavana practices, hypnotically placing myself into deep REM sleep, waking fifteen minutes later feeling completely fresh. The power nap saved the day that time, controlling overactive sweat glands and regurgitation.
Crap Tables, Power Naps, and Shadow Creek....Vicious Combos
I put down my cigar and Old Fashion. I turned off the PlayStation console, sitting back in my recliner, taking deep breaths and absorbing the silence of the room. Slowly, I felt myself falling into the REM sleep. Because of the practices of bhavana, you are allowed to witness yourself entering the dream state. Your senses heighten to unbelievable marks. You become aware of every molecule within your personal environment. That threshold, moving from the conscious state of mind to the inner depths of the psyche, can be a very beautiful thing.
It's also a goddamn nightmare sometimes.
I had only been into the deep REM for a few minutes when I felt a presence near me. My heighten senses told me that whatever was there, it wasn't tangible, but it was there nonetheless. Remember the words of Master Toi, I began to use the techniques of anapana sati, adjusting my breathing until it was shallow, which allowed me to quickly come out of the deep REM. When my breathing returned to normal, I opened my eyes.
That's when I saw Bob Crane.
Crap Tables, Power Naps, and Shadow Creek....Vicious Combos
It's also a goddamn nightmare sometimes.
I had only been into the deep REM for a few minutes when I felt a presence near me. My heighten senses told me that whatever was there, it wasn't tangible, but it was there nonetheless. Remember the words of Master Toi, I began to use the techniques of anapana sati, adjusting my breathing until it was shallow, which allowed me to quickly come out of the deep REM. When my breathing returned to normal, I opened my eyes.
That's when I saw Bob Crane.
Bob Crane – Ghost, Boobie Hound, and All-Around Nice Guy
Bob started to walk around the room, examining the books and papers that were about and on the shelves. "I've been hanging around you for about five years now, after you did that radio show back in Scottsdale, Arizona. I was in radio once, way before 'Hogan's Heroes. You probably wouldn’t know that. It was before you were born. Yeah, those were good times." He stopped in front of my widescreen. "You know, it simply amazes me how advance all you people are these days. I mean, look how goddamn big that television is! How big is it anyway?"
"It's an 80 inch widescreen," I said. "It's 3D too."
"No sh%$. Really?" Bob shook his head, then wagged his finger at the widescreen. "It must be something to watch a baseball game on this thing. Man, I love baseball. Have you ever watched an episode of 'Hogan's Heroes' on this television?"
"Actually, yes I have. I've watched a few 'Hogan's Heroes' reruns on this widescreen."
"How'd I look?" asked Bob.
"It's like watching you on the movie screen. Big and wide."
Bob Crane chuckled. "I could make a joke," he said. "But I'm not one to make dirty jokes. I always said that a pie in the face will always be better than a dirty joke."
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” I said.
“Hey, ever since I’ve been hanging around you…”
I cut Bob off.
“Hanging around me? What do you mean ‘hanging around you’?”
Bob wave hand, brushing off the topic. “Oh, never mind that, Harry. That isn’t important. I was going to say that ever since I’ve been hanging around you I’ve seen you playing that golf game on your TV.”
“Oh, you mean ‘The Golf Club’ game?”
“That’s what they call it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s only a couple of years old. I really like playing it. And you can make your own golf courses too.”
“No sh%$,” Bob said with some surprise. “Make your own courses? That would be pretty neat!”
“It is pretty awesome,” I said. “I’ve built a couple of courses already. Stirs up the creativity you could say.”
“I bet it does,” Bob said. “Tell me, can you put all the trees and animals and all the other stuff in your course yourself.”
“Oh yeah, all of it.”
“That is so neat,” said Bob. “And I thought video cameras were a big deal. Hell, I give up all the video equipment to have one of those PS4s and The Golf Club game.”
“Don’t you have that kind of stuff there,” I said. “You know, the place where you are now.”
“Not this kind of stuff,” Bob said. “Don’t get me wrong. We got our entertainment there. It’s just hard to explain. It’s just different where I’m from. You know what I mean, Harry?”
“I kind of do, I guess.” I looked at Bob. “Hey, I don’t want to piss you off, but if you aren’t here to take my soul, then why are you here?”
Bob turned to me, a look of concern on his transparent face. “Well, Harry,” he said. “I was seeing how upset you were when you were playing that Golf Club game, and it looked like you needed someone to talk to. Your girlfriend, Helen, isn’t going to stop by here until the early morning hours, so I thought to myself ‘Hey, I gotta go cheer my buddy up’, and so here I am.”
“You know when Helen is coming here?” I asked. “You know our schedules? What the @!$#?”
“Harry, it isn’t a big….”
“Are you stalking us?”
Bob raised hands, reaching into the air, and began to bellow. “Oh great one, his soul is weak and ready to be taken. Give me our blessed power to cast his soul into the lake of FIRE!!!”
Yes, I knew that he was dead. I knew that he had been dead since 1978, murdered in his hotel room during the night as he slept. He was dead. Nonetheless, there he stood, right in front of me.
And when I say I saw him, I mean to say I saw his image. He was not mass. He was not solid. Although formed and three dimensional, Bob Crane was also slightly transparent. He was in front of me, casually leaning up on the door frame that lead into the room. His face was gleefully happy, with a smile that almost mischievous. He was wearing a powder blue leisure suit, wide lapels and flared bell-bottoms, a cream color silk shirt, and white patent leather shoes. It was an outfit that was clearly in-style during the mid-seventies, and now would win an award for Most Retro of the Party. I looked at him, blinking the haze from my eyes before looking at him again, slightly seeing through him as well.
"How's it going, Harry" said Bob, he happy-go-lucky radio voice sounding as fresh as it over forty years ago. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He chuckled at his bad joke.
"Good Lord," I said. It was all I could say at the moment.
"The Lord ain't got nothing to do with this." Bob shifted his eyes upward for a moment. "In fact, Mr. Big Shot and I have had some words, so we ain't speaking to each other. He's really cool and all, but really Puritan when it comes to having a little bit of friendly fun with the girls hanging around here. Thou shall not this, thou shall not that, blah blah blah....Hey, I may be hanging out in the afterlife, but I ain't dead." Bob winked. "Hey, I still got a lot of muffin mix!"
"Are you hear to collect me" I asked, my voice begin to tremble slighting, my thoughts twisting about as they were still bewildered at the sight of ghost of Bob Crane. I got on my knees, my hands clasped in pleading prayer. "Is it my time? Is it now time for me to be cast into a lake of fire? Oh please, soul-taker, allow me a moment for redemption!"
"I'm not the Grim Reaper, dummy.” Bob shook his head for a moment. “Get off your goddamn knees and sit down. Relax."
I feared that I would bring some horrific poltergeist wrath down on me if I did not do what he said, so I got up and sat back down on my recliner.
Bob started to walk around the room, examining the books and papers that were about and on the shelves. "I've been hanging around you for about five years now, after you did that radio show back in Scottsdale, Arizona. I was in radio once, way before 'Hogan's Heroes. You probably wouldn’t know that. It was before you were born. Yeah, those were good times." He stopped in front of my widescreen. "You know, it simply amazes me how advance all you people are these days. I mean, look how goddamn big that television is! How big is it anyway?"
"It's an 80 inch widescreen," I said. "It's 3D too."
"No sh%$. Really?" Bob shook his head, then wagged his finger at the widescreen. "It must be something to watch a baseball game on this thing. Man, I love baseball. Have you ever watched an episode of 'Hogan's Heroes' on this television?"
"Actually, yes I have. I've watched a few 'Hogan's Heroes' reruns on this widescreen."
"How'd I look?" asked Bob.
"It's like watching you on the movie screen. Big and wide."
Bob Crane chuckled. "I could make a joke," he said. "But I'm not one to make dirty jokes. I always said that a pie in the face will always be better than a dirty joke."
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” I said.
“Hey, ever since I’ve been hanging around you…”
I cut Bob off.
“Hanging around me? What do you mean ‘hanging around you’?”
Bob wave hand, brushing off the topic. “Oh, never mind that, Harry. That isn’t important. I was going to say that ever since I’ve been hanging around you I’ve seen you playing that golf game on your TV.”
“Oh, you mean ‘The Golf Club’ game?”
“That’s what they call it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s only a couple of years old. I really like playing it. And you can make your own golf courses too.”
“No sh%$,” Bob said with some surprise. “Make your own courses? That would be pretty neat!”
“It is pretty awesome,” I said. “I’ve built a couple of courses already. Stirs up the creativity you could say.”
“I bet it does,” Bob said. “Tell me, can you put all the trees and animals and all the other stuff in your course yourself.”
“Oh yeah, all of it.”
“That is so neat,” said Bob. “And I thought video cameras were a big deal. Hell, I give up all the video equipment to have one of those PS4s and The Golf Club game.”
“Don’t you have that kind of stuff there,” I said. “You know, the place where you are now.”
“Not this kind of stuff,” Bob said. “Don’t get me wrong. We got our entertainment there. It’s just hard to explain. It’s just different where I’m from. You know what I mean, Harry?”
“I kind of do, I guess.” I looked at Bob. “Hey, I don’t want to piss you off, but if you aren’t here to take my soul, then why are you here?”
Bob turned to me, a look of concern on his transparent face. “Well, Harry,” he said. “I was seeing how upset you were when you were playing that Golf Club game, and it looked like you needed someone to talk to. Your girlfriend, Helen, isn’t going to stop by here until the early morning hours, so I thought to myself ‘Hey, I gotta go cheer my buddy up’, and so here I am.”
“You know when Helen is coming here?” I asked. “You know our schedules? What the @!$#?”
“Harry, it isn’t a big….”
“Are you stalking us?”
Bob raised hands, reaching into the air, and began to bellow. “Oh great one, his soul is weak and ready to be taken. Give me our blessed power to cast his soul into the lake of FIRE!!!”
Bob Crane - Soul Taker Mode
“Easy, Harry, easy.” Bob smiled at me. “Everything is fine.”
I grabbed my chest to ease the pains. “Good Christ Almighty.”
Bob walked over to me. “Listen to me, Harry. I know you get all upset about that game, and I completely understand it. I would be pissed off too if I had been playing that course. Believe me, I swung a golf club a few times in my career.
In the 60s, everybody played golf. I know about sloping greens and bunker pinched fairways. It’s like the bastards who designed the course never played one game of golf.”
“Yeah, Bob,” I said. “That’s exactly it.”
“Yeah, they don’t know what the hell they are doing, so @!$# them. Put your big boy pants on and tell them to spit in the wind. The Harry I know, the Harry that Helen loves, is the guy who drinks his whiskey because he enjoys the burn.”
“I guess you’re right, Bob.”
“I know I’m right, Harry. And about those top ten players, the -50 under par no matter what golf course kind of guys? @!$# them too. Who cares. Let them enjoy their glory. They earned it. When the tour people finally kick your ass down to CC-Z, you’ll start winning the tournaments. That’s how to look at it.”
“I guess you’re right again, Bob.”
“You’re damn straight!” Bob patted me on the shoulder, his smile beaming as I looked at him. “Harry, you’re an all right guy. My God, you had a person’s occipital region in your hands two hours prior to playing your final rounds. Brain matter, for goodness sake! Not everyone can say that.”
“Thanks Bob,” I said. “You’re right. Maybe I am just tired. Maybe I’m just letting all of this get to me. Maybe I should just use this inner hatred that I have to my advantage.”
“OKAY!” I screamed. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t bark at you again. Please leave my sin-racked soul alone! Allow me time to cleanse it!”
“Easy, Harry, easy.” Bob smiled at me. “Everything is fine.”
I grabbed my chest to ease the pains. “Good Christ Almighty.”
Bob walked over to me. “Listen to me, Harry. I know you get all upset about that game, and I completely understand it. I would be pissed off too if I had been playing that course. Believe me, I swung a golf club a few times in my career.
In the 60s, everybody played golf. I know about sloping greens and bunker pinched fairways. It’s like the bastards who designed the course never played one game of golf.”
“Yeah, Bob,” I said. “That’s exactly it.”
“Yeah, they don’t know what the hell they are doing, so @!$# them. Put your big boy pants on and tell them to spit in the wind. The Harry I know, the Harry that Helen loves, is the guy who drinks his whiskey because he enjoys the burn.”
“I guess you’re right, Bob.”
“I know I’m right, Harry. And about those top ten players, the -50 under par no matter what golf course kind of guys? @!$# them too. Who cares. Let them enjoy their glory. They earned it. When the tour people finally kick your ass down to CC-Z, you’ll start winning the tournaments. That’s how to look at it.”
“I guess you’re right again, Bob.”
“You’re damn straight!” Bob patted me on the shoulder, his smile beaming as I looked at him. “Harry, you’re an all right guy. My God, you had a person’s occipital region in your hands two hours prior to playing your final rounds. Brain matter, for goodness sake! Not everyone can say that.”
“Thanks Bob,” I said. “You’re right. Maybe I am just tired. Maybe I’m just letting all of this get to me. Maybe I should just use this inner hatred that I have to my advantage.”
“There you go,” Bob said. “That’s the Harry I know. What do you always say? ‘I’ve gotten blood in my eye before, and I went back for more’.”
Bob and I laughed out loud.
“Bob,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind if I start calling you my friend, even though you are dead and resurrected as a ghost.”
“Not at all, Harry,” he said. “I already think of you as my friend, and I’ve been dead for almost forty years, only to walk the terrain as a spirit.”
“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, did John Carpenter murder you?”
No more golfing for Bob
Bob chuckled. “To tell you the truth, Harry, I wouldn’t know. The b%& of it is was that I was asleep. Totally passed out. I went to bed, fell asleep, and when I woke up, I had some guy standing in my room telling me I was dead and to follow him. It went on from there.”
“That is so wild, but a bummer too,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask you another question?”
“Depends on the question,” Bob said. “Go ahead, ask away.”
“You said that you’ve been hanging around me for the past five years,” I said. “Why have you been hanging around me for the past five years?”
“Honest question,” said Bob. “And I will give you an honest answer.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Weird as it may sound,” Bob said. “When people die, they are given jobs in the afterlife. Yeah, just like you’ve seen in some movies. Well, recently, I was promoted to being a Warden. Now, you mentioned the Grim Reaper earlier. Well, guess what. He’s real.”
![]()
Bob took a deep breath to calm himself, and then his smile washed over his face again.
“Well, Harry. I’m really glad we had this chat, but I got to go.”
“Well, that’s a bummer,” I said. “But I understand. I’m glad you came by. I was a little freaked out at first, thinking you were going to absorb my soul and all, but it was nice of you to show up after I got so upset over The Golf Club game.”
“Hey, Harry,” said Bob with a smile. “What are friends for!?!”
“Wow,” I said as gleefully as a teenager. “I never had a famous movie star call me his friend before. After I die, maybe you and I can hang out together more!”
“You got yourself a deal,” said Bob. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Just not too soon,” I said under my breath, with a wink.
“Don’t worry, my boy,” Bob said. “I got you covered!”
We both stared at one another for a moment before breaking out in loud, obnoxious laughter. Resembling the likes of two old friends from days past, Bob and I laughed with each other for a few minutes. It was good times for us.
Bob and I laughed out loud.
“Bob,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind if I start calling you my friend, even though you are dead and resurrected as a ghost.”
“Not at all, Harry,” he said. “I already think of you as my friend, and I’ve been dead for almost forty years, only to walk the terrain as a spirit.”
“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, did John Carpenter murder you?”
No more golfing for Bob
Bob chuckled. “To tell you the truth, Harry, I wouldn’t know. The b%& of it is was that I was asleep. Totally passed out. I went to bed, fell asleep, and when I woke up, I had some guy standing in my room telling me I was dead and to follow him. It went on from there.”
“That is so wild, but a bummer too,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask you another question?”
“Depends on the question,” Bob said. “Go ahead, ask away.”
“You said that you’ve been hanging around me for the past five years,” I said. “Why have you been hanging around me for the past five years?”
“Honest question,” said Bob. “And I will give you an honest answer.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Weird as it may sound,” Bob said. “When people die, they are given jobs in the afterlife. Yeah, just like you’ve seen in some movies. Well, recently, I was promoted to being a Warden. Now, you mentioned the Grim Reaper earlier. Well, guess what. He’s real.”
"Lets see you make that chip now, Mr. Top Ten."
“No sh%$,” I said. “I knew it. I just knew it. Sometimes I could feel his presence near me. I have always been acute within the paranormal realms.”
Bob grabbed his crotch. “Paranormal this, Sylvia Brown.” He let go of his groin and continued. “As I was saying, the Grim Reaper is as real as you and me. And he has no boss. He’s like a freelancer. He just goes about laying his hands on people, killing them when he does. He doesn’t answer to God, or Jesus, or Satan, or the IRS. He just lays his hands on whoever he wants to and kills them. No rhyme or reason to his madness.”
“Hell, Bob,” I said. “Tell God to stop this bastard. You can’t have someone like this running around.”
“God can’t,” Bob said. “God needed people to die so he could keep the earth going, so he constructed the Grim Reaper, but he kind of screwed up about when the guy could kill people. The Grim Reaper was supposed to only kill people when they’re old, like in their eighties, but something went wrong. He just start laying the death hand on anyone he could. Babies, kids, teenagers, young adults, etc. and so on.”
Bob Crane shook his head, a tinge of sadness in his semi-transparent eyes.
“The Grim Reaper you know of now wants to kill people the minute that come out of the womb. And God can’t fix his screwed up creation. It was a one-time deal. So because God can’t fix the Grim Reaper, he created the job of Wardens.”
“Wardens?” I asked. “And you’re a Warden?”
“Yep,” Bob said. “That I am, my boy. That’s where I come in. A Wardens’ job is to fend off the Grim Reaper, to “ward off” his touch. Wardens are assigned to people, and it’s our job to keep the reaper guy away from you, or at least away from you until God feels like you shouldn’t be protected anymore, then you’re on your own.”
“This is a lot to take in,” I said. “My nerves are even more frazzled now thinking about some dark figure son-of-a-b%& with a bony hand trying to put a finger on me, or in me, or whatever he does.”
“Don’t worry about that, Harry,” said Bob. “I got you covered.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well then, tell me this. If there are these Wardens running about and protecting people, why are there still kids and young people who die, eh?”
“Really simple answer to that, Harry.” Bob stepped closer to me, looking down at me as I sat. “We are still the kids of the big man upstairs, even after we’re dead, and we ain’t perfect. We still get tired, frustrated, mad, and most of all, make mistakes. Sometimes the Grim Reaper is able to reach out and touch someone that we are supposed to be protecting and they die, sometimes horribly.”
“Golly, Bob,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be an a##!0#l about it.”
Bob waved his hand, brushing off the subject. “Don’t worry about it, Harry. It was an honest question. If it makes you feel any better, almost everyone who dies gets to move on.”
“Almost everyone?” I asked.
Bob chuckled. “Well, there are some folks who die that don’t move on.”
“You mean they are tossed into a lake of fire?” I asked.
“Well, sort of,” Bob said. “I like to refer to it as Lake Abysmal. But you have to do some pretty bad things to go in that direction.”
“Is Hitler there?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Bob said nonchalantly.
“And Ted Bundy too?”
“Yeah. He went kicking and screaming, but he went there nonetheless.” Bob chuckled.
“And Lee Harvey Oswald? Is he there burning for his sins too?” I asked.
“No he isn’t.” Bob said sternly. He pointed his finger at me. “And don’t be asking any questions about it. I don’t want to have to explain all that grassy knoll sh%$ again.”
“Okay, okay,” I mutter. “I won’t.”
“No sh%$,” I said. “I knew it. I just knew it. Sometimes I could feel his presence near me. I have always been acute within the paranormal realms.”
Bob grabbed his crotch. “Paranormal this, Sylvia Brown.” He let go of his groin and continued. “As I was saying, the Grim Reaper is as real as you and me. And he has no boss. He’s like a freelancer. He just goes about laying his hands on people, killing them when he does. He doesn’t answer to God, or Jesus, or Satan, or the IRS. He just lays his hands on whoever he wants to and kills them. No rhyme or reason to his madness.”
“Hell, Bob,” I said. “Tell God to stop this bastard. You can’t have someone like this running around.”
“God can’t,” Bob said. “God needed people to die so he could keep the earth going, so he constructed the Grim Reaper, but he kind of screwed up about when the guy could kill people. The Grim Reaper was supposed to only kill people when they’re old, like in their eighties, but something went wrong. He just start laying the death hand on anyone he could. Babies, kids, teenagers, young adults, etc. and so on.”
Bob Crane shook his head, a tinge of sadness in his semi-transparent eyes.
“The Grim Reaper you know of now wants to kill people the minute that come out of the womb. And God can’t fix his screwed up creation. It was a one-time deal. So because God can’t fix the Grim Reaper, he created the job of Wardens.”
“Wardens?” I asked. “And you’re a Warden?”
“Yep,” Bob said. “That I am, my boy. That’s where I come in. A Wardens’ job is to fend off the Grim Reaper, to “ward off” his touch. Wardens are assigned to people, and it’s our job to keep the reaper guy away from you, or at least away from you until God feels like you shouldn’t be protected anymore, then you’re on your own.”
“This is a lot to take in,” I said. “My nerves are even more frazzled now thinking about some dark figure son-of-a-b%& with a bony hand trying to put a finger on me, or in me, or whatever he does.”
“Don’t worry about that, Harry,” said Bob. “I got you covered.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well then, tell me this. If there are these Wardens running about and protecting people, why are there still kids and young people who die, eh?”
“Really simple answer to that, Harry.” Bob stepped closer to me, looking down at me as I sat. “We are still the kids of the big man upstairs, even after we’re dead, and we ain’t perfect. We still get tired, frustrated, mad, and most of all, make mistakes. Sometimes the Grim Reaper is able to reach out and touch someone that we are supposed to be protecting and they die, sometimes horribly.”
“Golly, Bob,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be an a##!0#l about it.”
Bob waved his hand, brushing off the subject. “Don’t worry about it, Harry. It was an honest question. If it makes you feel any better, almost everyone who dies gets to move on.”
“Almost everyone?” I asked.
Bob chuckled. “Well, there are some folks who die that don’t move on.”
“You mean they are tossed into a lake of fire?” I asked.
“Well, sort of,” Bob said. “I like to refer to it as Lake Abysmal. But you have to do some pretty bad things to go in that direction.”
“Is Hitler there?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Bob said nonchalantly.
“And Ted Bundy too?”
“Yeah. He went kicking and screaming, but he went there nonetheless.” Bob chuckled.
“And Lee Harvey Oswald? Is he there burning for his sins too?” I asked.
“No he isn’t.” Bob said sternly. He pointed his finger at me. “And don’t be asking any questions about it. I don’t want to have to explain all that grassy knoll sh%$ again.”
“Okay, okay,” I mutter. “I won’t.”
Bob's favorite Grassy Knoll picture
(for obvious reasons)
Bob took a deep breath to calm himself, and then his smile washed over his face again.
“Well, Harry. I’m really glad we had this chat, but I got to go.”
“Well, that’s a bummer,” I said. “But I understand. I’m glad you came by. I was a little freaked out at first, thinking you were going to absorb my soul and all, but it was nice of you to show up after I got so upset over The Golf Club game.”
“Hey, Harry,” said Bob with a smile. “What are friends for!?!”
“Wow,” I said as gleefully as a teenager. “I never had a famous movie star call me his friend before. After I die, maybe you and I can hang out together more!”
“You got yourself a deal,” said Bob. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Just not too soon,” I said under my breath, with a wink.
“Don’t worry, my boy,” Bob said. “I got you covered!”
We both stared at one another for a moment before breaking out in loud, obnoxious laughter. Resembling the likes of two old friends from days past, Bob and I laughed with each other for a few minutes. It was good times for us.
“Hey, now remember,” Bob said after our laughter died down. “It just a game, Harry. Sure, get upset with the game, and break as many controllers as you want to, but don’t tear yourself up. You aren’t doing anything wrong. Sometimes you’re just dealt a bad hand in poker, you know what I mean?”
“I won’t, Bob. I promise.” I smiled. “Scout’s honor.”
Suddenly, but without surprise, I began to watch Bob Crane’s semi-transparent form ebb away in its opacity. There wasn’t much else for me to do other than to watch him as he faded away.
“Be sure to give Helen my best,” Bob said. “She’s a great girl.”
“The best,” I said.
And finally, Bob Crane disappeared, returning back into the paranormal dimension where he resided. For a passing moment, I felt a tinge of sadness. There were times in life when you met someone, and you are just glad that you did, and this was one of those times. The sadness comes not from their leaving, but from knowing it will be a long time until you see them again. Good friends were hard to come by, at least for me. It was nice knowing I had one now.
I picked up my PS4 controller and mashed down on the X button, calling up another 18 holes of this vicious @!$#ing game. I picked up my Old Fashion and held the glass in cheer.
“Here’s to you, Mr. Reaper,” I said at the top of my lungs. “Bob’s here now, and the party’s just started!” I chugged the rest of the drink down, and then with a violent pitch, smashed the empty glass against the wall. I re-lit my Ashton Cabinet #8 cigar, taking deep drags from it as I sat back down in my recliner.
I raised my PS4 controller.
“This one’s for you,” I said.
I began to laugh.
It was going to be a good night.
“I won’t, Bob. I promise.” I smiled. “Scout’s honor.”
Suddenly, but without surprise, I began to watch Bob Crane’s semi-transparent form ebb away in its opacity. There wasn’t much else for me to do other than to watch him as he faded away.
“Be sure to give Helen my best,” Bob said. “She’s a great girl.”
“The best,” I said.
And finally, Bob Crane disappeared, returning back into the paranormal dimension where he resided. For a passing moment, I felt a tinge of sadness. There were times in life when you met someone, and you are just glad that you did, and this was one of those times. The sadness comes not from their leaving, but from knowing it will be a long time until you see them again. Good friends were hard to come by, at least for me. It was nice knowing I had one now.
I picked up my PS4 controller and mashed down on the X button, calling up another 18 holes of this vicious @!$#ing game. I picked up my Old Fashion and held the glass in cheer.
“Here’s to you, Mr. Reaper,” I said at the top of my lungs. “Bob’s here now, and the party’s just started!” I chugged the rest of the drink down, and then with a violent pitch, smashed the empty glass against the wall. I re-lit my Ashton Cabinet #8 cigar, taking deep drags from it as I sat back down in my recliner.
I raised my PS4 controller.
“This one’s for you,” I said.
I began to laugh.
It was going to be a good night.
