King St. John's Jim

Friend, the City Council had their annual Parade of the Passions to kick off the holiday celebrations.  Yup, already, the “Passion Partners” are presiding over meetings to make Christmas decorations all over St. John’s.  Maxine Power, wearing a button reading: “consensus uber alles,” said “Passion Partners are certified inenhanced persuasiontechniques such as Political Correctness Boarding.”

She assured me that the City Council knows what it needs: They have consensus.  After spending a cordial five minutes in her presence, I went outside and begged Throntle for her needle.  Consensus is a gateway drug. 

The Christmas displays are coming: Southwick is taping snow flake strobe lights to his eyes for meditation.  Roger likes the display at the BBird Tavern.  It has been the same Christmas Display all year.  The owner never has to re-paint it.  Tommy plots to topple the Christmas tree made of beer cans over at the corner store.

There is one display that actually seemed to stand out.  It wasn’t flashy or even “artistically correct” — it wasGrammy and Nonna’stoy store.  Now I’m not really into toys much, but these are the backbone toys for a great childhood.  Simple.  Wooden.  Physical.  Enduring classic toys made of kid-proof construction.

The display had these classic toys along with relics of christmas past.  The ancient wind-ups and heirlooms that were prized when newly received on some past christmas day.  If Christmas is for the kids, it takes a display like this to help us old fogies reach back to that time.

An amazing thing happened one morning a few days ago: The window of the store was broken and boarded up.  Thick slabs of broken plate glass everywhere, but not even one item inside had been touched.  No one seemed to know what happened.

I asked Sandy at the Hope for Health bar— "Bob, er, Fred, er some homeless guy walks by;  looks in, then he starts wobbling,  then he just sorta popped somehow.  Anyway he was gone and the window broke."

You heard it: "He was gone and the window broke." Hard to believe, but Sandy deserves respect as a very talented martial artist.  He has mastered the Breath of Death.  I had to “tap-out” from Sandy’s Dumpster Dojo and called in Southwick to consult the Akashic records.

Southwick chants powerful street incantations such as: _“WouldaCouldaShoulda,” “GotADollar?” “WhatAreYouLookingAt” f_or a few minutes and then goes all trance like.  His eyes roll like Elmo.  He speaks:

“Crap, it’s cold.  I need a drink.  Life is shit.  What’s this?  Hmm.  Look at that crappy tin toy.  I got one like it once..  It broke.  Gramp gave it to me.  And what’s that stupid doll… Oh, it’s supposed to be a kid rummaging through the presents,  Yeah, just like I did.  Look here’s an American Flag just Uncle Fred’s flag from ‘Nam.  We always had it out like he could be with us on Christmas.  Crap, that was nice.  Life was …”  

Southwick says: “The akashic street records stop there. Boom. The emotion was too hard to handle for this guy and he exploded.  Even good memories can be too strong when they come on all at once.  The combined effect of remembered childhood hope slammed into the concrete wall of eternal street life without the safety valve of possibility can muck up your whole day.  Yup. Spontaneous Human combustion.  Happens all the time to drunks.  You should be glad he took his legs with him.  Usually the feet are left behind.”

I know everybody has been asking what happened to the window, so you heard it first on the St. John’s Lighthouse.  The akashic records do not lie.