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Dear Scabby


Dear Scabs,
I know that Blake Farenthold was one of your regulars, have you had any dealings with our new interim Congressman?
Bech Bruun

Aw Bech honey, jealous much?
There aren’t many local men with whom I haven’t had relations, and by local I mean the greater southwest United States plus some parts of Indonesia. Once upon a time, old Scabby walked the streets of a little sprout of a town called Victoria, Texas, named after Vicky Vajajay the town’s only working girl, until I came around.

It was the late 90’s when an early 20’s Mikey Cloud returned from a stint at Oral Roberts University where he majored in Mass Communication and hopefully minored in oral. We would pass one another on the street occasionally. It took a while for him to work up the courage to speak to me. I could tell the poor kid was a late bloomer and if anything was going to happen it would have to be me making the first move. Over a summer and an autumn, we got to know each other very well. He would talk about this thing called the World Wide Web, which I guess never amounted to much, and I would tell him about how I walked the world with feet that were webbed. He told me about how the new iMacs with FireWire were going to change the way we edit video. It was sweet.

On August 6th, 1999, Mike and I met at our regular spot, downwind from the public library dumpsters. I had planned for that to be the night on which I would deflower the bright-eyed young nerd, but as I reached for my wet nap to give myself a quick pre-coital cleaning, that’s when it happened… He declared his love for me. I had never been so immediately turned off. There weren’t enough wet naps on earth to deal with this mess. As gently as I could, I explained to him that Scabby wasn’t the type of woman one loved for more than four minutes at a time and that a nice boy like him should never have gotten caught up with someone like me. I give him credit for holding back the tears as long as he did but in the end, it was just too much for Mikey. I disappeared into the night as he bawled loud enough for the entire town to hear.

The next day he married some Mexican and I never saw him again. But, legend has it, that if you find yourself out by those dumpsters in the early morning hours of the night you can still hear the sound of his heartbroken cries.

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