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"Hello. My name is Duff," I said smiling, "and I am a gimp."
"Hello Duff," the 30 or so members of the media replied in unison,
like those attending an AA meeting.
"Thank you all for coming," I said taking a seat in front of them.
"As you know, this is the first time I've had an opportunity to answer
the ridiculous allegations made against me by a private interest group
as reported by members of the press. I've been in this predicament
a long time and wrote the story pretty much the way it happened. I'm
here to answer any and all questions you may have."
"Is it true," a man in the second row asked, "that the National Association
of Disabled Seniors, or N.A.D.S., has petitioned your publisher asking
them to stop the sale of your book?"
"It was until yesterday," I said happily, "but that's all changed.
I received a call from Dick Stanky, the Deep Throat of N.A.D.S. if
you will and he had an interesting story to tell. I've invited him
here today to relay the story to you. Dick, you're up."
The door in the back of the room opened to an old man in a wheelchair,
smiling and waving like he was the Grand Marshall at the Macy's Day
Parade. Parking him next to Duff was a gorgeous girl of 20 or so,
piercing green eyes the worst feature of her beautiful face. Her long
auburn hair fell in ringlets to her mid back and covered the perfect
breasts that still brought a rise out of old Stanky, after a Viagra
cocktail or two. "Ladies and gentlemen," Dick began. "Let me apologize
to Duff on record for any trouble we caused, or tried to cause him.
It was just the old crippled cronies I hang out with causin' a commotion,
trying to get publicity for our organization. It was Byg N.A.D.S.
who came up with the idea."
"Who's Byg N.A.D.S.?" asked a chubby platinum blonde wearing too much
makeup, and too little clothing.
"Byg Svenssenn, the founder of N.A.D.S. and its president. He gets
bored easy."
"I'm Jacque Strap from U.S.A. Tomorrow. You're saying that a bunch
of disabled people in an old folks home got together and tried to
discredit a man who's just trying to get his book out there and make
a living?"
"Shit Jack," Dick said, "or is it Jock? Whatever. Who said anything
about an old folks home? We're all richer than Paris Hilton and most
of us are better lookin'. And yes, we did try to discredit this young
man."
"That you're all rich makes it more reprehensible," Strap said shaking
his head.
"I agree," Dick said. "That's why I had a meeting with all the members
except Byg N.A.D.S. I didn't want him around to influence the vote
should it come down to that. We discussed Duff's book A Tale of Two
Gimps for a full hour and haven't laughed that much in many moons.
Our vice president Hilda Brand told us she wet three pairs of Depends
reading chapter five alone, and laughed so hard that night she soiled
another pair."
"What was the final count?" I wondered.
"Well we never took a formal vote," Dick said, "but it was obvious
most of us liked it because it made us laugh . . . and it made us
think. We withdrew the complaint yesterday morning, and Duff can go
forward with our blessings and well wishes."
"Jennifer Thomas from Handicapped and Happy Magazine. Some of us here
have read the book, and the others have had a chance to look through
it earlier today. Most of us liked it as well, but wondered if the
toilet humor was offensive to an organization such as yours?"
"It was for a few of the women," Dick said. "Of the ten men and twelve
women in N.A.D.S., three of the ladies mentioned the toilet humor
as an objection, and Tillie Toodles was one of 'em. Course, Tillie
claims to have never farted once in her life, so take from that what
you will. You have to admit it was hilarious when Mouse crapped his
pants at the pizza joint in Northeast Philly."
As if summoned by a power greater than us all, the door opened to
a middle aged man in a wheelchair, long black hair pulled back in
a ponytail, nose ring gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the
conference room. Mouse had finally arrived . . . late as usual. I
watched amused as he rolled up the aisle smirking and nodding coolly
to the assembled. His "Stools Rule" tank top allowed for easy viewing
of his many tattoos, and his ever present short pants were once again
along for the ride. Oddly, the cam-walker boot on his left leg was
a good sign, as it finally allowed him to put weight on the broken
foot that has been haunting him for almost four years.
"Hey baaaby," Mouse said, smiling at Dick Stanky's beautiful helper.
She frowned down upon him, red tipped fingers disappearing into her
long mane of hair. He parked between Dick and Duff, lifting with his
arms and onto a folding chair the leg with the Herman Munster-like
boot.
"Yo, what's up Dude?"
"Yo," I said. "Glad you could join us, albeit forty five minutes late.
Nice boot by the way. Everyone meet Mouse, the other of the two gimps."
"I swear to God everybody," Mouse said waving, "it's not my fault.
Blame the fuckin' tart cart. That thing's not on time for nothin'."
"This guy right here," I explained, "is the one that got us out of
trouble. Well, me anyway. Mouse, Dick Stanky from N.A.D.S."
"Sounds like a medical problem," Mouse said laughing. "What's up Dick?"
"Nice to meet you Mouse," Dick said shaking his hand. "We were just
talkin' about you and your episode at Charlie's Pizza."
"Oh shit," Mouse said grinning. "Yeah, that's a day I'll never forget."
"We were also discussing," Jennifer said, "some of the bathroom habits
described in the book. Any thoughts?"
"I don't make a habit of shittin' my pants if that's what you mean,"
Mouse said, "but we're gimps and sometimes that's what we do."
"Speak for yourself," I said laughing. "I've always managed to get
my pants down."
"I guess that makes you God of all gimps then," Mouse said smartly.
"Duff, I'm Peter Long from Disabled but Able, and I too am physically
challenged . . . ."
"Physically challenged," Mouse snickered. "That cracks me up."
"As I was saying," Peter said perturbed. "Do you feel that the word
gimp carries with it a somewhat negative connotation?"
"I'm sure it does in some circles," I said. "I didn't like it the
first time I heard it, but in Johnstown it's the word that everyone
used. When I was writing the book, the title just seemed to fit. Good
or bad, it certainly catches the ear, and hopefully the eye of the
book buying public. It's just a word after all."
"How 'bout them homo's on TV," Mouse said thoughtfully, "Queer Guys
with the Straight Eyes or whatever. Queer means fag right? I don't
see nobody tryin' to boycott them, and everywhere I look I see those
manly women prancin' all over the place."
"Thanks for your insight Mouse," I said shaking my head. "Dick, what
did N.A.D.S. think of the word gimp?"
"It's what made me buy the book," he said, motioning for the green
eyed girl to sit on his lap. "Most of us thought the title was funny
and the story made it more so. Tillie found it too straight forward,
and of course Byg put that at the top of his list. I think secretly
he liked the book but would never admit it to anybody. He was just
stirrin' up trouble. Just a couple more questions folks. I have to
head back to my house in the Hamptons soon."
"I got a question," Mouse said. "Who's the hot chick sittin' on your
lap, and how did an old dude like you get her?"
"This is my personal assistant," Dick said, "Svetlana or Tattianna
or some such thing. I picked her up last night in a tittie bar on
Delaware Avenue. She doesn't know much English but she does understand
the concept of money. Hey, I'm rich. I don't think she's comin' home
with me because I look like Brad Pitt."
"I know the feelin'," Mouse said laughing, "on both counts."
"That you do my boy," Dick said grinning. "That Natasha sure was a
handful and ya know, it sure is great to have money."
"Tell me somethin' I don't know," Mouse said.
"Dick, I have one more question," Peter said. "Were you and your group
able to draw any parallels between your handicaps and those of Duff
and Mouse?"
"Just a couple really. There's only two N.A.D.S. who had spinal cord
injuries, while the rest of us had some disease or simply old age
that put us on crutches or in wheelchairs. The biggest difference
is that our problems started later on in life. These guys were hurt
when they were in their teens, and have lived with their disabilities
for almost thirty years now. They didn't always do it with style and
grace, but a positive attitude and a great sense of humor can take
you a long way . . . as evidenced by these two young men. Well folks,
my limo's warmin' up outside and my trousers are warmin' up on the
inside. Whatever this broads name is sure got it goin' on. Great ass
on her huh Mouse?"
"Great ass is right," Mouse said, "but keep her away from the sauerkraut.
That'll fuck up your mornin' in a minute and it'll never be the same
again."
"I remember that part," Dick said laughing. "It was hilarious. Duff,
again I apologize for any trouble we caused. Here's my private number.
Keep in touch and maybe I'll take you to a tittie bar in New York
. . . on me."
"Thanks Dick," I said, putting the card in my pocket, "and thanks
for comin' down and setting the record straight. Tell Byg N.A.D.S.
to go scratch."
"That I will," Dick said. "Let's go Katarina, push me outta here.
We have some things to do in the limo. So long everybody." As the
entire room watched Dick's personal assistant push him through the
door, Mouse said,
"Jesus Christ. I ain't seen an ass like that since the last time I
seen Tammi's. Lucky old fart."
"Are there any more questions for the two of us?" I asked the crowd.
"I'm Jim Beem from the Miami Project and this is for either of you
to answer. It seems to me that you make light of a very serious problem.
Any regrets?"
"Not at all," I said stopping Mouse in his tracks. "Truth be told,
having a spinal cord injury just flat out sucks. I wouldn't wish it
on anyone except Osama Bin Laden, and whoever's controlling the gasoline
prices in the world today. It's the way you deal with it that matters.
For some unexplainable reason, Mouse and I used humor as the way to
cope with the horrible situation we found ourselves in. Hell, we still
do to this day."
"We made fun of everything and everybody," Mouse said, "but most of
all ourselves. Some guy I used to know always said, 'Sometimes you
gotta laugh to keep from cyin'.' If we couldn't laugh about all the
shit we been through, we might be cryin' cats and dogs."
"That's raining cats and dogs," I said laughing.
"Whatever," Mouse said. "They get the fuckin' point."
"Barthalamew Bune from Philadelphia Magazine. The cover of your book
says, 'Based on a True Story,' Does that mean that parts of it aren't
true?"
"That's a good question," I said. "I've seen and read many books over
the years that claimed to be true, but I don't understand how a book
or a movie can be one hundred percent true unless they had a court
reporter following around night and day, taking down exactly what
was said. Certainly some of the dialog was made up as this story begins
in nineteen seventy seven, and who remembers what was said word for
word that long ago? Having said that, much of the dialog is direct
quotes since Mouse and I talked about things while I was writing,
and I do have a pretty good memory."
"That's for damn sure," Mouse said. "I call him elephant boy, and
not because he's hung like one."
"How the hell would you know how I'm hung?" I asked.
"I read the book," Mouse said laughing.
"Oh yeah," I said face reddening. "I never thought I'd admit all of
this to anyone, and especially write a book about it. I know Mouse
feels the same way, even more so."
"Fuckin' A," Mouse said grinning. "I went through money and short
pants like turkey shit through a tin horn. It ain't easy bein' a gimp."
"So the story is basically true," I said, "with a few variations like
the dialog. I also changed a few names because I didn't wanna be shot
dead by a motorcycle gang, or any of my ex girlfriends. Some people
don't like the truth."
"They can't handle the truth!" Mouse yelled like Nicholson in A Few
Good Men, bringing laughter from the audience.
"We looked at the pictures on your www.2gimps.com
website," Jennifer said, "and couldn't help but notice that there
weren't any pictures of some of the main characters in the book, namely
Wild Bill in Johnstown and Mouse's rock and roll friends. There aren't
that many of Mouse for that matter."
"Me and my family ain't too picture friendly," Mouse said sheepishly.
"The biggest bummer of all," I said, "was having no pictures of Wild
Bill, and it wasn't for lack of trying. We had a party one night at
my apartment on Hystone Avenue and I was taking pictures like a Playboy
magazine photographer of everyone, including several of that crazy
bastard. I found it strange that the counter on my camera went past
twenty four, but I figured I loaded a thirty six exposure roll. When
the counter reached forty I knew there was something wrong. I opened
the camera and realized there wasn't any film in there and it was
too late to go buy anymore. As for some of the others, well . . .
a few of the people in the book have become rich, successful, and
fairly famous in their chosen field of endeavor and I didn't want
to put them in an awkward situation."
"Could you tell us who they are?" came a voice with no introduction
from the back of the room. "I could tell ya," Mouse said, "but then
I'd have to kill myself."
"On that note," I said laughing. "We should bring this to a close.
I would like to mention that a portion of the proceeds from the sale
of the book will go to The Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, The Christopher
Reeves Foundation, ant the Magee Rehabilitation hospital here in Philly.
And after today, I'll take a closer look at N.A.D.S. as well. I'd
like to thank you all for coming, and please remember us fondly if
you would." As everyone gathered their recorders and pens, papers
and purses, wishing the two gimps well, Mouse leaned over and said,
"It's cool that old Stanky dude gave us his private number."
"Who said anything about us white boy?" I laughed. "He gave his number
to me. Probably doesn't want you peein' on his front lawn."
"Or his front room for that matter," Mouse said. "Bring your fag bag
and Snapple bottle and I'll see what I can do."
"Cool," Mouse said. I turned and watched the last of the reporters
leave, smiling at the lone man seated in the back row who was unseen
until now. The mystery voice.
"Hey Mouse. What's up with that stupid fuckin' boot? Gonna walk on
the moon or somethin'?"
"Who the fuck is that guy?" Mouse asked angrily. The man rose from
his chair and walked toward us, smiling and giving us the finger.
"What's up you gimpers?"
"Keith?" Mouse asked incredulous. "No fuckin' way. What are you doin'
here?"
"Yep," Keith said, shaking their hands. Duff finally tracked me down
from Timbuktu or wherever he lives now. Says you've been lookin' for
me for years."
"Idaho," I corrected, "and Chickie's the one who found him."
"Holy shit," Mouse said. "I haven't seen you for like twenty years."
"More like twenty five," Keith said. "So what's up with the funky
boot?"
"Dude it's a long story," Mouse moaned. "I been in and out of rehab
more than a crack whore."
"Let's reminisce on the way," I said, grabbing my crutches. "I have
another surprise for Mouse."
"On the way to where?" Mouse asked. "And what other surprise?"
"Just shut up and follow me," I said, walking through the doors into
the late August heat of a Philadelphia afternoon.
As they waited on the sidewalk each smoking a cigarette, a long black
limo pulled up and parked in front of them.
"Come on, you have to meet the driver." Mouse rolled up to the window
that was rolling down for him, revealing a black man smiling broadly.
"Teddy Pendergrass!" He exclaimed, jaws dropping wide open. "What
the fuck you doin' drivin' a limo?"
"My career was never the same," Teddy said, "after I crashed my Rolls
into that tree on West River Drive. I still got money but not celebrity
money . . . know what I'm sayin'?"
"I always wondered whatever happened to the transvestite you was with
that night," Mouse asked. "Did you pay her off, or him, or whatever,
to keep quiet?"
"Just get in the limo," Teddy said through clenched teeth, "or I'll
drive off and leave your gimpy ass right here."
"Damn Dude," I said. "You don't wanna piss off the limo driver, especially
this one. He gave me special rate on this thing for as long as we
want it. He does own the company ya know?"
"I just wanted to know about the she-man he was with," Mouse said.
"Shit, he's the biggest gimp here. I wonder if this thing has hand
controls? I'm gonna ask him."
"No don't," I yelled. "Keith grab him. I have one more surprise in
the car. Leave Teddy alone."
"Christ," Mouse said. "I hope you didn't invite Tom Cruise over to
save my soul."
Keith pushed him to the edge of the curb as I opened the door, revealing
a big lump on the back seat covered by a blanket.
"You'll never believe this," I said laughing.
"What the fuck is it?" Mouse demanded.
With that, a woman shot from beneath the blanket like a stripper from
a birthday cake, and she knew the procedure.
"Surprise!" she yelled.
"Yeeooowww," Mouse screamed, slamming back in his chair like he'd
just seen a cockroach. "Natasha! I haven't seen you since you were
walkin' the Ave. What the fuck is goin' on?"
"It's payback for those blind dates you set me up with," I whispered.
"I told you then I owed you one."
"That was a hundred years ago," Mouse said. "I don't know whether
to thank you or punch you in the balls."
"You guys get him in the limo," I said laughing. "I'll put his chair
in the trunk. We have plans for tonight."
"I need one of my heart pills," Mouse said. "I can't take much more
of this."
After they were all seated, Teddy pulled away from the curb, merging
into the late afternoon traffic.
"You've been cooped up in your parents' basement for three and a half
years," I said. "I figured you could use a night out. We'll go eat
wherever you want, Le Bec Fin, McDonalds, wherever. Then we're off
to Day Dreams to see some naked women."
"We don't have to go to Day Dreams for that," Mouse said pointing.
Keith and I looked over to see Natasha standing on the back seat,
upper body sticking out of the moon roof, flashing her titties to
everyone on Walnut Street who cared to look.
"She used to do that in your Monte when you first met her right?"
I asked. "Some things never change."
"Bullshit," Mouse said. "In them days her tits were wavin' back at
everybody who was lookin.' Now those tits are lookin' down at us.
It sucks getting' old."
For those of you still reading, thanks for being here. For those long
since gone . . . may God be with you, just walking real far ahead.
I'm sure you realized at some point that much of the story above was
a fictional account of a press conference which never took place.
There was no petition or withdrawn complaint. There was no Byg N.A.D.S.
To handle, and sadly, no Dick Stanky. The reporters didn't ask any
questions because we weren't there to answer them, and Natasha is
still in Florida, to Mouse's delight. Much of the story, however,
is true, as is the book it was fashioned after.
A Tale of Two Gimps is the story of Duff and Mouse's lives since suffering
spinal cord injuries in 1977, mine from a car wreck, and his from
a shotgun blast. The differences in us are apparent from the beginning
and are a common thread throughout, yet we share many things that
most people wouldn't even consider. Like men who've seen war, you
don't really know unless you've been through it. I'll take you through
our lives, with our eyes; introducing you to some interesting people
we met along the way, and some embarrassing situations we found ourselves
in.
Why would a guy buy a brand new truck, drive it 10 miles, decide he
doesn't like it, and then trade it in for a Caddy? Because he could.
Why would another guy poke a needle into his pecker and consider that
a good thing? Because he had to. Does the book feature toilet humor?
Well . . . does Pinocchio have wooden balls? Of course there's toilet
humor and some funny shit too. About 35 or so friends and strangers
have read this book over the last couple years, through it's repeated
editing's and never-ending agent search, and I've received many different
comments on it. From "sad," to, "It gave me belly laughs," from "disgusting,"
to "hilarious," and two who said, "I'd never let Mouse in my house."
Like the short story above, three women strangers had a question,
comment, or concern about the frequency of the toilet humor, and they
might be right. They are in their eyes at least. What I find most
ironic is that one of the three sent an e-mail that gave her opinion,
expressed her concerns, and admitted that while reading A Tale of
Two Gimps, she peed her pants from laughing so hard. That Rules. I
knew this book wouldn't be for everyone while I was writing it, but
everyone who has read it has laughed, and out loud at times. I consider
that a good thing. (I wish I had this lady's e-mail for the testimonial
page on this site. Her's and several others were whisked into cyber
nothingness as a result of my big hard drive crash of 04. (My computer
that is.)
Are you getting as tired of reading as I am of writing? I know, I
can take a hint and will begin to wrap this up. A Tale of Two Gimps
is raunchier and funnier than the story above because it was. If someone
said, "fuck," that's what I wrote. If Mouse saw a bald, or a big hairy
pus . . . well, you get the idea, I wrote that as well. If you like
to laugh and don't mind some naughty language, then I'm sure you'll
like this book. I hope the short story and pictures gave you some
idea of what the book is about, and think you'll feel like one reader
did when he wrote, "It was a wise-ass, smart alecky, hell of a good
time."
Since I don't have a dedication page in the book, there are a few
people I should thank.
My sister Lorrie who gave me my first sale on August 11th, and sister
Sharon who gave me my third. It was Sharon who, after reading the
printed out computer version a couple years ago said,
"Now I know my brother TOO well."
To my friends back east who read that same version, and said that
if it ever becomes a "real" book they'd buy it. I guess it's put up
or shut up time now.
I should thank every person in the book because whether I liked them
or not, if it wasn't for them, there would be 404 blank pages staring
back at us.
My friend Annie, who was the first person to read the book after I
moved to Idaho in October 05. She had many good things to say about
it and got me off my ass to try and get it published. It worked.
To Chickie who has helped me in countless ways, teaching me how to
build this site and others. When I apologized to her after a particularly
difficult night of trying to understand what the hell an HTML was,
she replied, "I'm used to it. I have a four year old." I couldn't
have said it better myself A.
And to my mother, who sadly passed away almost four years ago and
is greatly missed by everyone who knew her. She was a daughter, sister,
wife, and mother. She was a grandmother and for a short time, a great
grandmother, and just as important she was our friend, and our friends'
friend. She was Patricia, Pat, Patty Rae, and Patty, but most of us
just called her Mudge. If I had a thousand years and a billion dollars,
I could never pay her back for all that she did for me, but knowing
Mudge she'd refuse the payback anyway. She loved to do for her family,
and was the best person I ever knew.
Then there's Mouse. Do I have to thank him? I guess I do because without
him I'd only have half a book, and not nearly as funny. Even with
the 3am phone calls telling me of his latest conquest or disappointment.
Even with him setting me up on two of the worst blind dates in the
history of man, and even though I haven't seen him in four years he's
still one of my best friends, and we talk all the time. We were talking
on the phone one night as I was writing the book, and I was bemoaning
the fact that it was sometimes difficult to write even one paragraph
of this never-ending saga.
He said, "Got that right. I know I didn't write as much as you but
. . ."
"Wait a minute," I rudely interrupted, "you didn't write any of it."
"Yeah," Mouse replied, "but I did talk on the phone a lot."
You have to love a guy like that, but it reminds me of something Ted
Nugent once said when speaking of a band mate.
"There's only one Alpha male in this pack and that's me."
I agree, so heel for a minute Mouse, then make yourself useful . .
. and sniff my butt or somethin'.
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