Dr. Jones

By W.R. Jones

    I spotted this black haired beauty sitting alone at the hotel bar on a recent trip.   Before making my approach I tried to slip my ring off but it wouldn’t budge.  Putting the ring finger in my mouth for a bit of lubricant, it came loose a little bit easier and faster than expected; I swallowed the damn thing. 

    Great, just what my stomach needed.  It was already in some trouble from lunch.   I had eaten in a sushi bar.  My waiter was Juan – this should have been a clue.   Sashimi, that’s raw fish, for you folks living just outside of Chicken Crotch, Iowa, turned out to be a selection I was to regret.   I sat in this restaurant for the entire lunch hour by myself.  Oh, oh – I sauntered outside to see what grade the department of health had given this place; a solid D.   I was going to wakeup somewhere in the night with the ability to shit 15 feet.

    I popped a couple of sen-sen in my mouth to cover wedding ring breath and headed to the bar.  As is common with new acquaintances, she asked my occupation.  From years of experience I knew she would not be impressed with the truth so … “I’m a doctor”.   “Oh”, she says, “where did you go to school?”  I didn’t like direction of this question.  Don’t tell me she is a doctor; “Harvard”, I reply. 

    We talked for awhile when she asked, “did you meet your wife in Boston?”  Well, just suck, I swallowed that ring for nothing.  “No, I didn’t”, I said.  These were my first honest words of the night.  “Why would I meet her in Boston?”  “Harvard”, she says. 

    Is Harvard in Boston?  I always thought it was in Omaha.  

   Guess how the rest of the evening went.

    And me, I’m back in my room reading Wikipedia – I’ve got to get my general knowledge quotient into double digits.

This entry was posted in Humor, Painting, Still Life. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Dr. Jones

  1. Dianne Mize says:

    Your painting is gorgeous and that’s no tale.

  2. While you get your G. K quotient into double digit territory, I’m going to google Chicken Crotch, Iowa. Check out the time on this comment. I gotta get a life. Hey!…perhaps in Chicken Crotch. Thanks WR!

  3. wrjones says:

    Thanks, Dianne.

    David, you would love Chicken Crotch. There is no insomnia there. You are in bed and fast asleep by 8PM.

    This studying is paying off big time. I now know the difference between shit and applesauce.

  4. lori says:

    Bill, this is your medium speaking…..You made a very lucky escape here. The black haired beauty symbolized by the rabbit was preggers with at least twins. You know how rabbits are. Your vase is huge, it means there would be massive responsibilities. There is that clinging vine too, it would be very difficult to escape the situation.

    Its a beautiful painting! Really nice composition and colors, everything goes well together.

  5. wrjones says:

    The hair on the back of my neck is standing up. You can really read a painting. Thanks – it is not my setup, it was put together by Pat Kelly, a really wonderful painter/teacher in the San Diego area.

  6. gypsy-heart says:

    Thanks for a good laugh, and I like the painting it has a mysterious feel to it!

  7. Nava says:

    Wonderful painting, Dr. Love the edge-variety.

    The bunny looks a bit constipated, so I can’t help wondering if he is not resembling you, after sashimi served by Jose and a wedding ring for dessert.

  8. wrjones says:

    Gypsy-heart, always good to hear from you. I will stop by later for a cup of tea.

    Thanks Nava. I threw a turp can at that bunny. Not my can of course, those things are $30. I missed the rabbit and knocked off a clear jar next to it, Waterford something or other. Since it wasn’t my turp can, the lady whos can it was had to pay for the damage. She was screaming. It seems that clear glass stuff is expensive.

    I threw it at the bunny because the little bugger was so hard to draw and paint. I hope someone drops him in the future.

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