Big Mike: A Beautiful Friendship Pissed Away

My erstwhile dear old pal Benny Jay and I are having a tiff these days. It reminds me of the time the National Lampoon (remember that?) reported a fight between Truman Capote and Gore Vidal. Tru, according to the mag, suffered a bent hat brim and Vidal’s hankie was creased.

Benny Jay and I are standing with our backs to each other, our arms folded across our chests. Occasionally, Benny turns to me and sniffs. I respond by offering him the Sicilian salute.

It all began over his dog’s excretory habits.

Benny wrote here the other day that he was taking his hound out for an airing early one morning. As they passed a house a few blocks down, Benny’s pooch raised a leg and aimed a squirt on some guy’s lawn. While the dog was in midstream, the guy came out in his bathrobe and hollered at Benny.

Benny, normally eager as a Quaker to avoid conflict, took umbrage. He wrote that the man was weaselly-looking and that he (Benny) took a snippy tone with him. The man called Benny an asshole. Benny responded in kind and then the man threatened to call the cops.

The thought of Benny sitting on a bench and marking time in the 23rd District lockup stripped of his belt and shoelaces is like imagining a rhinoceros competing on “Dancing with the Stars.”

My formerly dear pal then recounted spending his day brooding about how mean people are to him. Imagine a man not wanting a dog to piss on his lawn! Benny became embittered as the day went on. By nightfall, the anger had welled up inside him. He took the pooch out on a late night walk and — Whaddya know? — the two ended up in front of the same guy’s house whereupon the dog deposited another liberal dosage of the good old yellow dew on the lawn!

Benny, turning mad by his visions of vengeance, patted the cur on the head and complimented it.

The kicker is he wrote that he should have blown the guy off during their early morning confrontation. “Should have said, ‘Blow me!’” he wrote. “That’s what Big Mike would have said.’”

Of all the nerve!

I immediately dashed off an email to the insensitive brute.

Ben:

I wouldn’t have said “blow me.” I would have been yelling at you, asking if you had any room up your ass for your dog who’s pissing on my lawn.

Love,

BMike

I clicked Send and sat back, smiling smugly. I showed him! Minutes later, the reply came back.

Mike:

Oh no! You’re one of those nutcases who don’t like dogs pissing on their lawns. Who knew?

Yours,

Ben

Well, I never! I clattered back.

Sir:

I mow my lawn and weed my garden and then some son of a bitch comes by and lets his dog pee and crap right where I kneel. Plus, there’s something unseemly about having to watch a stranger stand there while his creature-pal drops a load on my lawn right outside my front window. I’d like to come over to your house and take a huge steaming dump on your lawn and see how you like it!

Michael

PS: Harrumph.

That ought to put him in his place, I thought. Sadly, some uncivilized, uncooth people can’t be reasoned with. This was his response:

Jerk:

Oh, boo-hoo-hoo! Wittle Mikey, worked so hard to make his lawn pretty!

Black Hand Jay

Here’s the latest in this unfortunate series of missives:

My Dear Mr. Jay,

We shall suspend any further communications between us. The next contact you will receive will be from the law firm of Fleecem and Slip. Please refrain from darkening my email inbox again!

Mr. Glab

That’s it. I’ve had it with Benny Jay. If he doesn’t watch himself, I may have to give him a bent hat brim.

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