duckwalking down Market Street

The Schuylkill County Senior Olympics was a great success, or so the pundits say - but not for me. I was eliminated from the fifty meter duck walk.  You know, that is the sport in which all participants do their best Chuck Berry imitation.  It is done in a squatting position moving forward, letting one lower leg swing back and forth in the air while playing the guitar.  Get up and try it right now and you will appreciate its sheer athleticism. The fifty meter duck walk has been a senior Olympic event since 1996 and I was poised for the gold medal.  But it was not to be.

Allegedly I tested positive for Flomax as well as Geritol and Metamucil...and even a trace of Viagra. I thought it would be interesting to mix them together in a glass of Pepper's Ginger Ale while partying at the Olympic Village. Boy was I wrong.  As a result, all of my prior records, medals, awards, laurels, accolades, and mementos were stripped away. I had to turn in my stamp collecting merit badge, my participant award from an old Spelling Bee, my trophy I won at the Cotton Club Karaoke competition, my Hair Club for Men Membership card, three completed crossword puzzles (the only ones I ever completed), as well as the bronze medal I found near the lake the night before.

 If you want to mix Flomax, Geritol, Metamucil (and a trace of Viagra), don't do it while participating in any sporting events. Stick to plain Pepper's Ginger Ale.

 

Mammy was permitted to stay in the games.  She did OK. She participated in the marathon run to Bill’s Produce where every participant has to drive a vehicle over to purchase a fiber-rich produce and then return to Moon Lake. The participants are judged, not only on their speed, but also on the fiber content of the produce brought back. Mammy’s speed was average, but the lima beans she carried back with her was good enough for the bronze medal. Sixteen grams of fiber you know.  If she would have brought back brussel sprouts, she possibly could have tied for silver.

With the games over I headed back to Pottsville. Driving west on Market Street I noticed a group of new residents near Asphalt Field, you know it as that black hole at the corner with Second Street, across from the Famous Restaurant.  I did a double take. Low and behold I saw a strange resemblance between these new residents and the Little Rascals. You know who I mean. Our Gang, for God's sake.  Except that these new residents looked like the Little Rascals wasted on crack. Was I having a flashback from the effects of the Metamucil, Flomax, Geritol (and a trace of Viagra) cocktail? 

 I rubbed my eyes and I swear I saw Chubby, Stymie, Spanky, Alfalfa, Darla, Wheezer, Froggy and all the others; all frazzled and strung out with nowhere to go, wandering aimlessly up and down Market Street going in and out of their various government –subsidized apartments. There was Stymie with his pants down below his thighs and his underwear pulled up high.  There was Alfalfa boasting that he is receiving SSI for his hair cowlick. There was precocious little Darla flirting with Butch and Buckwheat, pushing a baby stroller which was holding a newborn sired during a casual hook-up by perhaps one of the boys.  Maybe Froggy? I thought to myself that Market Street is finally getting a more youthful population. It is about time. Pottsville possibly can still regenerate itself.  I stopped the car and welcomed this new demographic group to the city. I was glad to be home.  I forgot all about the senior Olympics and the medals I might have won and did a duckwalk down Market Street.