More on Charley Pippert

Charley, who I blamed for that purebred bull staying alive while the bull's schlong died, was in my stream of consciousness on a daily basis. Naturally, blaming Charley for the bull's impotence was nonsense but being pissed off at Charley became a soul satisfying project. I really hated farming and Mason Never Live There City, Iowa plus I had very low regard for the population of River City (aka Mason etc) so why not take it out on Charley?

One day, after the bull was long gone, I had to go to see Charley. While driving in my pickup truck those forty unbelievably awful miles over gravel roads with the radio blaring I got to thinking about what I was going to say to Charley and what his response to me would be. 40 miles of this fantasy conversation where I imagined my part of the conversation and then conjuring up his responses really got me in mental motion, and I became increasingly angry with Charley. In fact I became absolutely wild with his fantasy irresponsibility.

As I pulled into the farm yard, Charley and his wife came down the farm house steps. I got out of the truck, strode around the front of it and shouted "Charley, you dirty son of a bitch!" and hit him. His wife screamed and threatened to call the sheriff but I felt that no one was going to "talk" to me that way, and he had it coming. I then got back into the pick up, drove home and had a few pops to calm down. Booze always calmed me down until it got me wired. The lesson? Beware of bulls with broken tools.