Wild Willie, although a bit of a major reprobate and local scrounger, is basically a nice dude except when his brother, Wacko Waldo from Fairbanks, shows up (yes, he's real).
The human turnip has the I.Q. of packaged lunch meat and the personality to match. We're talking about someone who has the appeal of a congealed Spam, chocolate-covered hors d'oeuvres. He's such a slob he can't hitch a ride in the back of a cattle truck and even my disgusting dog Howard stands upwind of him.
When Turk and I discovered that the lizard brain was due for his annual pilgrimage, we flipped a coin to see who had to accompany Willie around the ville to prevent him from being pounded into something resembling a lump of warm cheese spread. Why? Because his demented sibling, armed with the intellect of vegetable dip, loves to start arguments at local adult emporiums.
A few years ago he was set adrift by one of the larger party boats after convincing seasick passengers that an instant cure for their power hurling would be to chug three warm wine coolers (sold by him) while wolfing down a large bag of Cheetos and a handful of pork rinds.
The result was totally gross and locals still refer to that day as the Steaming Yellow Tide of '98. (If I remember right, the craft had to be converted into a garbage scow and sent to New Jersey where no one would notice its smell.)
Five days later, after reaching land and hitchhiking back to Homer, he was banned from the Spit for public safety reasons after trying to speed troll inside the lagoon with a "borrowed" Zodiac.
It may happen again this year. Recent reports have come in reflecting that, while fishing The Hole, he has been snaring more gear, people and critters on his back-casts than silvers.
The proverbial straw may have been broken last Sunday when it was rumored he nailed a couple of yipping "Muffy" types and nearly launched them into pooch purgatory while the owners stood stupefied as their howling curs disappeared over the horizon.
Not cool, even if he had been sober.
Regrettably, I must also relate that I heard there was some applause and cheers of "Awesome!" "Nice follow through, dude!" because the eagle-bait beasties shouldn't have been running free and nipping at people's ankles in the first place.
Nevertheless, his actions were not enough to overcome concerns among some parents nearest the lashing fiend that he needed to be constrained lest one of their diminutive preschoolers receive a high speed tour of the enhancement lagoon attached to the business end of a No. 5 blue Vibrax. So he was asked to leave voluntarily by a couple of burly dads and one heavily tattooed mom wielding a piece of driftwood the size of a dressed out Harley.
W.W. thinks his bro is misunderstood and acts that way just to try and get enough room around yahoos whose idea of fishing is to crowd in so close that he needs latex chest waders to prevent getting a social disease. That's a big whoop.
I like a lot of elbow space, too, when I fish, but I go out of my way not to be a social hemorrhoid and a pain in the butt to anybody within cussing distance unless it's Waldo, of course.
Come to think of it, that hasn't been a problem since he's learned to stay out of rock-throwing distance.
Don't worry, gang, as of last Tuesday, Willie informed me that the cretin has left the hamlet and smoked north for Anchorage. He gave up his public toilet stall campsite on the Spit and split after learning about the government's cash for clunkers.
For the last few years he has been trying to sell his old, 10-cylinder Ford Expedition to anyone with an active brain cell who thinks 8 mpg is cool. The only interest he received was from his neighbor's dog that used the tub as a substitute fire hydrant until the idiots in D.C. decided on another back door bailout on an industry they had already bought through a previous bailout.
He'll do a trade-in, buy something he can't afford and drive it into the ground before they repossess it just like he did with the cheap condo loan he got several years ago via Barney Frank and the gang.
Go figure. I can't. But I will say one thing. Wacko Waldo deserves a job with the current majority in Congress or the administration because, somehow, he just seems to be a natural fit.
Nick Varney can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org, unless he has decided to be a grump this week and go fishing instead of answering e-mails.
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