SLENDER & GRISTLE: November 2008

Terry Gristle here. I was asked to say a little somethin about myself here on this—hey, guy! What's this thing called? A Blob? Oh. Blog. Sounds stupid.

Anyway, I'm not much for this writing crap. Maybe it has somethin' to do with me signin' all those alimony checks for my four X-wives: Bonnie, Bonnie, Betty and Beverly. The way I see it, writing about your self is some poor sad sacks way of cryin' to the world—sayin oh look at me. I have problems. Well if anyone can tell you about problems, it's me. Like I said, I got 4 ex-wives—count 'em: 1,2,3,4. And five kids. Each one hates me in their own way. I don't blame 'em. I was a lousy dad. I also got a car that's been on it's last leg since the day I got it. Plus, I got a bad ticker, bad back, bad Akilleez tendon, bad breaf and an all around bad aditood.

Anyway, about this writin' stuff. I ain't much for gettin' all literrarry. I speak my mind and I usually don't give a rat's ass what anybody thinks. I been a cop for 25 years and I seen a lotta shit go down so maybe I'm a little jaded and don't care much to flower things up for people so they can feel good about themselves. You wanna feel good about yourself then go watch some of that crap reallitty tv. I usually just have a couple a shots a J.D.

Hey guy! Is this enuff? Okay good.

I don't know who would be interested in this crap or waht I got to say. Some sorry loaff who cant leave the house I imajine. All right. Gristle out.

SLENDER & GRISTLE
City Slickin’

Downtown, New York. Terry Gristle and John Slender stand over the decapitated body of a man wearing nothing but cowboy boots and assless chaps.

Slender: From the coagulation of blood underneath his body, I’d say this guy’s been dead for 8 or 9 hours.

Gristle: Well Johnny, looks like his days of ridin’ em cowboy are over.

Slender: I’d say he roped in his last doggie for sure.

They both stand observing the body and the surroundings.

Slender: Another Chelsea club humper?

Gristle: I don’t think so. He’s too doughy.

Slender: Thank God. I didn’t want to have to go undercover at one of those clubs again.

Gristle: John, don’t be such a homophobe.

Slender: Let’s see you do it next time then!

Gristle: John, it wouldn’t work. You’re the pretty one. I’m the brawn.

Slender: What are you talking about? You’d get your fair share. You’re a bear, man! Lot’s of dudes who like dudes could go for a dude like you ... dude.

Gristle: That’s sweet, John. I appreciate you saying that.

They eye the dead body up and down.

Gristle: So whadaya think?

Slender: Well, I made a call uptown. The Naked Cowboy is alive and well.

Gristle: So he’s not the deceased. Does Naked Cowboy have an alibi?

Slender: Yep. Been singing all day except for a couple of bathroom breaks. Hundreds of Times Square tourons can corroborate. He’s clean.

Gristle: That guy gives me the willies ... dancing and singing in his underwear.

They both squat down over the victim. Slender pokes at the dead man’s butt with a pencil.

Gristle: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Slender: You mean, if all of the Village People are still alive? Yeah.

Gristle: No, that’s not what I was thinking—although that’s a good question. I’m pretty sure one of them is dead.

Slender: Actually I think you’re right. Didn’t the construction worker die a few years ago?

Gristle: I think that was the cop.

Slender: Are you sure?

Gristle: Coulda been the biker.

Slender: Biker?

Gristle: Yeah. Looked like Freddie Mercury.

Slender: The guy from Queen?

Gristle: Yeah. Real queen.

Slender: Too bad he wasn’t from Queens.

Gristle: Ha ha. Yeah. Although he was from England—and they have a queen.

They both chuckle into a long pause.

Gristle: Maybe it was the Indian.

Slender: Indian? What are you tallking about?

Gristle: From the Village People.

Slender: You mean like Ghandi?

Gristle: No. The American Indian. Like Tonto.

Slender: Tonto? Who’s that? Was he in Dancing with Wolves?

Gristle: It’s Dances with Wolves. Not dancing. And no, that was Graham Greene. Or Wes Studi.

Slender: Who the hell are they?

Gristle: The two indians. The main good one and the main bad one.

Slender looks at Gristle vacantly then smiles.

Gristle: What?

Slender: Tatunka.

Gristle: Huh?

Slender: You know. Tatunka. Like in the movie.

Slender puts his fingers up over his head to mimic Kevin Costner imitating a buffalo to the other indian in the movie.

Slender: Tatunka. Tatunka.

Gristle smiles.

Gristle: Ohhhhh yeah, tatunka. Ha ha. Great fuckin’ movie.

Slender: You know it won 7 Academy Awards.

Gristle: Know it? I won the Oscar pool at the precinct that night. 300 bucks!

Slender: Wow. Not bad.

Gristle: Not bad at all. Especially for the early 90s.

They both ponder the movie some more.

Slender: Beautiful cinematography.

Gristle: Costner’s finest work.

Their eyes lose focus then bounce back.

Gristle: What the hell were were we talking about?

Slender: I don’t know—the indian.

Gristle: From the Village People.

Slender: Maybe you’re thinking of that crying Indian from those “Don’t Pollute” commercials.

Gristle: Whadaya talkin’ about. Not that guy. The Indian from the Village People—he wore a headdress.

Slender: Hey remember that Indian from Land of the Lakes?

Gristle: Land O Lakes.

Slender: Yeah that. "You call it butter..."

Gristle: “My people call it Maize.”

They both start chuckling as the camera pans down to the dead guy’s ass and then back up to Slender and Gristle pondering.

Slender: We should probably check this dead guy out some more.

Gristle: Yeah. Let’s roll him over.

They both begin to roll him when a business card falls out of the waist band of his assless chaps.

Gristle: What do we have here?

Gristle picks up the card and reads it:

Gristle: Wally’s Western Wear. White Plains Galleria. White Plains, New York.

Slender: (speaking the words dramatically) White Plains. It sounds so ... so ... majestic.

Gristle turns to Slender.

Gristle: When’s the last time you were on a horse?

Slender: Not counting when I went deep cover at The Manhole? Never.

Gristle: Really?

Slender: Terry, I’m from Brooklyn.

Gristle: Well saddle up Johnny Boy, we’re heading to upstate New York—big sky country! To a little town so small—so quaint—it doesn’t exist in my Encyclopedia Britannica set.

Cut to:

Slender and Gristle in front of a the White Plains Galleria on horses surrounded by a handful of Westchester yuppies and a large group of black and hispanic men and women.

Tune in next time for another exciting episode of
SLENDER & GRISTLE