As some of you know, I was an occasional visitor to the bush household when Georgie was a teenager. When I arrived one day, Georgie had the hood up on his car and was preparing to "jump off" his pocket transistor radio with his car battery.

When he connected the clamps to the radio, the amount of sparks, smoke and sound that emerged was downright startling.

He hopefully held the radio to his ear, shook it and fiddled with the volume knob. "Shit! I musta hooked them up backwards," Georgie cried. I searched for the right words but they simply were not within me. He swapped the clamps on the battery poles and reattached to the little radio.

"FUCK! I still did not get it right!" after the same light show played and he hopefully held the little box to his ear. "Shit!"

Wordlessly, I watched as he reversed them again repeatedly until there was more melted blue plastic on the cable clamps than there was on the radio. He finally looked up at me looking at him and his radio, he flung the radio carcus into the backyard.

"Now I gotta go buy another radio with a dead battery. Shit!" A small drip of blue was moving slowly down his right earlobe.

As he backed out the driveway, the battery cables danced and threw sparks on the concrete as they dragged dangling from beneath the hood.

I looked up at Georgie's dad who had been standing behind the screen door for the entire drama. I finally cleared my throat and said "I am afraid that Georgie's cornbread is not quite done."

I was never allowed to visit that house again. But the word is that for the five birthdays afterward, Georgie's pop bought him a new car, battery cables and a transistor radio with a dead battery.

That George senior has got a real mean streak.

(Message edited by blissman on September 29, 2008)

(Message edited by blissman on September 29, 2008)