COMEDY OPEN MIC ROUND 20 - 1 CAN OF PAINT 3 CARS 2 BALLS

Many years ago, in olden times, being the oldest grandson in the family, I was the lucky recipient of my grandma's old car. She had upgraded to a sporty little Dodge Dart and the old black ‘50 Chevy became mine.

Grandma had taken care of the ‘50...it ran like a top.

Three on the tree with power that I never imagined. My best friend Willy and I proceeded to give that car more abuse in six months than it had received in the previous seventeen years: a couple broken axles, blown transmission and clutch, and big time overheating for starters. I learned a lot about fixing broken cars. That old girl suffered way more than she deserved.

There’s some crazy stories buried with that beast, including impromptu golfing on the green freeway and drives to various unworldly places... but life goes on.
I damn sure got my money’s worth.

After destroying the ‘50, I needed a “new” car.
A friend from work was selling his ‘58 Chevy for $100...right up my alley. This car had a 283 engine with some serious rubber burning capability.
I laid down the hundred bucks and it was mine.

UGLY is an understatement for the ‘58. It had grey primer paint over its rusted, dented body, but not to worry...Willy and I had a beautification project in mind.
"

Our “trip” began with a visit to the hardware store. A gallon of paint and a couple wide paint-brushes and we were on our way.
Next stop: the “drug store”. LSD was the sunshine for this trip. We needed to attain a proper frame of mind for such a daunting task aye?

We grabbed some beer and herbs and blended into the billowing scenery of Apple Valley ...(home of Roy Rogers). Time to get sidetracked for a second:
A few weeks prior, Willy and I were sitting at the end of the bar at the Roy Rogers Apple Valley Inn enjoying an after work cocktail. We were a bit underaged but who’s counting?
So we’re sitting there minding our own business and who should appear but old Roy himself. Roy proceeds to ask the bartender if these boys are old enough to be drinking and my man Willy stands up and says,” Ever since I was a kid I’ve watched you on TV and I always wanted to kick yer ass”. Roy smiled and said, “you boys be safe now”, and walked away. We drank like cowboys.
Thanks Roy...we’ll getcha back.

I digress:
Willy and I wandered the desert and absorbed the flowing colors. We loved throwing rocks and watching their color trails...we called them Mars zips...what a trip haha.
Around three AM we headed back to civilization. We called this “backsiding”. Destination: Willy’s back yard. Time to paint !!!

Our color scheme was simple...ORANGE. Orange on orange on everything. Hubcaps, tires, chrome, everything but the windows...gotta keep it street legal huh?
We were about half way done when we got a visitor.

Willys dad was a great man. He welcomed me into his home like family. I loved him like he was my father. He had been a physical force in his day but had recently been diagnosed with a deadly melanoma behind his eye. His body was deteriorating as we spoke but he would still be up every morning at dawn, ready to do what he could.

We were stunned as Willy Sr. entered our psychedelic world. At first he just stared at us with dismay but the look soon turned to one of disgust. He said that he had been thinking that Willy and I were maybe growing up a bit but now he realized we were worthless...we would never amount to anything. I felt two feet tall.
We were told to clean up our mess and remove this abomination from his yard. We saved a pint or so of orange paint for a later project.

I didn’t get the opportunity to clean my slate with Willy’s dad...within two weeks he passed away.

I sat with Willy’s family at the funeral. As soon as the service ended , Willy asked me to leave with him. He’d had enough pain. His dad would often say, "when you do something, finish the job". We had work to finish.

Me and Willy began our journey to the roof of the Roy Rogers Museum. That’s where our art project stood: a larger than life statue of Trigger, Roy’s anatomically correct stallion. We proceeded to apply the remaining competition orange enamel to Trigger’s soon to be psychedelic balls. They looked about three times their actual size and were quite the eye catching site.

Our beautiful artwork only lasted a day or two before it was removed. Sadly, Trigger was castrated in order to prevent the possibility of copy cats.
The balls were gone but Willy and I were notorious.

We went on to destroy the ‘58 with grandiose flair.
It was a warm summer evening and we were flying on a desert dirt road..drinking beer driving too fast when WHAM!! It seemed like the car just exploded and was engulfed in flames. As it turned out, I had hit one of those concrete barriers like you see on the freeway. The car came to an abrupt stop and the hood flew open, The headlights reflecting against the orange paint and dirt gave the illusion of fire. It scared the shit out of us!
All the tires were flat and the oil pan was torn off. Steam poured from the engine, The ‘58 was toast. As far as I know, it still sits out in the middle of nowhere where it was abandoned.
Got my money’s worth out of that one too.

About a month later I was pulled over on the freeway in my recently purchased El Camino. This one was stylish and of course, fast. It was bad enough that the cop handed me a big fat speeding ticket but to make matters worse, he remarked,”aren’t you the fool that used to drive that orange ‘58 ?".

Guess he never noticed Trigger’s matching paint scheme.
When you’re notorious, there’s some stuff you just can’t shake
"
P.S. I never grew up!

I nominate @dandays and @puravidaville to bring forth their humor. Please make me laugh!