Pathetic Bob heard me talking about my friend Judd today.
“So Em, who’s this Judd guy? I’ve heard you mention him before when you wrote about the people at the coffee shop you go to. Is he a real guy, or did you make him up?”
“Oh, he’s real alright, and he’s one of the best jet pilots you’ll ever find. He wanted to be a pilot ever since he fell out of a tree and landed on his head as a 10-year-old kid.”
“Uh…Em…Falling out of a tree on your head wouldn’t seem to be a wonderful prerequisite for flying near the stratosphere. In fact, I think it should use his talents better as a comedian.”
“He was–and still is–a funny guy. As a matter of fact, his comedianess helped pay for pilot training. Besides being the opening act for Ray Price, Judd would also play steel guitar in Ray’s band when his opening act was over. He liked show business because it was easy to get girls, but it also offered him a good wage to study jets.” He also worked as a sodbuster, mouse trainer and seller of peanut-cracker vendor.”
“Well, getting girls is a noble job all on its own, but I see the allure of hurtling through space doing several hundred miles an hour. Was it hard to get work?
“Yeah, it was tough at first. New pilots had to circle up and beat the hell out of each other til one man won the job, and Judd won more than a few. In fact, Judd got so much work, he got married, but it seems like the little woman didn’t like him gone so much, even if he was flying celebrities, political asswipes, and loads of chickens. Eventually, he got divorced and thew himself into his work and finding more girls.”
“Hell, Em, these girl-finding trips would make it hard for any man to live a stable relationship. I mean you can only join the mile-high club so many times.”
“Judd finally settled down in the romance department and married a girl named Dorethy, who was a real-estate painter, or maybe she was a painter who sold real estate. I’m not sure. Anyway, Dorethy slapped him upside the head and set him on the straight and narrow. They’ve been married a while now, and he still pilots and she still gives him a slap in the head. But, he’s getting on in years (he’s only five years younger than me), and is looking to move into the third part of his career–from jet pilot to jet salesperson.”
“.Hmm, can you do that legally? I mean, you can’t arm the Panamanian Air Force can you?”
“No, he doesn’t sell fighters or bombers, mostly Lear Jets for the newly rich or corpulent corporations. Judd also set up a foundation for unrepentant spaleens. And, he has cats.”
“No, just regular cats, Siamese I think. He also feeds a gang of cats hiding underneath his deck.”
“Well, I guess he can’t be all bad. I’d like to meet him sometime and arrange a flight for ghost dogs.”
“Where would you want to go?”
“I’m thinking Panama.”
(c) Mke Hood, 2017