By Greg Grogan
It was the last night of the Kinsler family vacation in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. A buffet dinner at Davy Crockett’s Surf & Turf was followed by a visit to the wax museum and then a rousing session of Skee-ball. As the evening was winding down, the Kinslers stopped for ice cream, and that's when little Kip Kinsler, a month’s worth of allowance rustling in his pocket, wandered across the street and into one of the city's many fine souvenir shops. He returned a few minutes later with a small package tucked under his arm. "Happy birthday!" Kip yelled, handing it to his grandpa.
Stan Kinsler was touched. He unwrapped the package and there, nestled in pink tissue paper, was a coffee mug. And on this mug was written, in bright red letters, "WORLD'S HORNIEST GRANDPA!"
This was an uncomfortable moment for the Kinslers. Stan managed a chuckle or two and patted his grandson’s head, hoping the boy wouldn't notice his moist eyes and trembling lower lip. Hold it together, Stan, he thought. Kip had meant well. The boy simply had no way of knowing what all the grown-ups did: that Stan Kinsler was, in fact, not the world's horniest grandpa. Far, far from it.
But oh, the horniness he had once known!
Years ago, Stan was, without a doubt, the horniest merchant marine in the world, having established his credentials in whorehouses from Buenos Aires to Bombay. Later, he became the world's horniest air-conditioner repairman, followed by stints as world's horniest Shriner, world's horniest subscriber to Reader’s Digest and, finally, world's horniest member of a carpet-deodorizer class-action lawsuit. Time, however, had taken its irrevocable toll, and neither pills nor videos nor a cream made from the gall bladders of Bengal tigers could turn back the clock.
"World's horniest grandpa, my eye!" Mary Kinsler snorted. "If that's the case, then I'm Dolly Gosh-Darn Parton!"
Confused, Kip and the other children put down their fudge sundaes and waited for their parents to explain grandma's highly improbable assertion. Stan, meanwhile, drifted off to a nearby tavern to fill his birthday present with bitter tears and several pints of Tennessee whiskey.
(Look for more literary thrill-rides from Greg Grogan in the near future.)
Saturday, June 10, 2006
By Greg Grogan