Ah, Rich. You wonderful, badass,
rock-and-rolling, well spoken, well
dressed, awesome guitar playing,
alway-pleasant-to-be-around, married
gentleman of a man. you are missed.
ah, nothing but tender buttons for
richard-henry-king-king-good. he has
cooked grand suppers for many at a
time, and i have been among the lucky.
he (along with lady fair) opens his
home and his magazines to the best
times in the world. if you want to make
a midnight trip to Ralph's, call him
up, making provisions for equal parts
sweet and savory. he is a glorious
music man and says funnier things when
he's tired than most of us can summon
at our snappiest.
A lot of people don't know this, but
Rich and I used to live across the
street from each other, back in
Horley. The thing to do there was try
and make aquiantence with Bezzie,
who was this Sophia Loren look-a-
like that owned the local pub. She
was a shrewd businesswoman, and
knew how to hook the male clientele.
Anyway, it was like sport, all us guys
comparing our run-ins with her,
which were of course all
meaningless except for the
innuendos our imaginations would
supply. But here's the thing, one time
Rich and I were at the pub and
Bezzie was in the back and we heard
this big crash. Eddie, the barkeep,
was in the WC and, feeling brave,
Rich and I decided to investigate.
Bezzie was back there, sitting in a
swivel chair crying, a box of jars of
marischino cherries broken and
bleeding a creek of red across the
cement floor. "Are you hurt?" I ask.
Bezzie is startled because she didn't
hear us come in. She quickly regains
composure and says something
about losing her grip on the box, but
it was obvious that something else
is going on. Rich starts scooping up
glass and cherries while I just kind
of... look at Bezzie, startled by her
uncharacteristic vulnerability. She
begins to protest Rich's good act but
is breathless and says nothing.
About then I realize the potential to
make some points with Bezzie so I
get down on my knees and follow
Rich's example. Rich cuts himself on
the glass. I'll never forget the sight of
dark red blood blending in with the
deep pink of red dye #?. Bezzie
quickly got some first aid stuff and
set to work bandaging Rich's paw. I
get jealous; wish I had cut my hand.
She kisses his hand and he blushes
(he's very shy). I'm about ready to cut
myself for this, but don't. She tells us
to go ahead on out of the office and
tells Eddie to gift us a couple. Our
hands were stained pink some days
and nothing was worse than having
to back-up Rich's stories about
Bezzie kissing his bloody hand. And
Bezzie stories pretty much ended
then, too, because it was no contest
after that. We never even discussed
what Bezzie could have been so
upset over. Anyway, it doesn't matter
much now because we live in
Nevada City and the whole story's a
complete lie, but Rich is still a
gentlemen, and he's still shy, and
he's the only dude I know who
smiles coy and batts eyelashes like
a young doe in a spring meadow.
Etc, etc, etc...
An exceptional and stylish gentleman,
Rich makes new friendsters wherever he
happens to be. If it's a full moon,
you can sometimes spy him at the
local. If you are indeed lucky enough,
immediately purchase him a pint, and
share a story or three. Highly
recommended, not to be missed.
we've been told we would make a great
television show, and i don't doubt it! but if we
don't ever get to do that, it's okay. as long as
rich and his beautiful wife continue to have
me over for really good food.
And my ass.
has "the" ass.
rock-and-rolling, well spoken, well
dressed, awesome guitar playing,
alway-pleasant-to-be-around, married
gentleman of a man. you are missed.
richard-henry-king-king-good. he has
cooked grand suppers for many at a
time, and i have been among the lucky.
he (along with lady fair) opens his
home and his magazines to the best
times in the world. if you want to make
a midnight trip to Ralph's, call him
up, making provisions for equal parts
sweet and savory. he is a glorious
music man and says funnier things when
he's tired than most of us can summon
at our snappiest.
Rich and I used to live across the
street from each other, back in
Horley. The thing to do there was try
and make aquiantence with Bezzie,
who was this Sophia Loren look-a-
like that owned the local pub. She
was a shrewd businesswoman, and
knew how to hook the male clientele.
Anyway, it was like sport, all us guys
comparing our run-ins with her,
which were of course all
meaningless except for the
innuendos our imaginations would
supply. But here's the thing, one time
Rich and I were at the pub and
Bezzie was in the back and we heard
this big crash. Eddie, the barkeep,
was in the WC and, feeling brave,
Rich and I decided to investigate.
Bezzie was back there, sitting in a
swivel chair crying, a box of jars of
marischino cherries broken and
bleeding a creek of red across the
cement floor. "Are you hurt?" I ask.
Bezzie is startled because she didn't
hear us come in. She quickly regains
composure and says something
about losing her grip on the box, but
it was obvious that something else
is going on. Rich starts scooping up
glass and cherries while I just kind
of... look at Bezzie, startled by her
uncharacteristic vulnerability. She
begins to protest Rich's good act but
is breathless and says nothing.
About then I realize the potential to
make some points with Bezzie so I
get down on my knees and follow
Rich's example. Rich cuts himself on
the glass. I'll never forget the sight of
dark red blood blending in with the
deep pink of red dye #?. Bezzie
quickly got some first aid stuff and
set to work bandaging Rich's paw. I
get jealous; wish I had cut my hand.
She kisses his hand and he blushes
(he's very shy). I'm about ready to cut
myself for this, but don't. She tells us
to go ahead on out of the office and
tells Eddie to gift us a couple. Our
hands were stained pink some days
and nothing was worse than having
to back-up Rich's stories about
Bezzie kissing his bloody hand. And
Bezzie stories pretty much ended
then, too, because it was no contest
after that. We never even discussed
what Bezzie could have been so
upset over. Anyway, it doesn't matter
much now because we live in
Nevada City and the whole story's a
complete lie, but Rich is still a
gentlemen, and he's still shy, and
he's the only dude I know who
smiles coy and batts eyelashes like
a young doe in a spring meadow.
Etc, etc, etc...
He's dashing, polite, well spoken and a
great musician.
I'm not gay...but if I were, Rich would
be the one.
Rich makes new friendsters wherever he
happens to be. If it's a full moon,
you can sometimes spy him at the
local. If you are indeed lucky enough,
immediately purchase him a pint, and
share a story or three. Highly
recommended, not to be missed.
television show, and i don't doubt it! but if we
don't ever get to do that, it's okay. as long as
rich and his beautiful wife continue to have
me over for really good food.