Dutchboy Splendiferous (1)

   
   "Dutchboy Splendiferous (1)"
   
   FOREWARD:

   Not to make peace, but She is the Queen of Peace, and some people need reflection and introspection, getting the beam out of their own eyes, before attempting to take it out of their brother's or sister's, as Christ kinda/sorta mentioned.  Hey Mouth from the South, they did my blood work and took a urine sample by diving deep into my urethra; as a result--no illegal narcotics (told you); plus, the alcohol levels were nothing.  Wake up and smell the Folgers of False Testimony.  Too bad I have the freedom and liberty to get my medical records.  Anyway, I'm not pissed, and can say the OUR FATHER honestly, for I forgive all of your trespasses, because I know you drink the Kool-Aid--it is not completely your fault.

Here we go now--the story ignites concerning a rebellious and autistic-like youth affected by drama and comedy, especially concerning the Nordic Prankster, the only friend I ever had; specifically, I called him, Dutch.
  
   Dutch's mother said to him:  "Dutch, you're always walking around with that jocular grin, and Mark is close behind, in a state of amused trauma, wondering what you'll drag him into next, but be thankful that you have a loyal sidekick."
   I had my first beer with Dutch.  Smoked my first green tobacco with Dutch, back when I was a punk kid.  My brother always called me a punk, but he was just afraid that Mom loved the special baby more than him--it's not his fault to have such trepidation, not completely.
   Dutch was a rogue.  A prank-playing swashbuckler.  Han Solo with firecrackers, toilet paper, eggs, an XR 200, which ran like a scalded dog; plus, a bit of an arrogant bigot.  But can you completely blame him?  He had a big package, blonde hair like wheat, and the bluest eyes of anyone I've ever seen.  Too, his sister was definitely magnanimous and altruistic, and would drink a cold Bud with us on a hot Arkansas day, down there in the sticks of the Dirty South.  This backwards Yankee learned plenty form the Nordic Cooter.
   Thus, it will go.  Now and forever.  As did Kerouac write a story in a matter of metaphorical minutes concerning a friend better than him--so shall I.