Hey Chief (6)

   
   "Hey Chief (6)"
   
   Paul was hanging out at Trevor's, informing his singular friend about the upcoming date he had with the lovely and statuesque Max.  The dandy barber had already gotten a copy of Eddie the Eagle from the local Redbox machine and placed it in his saddle bags that hung over his dual action Honda 250; plus, purchased a frozen lasagna, some nice plastic plates with plastic forks and knives; also, a few candles to set a somewhat romantic atmosphere; however, being the ascetic Catholic that he was, he didn't know how he felt about laying the lascivious pipe.
   As a result, he inquired upon Trevor for wisdom, but all the perverted dude offered was:  "Get some."
   Paul continued on about his lifelong dedication to Catholicism, and Trevor stated:  "Hell, be a Christian first.  Just give all the sin to Jesus--that's what he's there for."
   It sounded like cheating to Paul, the entire Protestant approach, forgetting the sacrifices of Saints and Angels that would not become fallible; regardless, he considered Trevor's advice; next, placed some peach chaw between his lip and gum, voicing:  "Okay my man--I hear ya.  But I'll play it as my conscience tells me.  As Obi-Wan told Luke--you must do what you feel is RIGHT of course."
   Trevor back with:  "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster between your legs."
   Paul grinned, grasping Trevor's uncouth style; nevertheless, Paul knew who he was; moreover, what he was about; plus, that the Kingdom of Heaven was in the midst of him.  He would do things the right way.  

1978 - Theme Song - Barney Miller by Jack Elliott

Hey Chief (5)

   
   "Hey Chief (5)"
   
   Max and Paul had ignited a protracted conversation over her repeatedly bringing him more and more sunny-side up eggs.  Paul knew never to order scrambled, for they could drop them on the floor; next, scoop them right up and you'd never know.  Anyway, he kept re-ordering the eggs to talk to Max, and had gotten her name by now, and she his.  Feeling the axiomatic connection the twosome had for one another, Max took her break, sitting across from Paul in the booth, and they chatted it up.  

MAX
Your mustache is a paragon.

PAUL
Liked her Waffle House vocabulary.  I'm a barber--it's a bit of dandyism on my part.

MAX
Yeah, you're a sharp dresser too.  Most folks in these parts are all blue jeans and flannel.

PAUL
I've thought about it--I do use chaw--got some red on my neck.

MAX
We all do around here.  Hell, it's Arkansas.

PAUL
That's what they keep telling me; anyway, I'm not exactly a lady's man, but you sure got some sincere beauty about you.  Would you like to rent Eddie the Eagle at a Redbox and watch it with me at my trailer?

MAX
Blushed, having hoped for a date question.  I'm not easy, but a guy as neatly attired as you displays merit.  I'd love to hang with you Paul.

   The suave synergy of the two souls exchanged numbers, and the date was set.  

Simon

Hey Chief (4)

   
   "Hey Chief (4)"
   
   Maxine, or "Max" as she was called, worked the night-shift at a Waffle House in El Dorado, Arkansas--a modest city in the Hog Heaven State.  Max was a welcoming waitress, having a butterscotch nimbus fashioned by way of a pixie cut, and was as pretty as pearls.  
   It was just another mundane night of county cops, miscreants, and your garden-variety vampires; however, one tall, wiry man sauntered in, and he was all mustache--a total cowboy-styled dirt squirrel or cookie duster atop his full and kissable lips--if she would have been the neurotic George from the 90's show Seinfeld, she would've blurted:  "LOOK JERRY!  HE'S ALL MUSTACHE!"
   But she wasn't neurotic, into the paranormal, nor had any affiliation with organized religion--just a young lady attempting to get by in this sometimes cruel America.  So, she gently approached him with a sparkle in her emerald-green eyes, asking:  "Where would you like to sit sir?"
   Paul immediately felt the electricity of mystical love pulse through his thoracic cavity, feeling like he was going to have a panic attack upon viewing such an "up close" beauty, but kept his composure cool; next, calmly said:  "I'll take a booth."  Then, Max elegantly turned and led him--Paul's eyes glued to her golden legs steered by Reebok sneakers.  

Better To Be Cool And Died Than Uncool

Hey Chief (3)

   
   "Hey Chief (3)"
   
   Paul was over at Trevor's trailer, the interior decorated by pin-ups of toyland babes in pumps, doing the half-naked body stretch over fancy automobiles and crap like that, but hey--Trevor owned it; on the flip side, Paul remained a bit stoic, having held onto his dandyism, not shaving his gentleman-era mustache, though held a cold Bud in his hand; plus, had a mouthful of mint chaw, but paid no attention to Trevor's perversion with the world, just needed a friend.
   So, as Trevor went on and on about this hot chick he was banging, Paul was blocking him out, pondering how psychiatrists and others attempt to hide the truth, labeling some psychotic, when of course they totally are, yet then those brilliant madmen, seeing into the Otherworld with surgical precision--even better, and knowing they're not mad, but enlightened, holding onto the enchantment that drives them, while the normal folk, like Trevor, are all about the cold six-pack and crummy cable shows, never displaying the true theology of man's mystical intercourse with the unseen, though seen by many, yet only the steeled can handle it, and Paul was about ready to write a letter to the Corinthians, allegorically.