Friday, January 12, 2018
ROBBLOG #688 A Bleeker Street January Day
Nick Nolte: Baby Jane and Blanche haven't been around for a bit. That situation is rectified below.
On Bleeker Street
It's a wet, dreary January afternoon on Bleeker Street. Jane is having a gander out the window. Blanche is sitting in her usual spot- in her wheelchair next to the fireplace, working on a crossword puzzle.
Jane: Holy F*&% it's a depressing day- ain't it? It's like the world has come to an end.
Blanche: Oh now Jane Dear, it's not that bad really- is it?
Jane: Well, ~puff, puff~ I don't see nothing great about it either. Lookit across the street. That Mr. Bargepole is out there playing with water in the gutter in front of his house. He's raking leaves outta the water and shovin' them into a garbage bag. Why that old rat bastard oughta just jump right in with the leaves.
Blanche: Really Jane! Have some humanity. Mr. Bargepole is a very helpful neighbour. Remember he's run to the grocery store for us several times in the last few weeks alone.
Jane: Yabutt, he won't go to no Liquor Store to pick me up a bottle of my Gin. ~puff~ I gotta drag my ass all the way down to 5th and Green Street and pick it up myself- and in all that F^#*ing rain too!
Blanche: Now Jane Dear, you know Mr. Bargepole has his religious beliefs and drinking spirits is not one of them.
Jane: Well, he feels the same way about fags too. All I asked last week is for him to pick me up a pack of Player's- unfiltered, cigarettes and he goes all ape shit. What a huge P*!#*@!!
Blanche: Jane!! Language! I'll not have you talk about that nice man in that manner. You should be ashamed of yourself. ~pause~ What's a six letter word meaning to help? ~pause~ Oh! Assist.
Jane: Hah! Truer words Blanche. He is an ASS! ~drag, puff, puff~
Blanche: Just because he won't sacrifice his values to get you your booze and ciggies he's an ass?
Jane: Huh! You mean his Christian values don't you? His lips are glued to the butt of that preacher down there at Bleeker Pentecostal Church...And. For. What? Salvation? Poppycock! ~puff, puff~
There ain't no salvation for him or anyone else on this great green earth for that matter. Sheer, absolute nonsense that's what all that Jezus stuff is.
Blanche: Oh and just what makes you so damn smart in this regard Jane?
Jane: What makes me so damn smart Blanche? I'll tell you what makes me so damn smart...I'm smart because of what I got right up here. ~drag, puff, puff~ It's called knowin' stuff.
Blanche: Knowing stuff? That gives you the right to pontificate about a nice old man? Why Jane Dear if I wasn't in this filthy, degrading, ass-chafing, smelly, creaky wheelchair I'd stand right up, walk over to you standing there at that window and give you a swift backhander right across that smug, boozy, know-it-all piece of shite you refer to as your face!
Jane: But you are Blanche. But. You. Are in a chair- ain't ya? ~puff, puff, puff, puff~ Hah Hah Ha!
Now shut up and finish that blasted crossword of yours and I'll go and make your tea.
Blanche: Lovely. Uh...Thank you... Jane Dear?
Jane: I hears yah. Yer F*#*@ing welcome Sister.
Posted by Rob Reid at 6:59 PM