When Daddy Wuddn’t There, The Coca-Cola Alweez Wuzz
Technically the blog police should arrest me for posting this drawing on here.
I’m sorry- What was that? “No such thing as the blog police,” you say?
(Long, knowing chuckle)
Oh, trust me. There’s a blog police. On the bloody, bloggy streets of BlogTown we call ’em ‘BLOG NARCS.’ Or occasionally just
Drawn from a photo taken by my Uncle Lee in my Big Mama’s (grandmother’s) back yard on Government St (“Guvvvmunt St”) in Baton Rouge La, circa 1972.
The Blarcs may be a blight on the modern blog-scape, but yes- they’d have a case if they did try to haul me down to the station. Because technically this drawing is not of a dream, but of a photo instead. From my childhood.
Still… it must’ve popped into my psyche for some reason, so… maybe my entire childhood was a dream? Maybe a nightmare?
Of course it was neither. Except for like… one third of it. The part when I was sleeping. Man… I sure wish I’d thought of trying to keep a record of my dreams when I was that young. Didn’t start THAT odd little hobby til about age 30. I was too busy keeping a watchful eye on my mama’s moods way back then.
Moods from which (judging by the looks of my mama in the above picture) the only thing that could’ve POSSIBLY rescued her was the ever-present, big-ass, glass bottle of Coca-Cola sitting on that picnic table.
What audacity to think that IIIIIIIIIII had that kind of power.
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