September 1998
s m u g
the biswick files
by Sherman T. Biswick

*

Dear Biswick,
Is space something or nothing?

Space is something. Something you never have enough of.

Why do all the nice girls hate me?
- Phil

Dear Phil,
Maybe you are not the problem. Maybe it is your shoes. My late wife, god rest her soul, told me on occasion that I had the best shoes of any boy she'd ever sparked. I was always proud of my shoes but never so much as when I was in the army. I learned how to get a good shine on my shoes and my shoes shone so bright that you could read the Stars and Stripes newspaper in it. (So, long as you had a mirror.) This became a problem during the war as we were trying to hide from the Krauts who despite their shortcomings have a great fondness for well shone footwear. I used to get a hard time about my shiny shoes. Until one day we were caught in a firefight in France. I didn't land at Normandy which the French call Normandie. I landed at Brittany which the French call Bretagne. We moved north and my boots were holding up well. We had no waterproof boots at the time. So, the wax from the polish helped seal the seams and kept the water out. Anyway, we got stuck in this firefight and the radio gave out so we couldn't give the bombing coordinates. Lucky for us though, I took off a boot and using it as a mirror, I signaled to the bombers flying overhead using a morse code version of "Ragtime Annie" which was a popular song at the time that we were friendlies. And that is how I got the nickname "Ragtime Annie."

On the rocks or straight-up?
-Marfan

Dear Marfan,
Back when I was a drinking man which has not been recently enough, I preferred to not have my liquor watered down. As a matter of fact, people will still look at you funny around here if you ice down your bourbon. Ice is only really good for two things...iced tea and iced cream. We used to make iced cream during the summer with an old hand cranked iced cream maker. One August evening my youngest boy who couldn't have been more than 8 or so at the time left the iced cream maker outside. In the middle of the night, the possums snuck in and turned it over. I heard them out there galavanting around and being marsupials and whatnot but they were too quick for me. So, I got wise. I left some iced cream outside as bait the next night. And I waited. With my shotgun. When the possums came out, I let them get full up on the sugary treat. Then I flipped on the light and blasted em with my 12 gauge. Sure enough, the same thing happened the following summer. Guess those possums will never learn about guns.

Sincerely,

Sherman T. Biswick

*

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*

biswick@smug.com

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