Ruby, Bill Withers, and the Spanish Inquisition

(A friendly warning: the title should not read as an invitation to quote, say, a certain English comedy troupe. I know it's easy, but we can all be brave and put our crutches aside. Thank you.)


Dragging the brats around today, I had to stop and get gas. A couple weeks ago I burnt a kid friendly CD for the car, and one of the songs I put on it was "Lean On Me". In hindsight, this was a painful miscalculation. It's a grating song after a while. (Bill's song, "Use me up" stands right up there in the pantheon of perfect songs. The lyrics give a charmingly stark view of a man wrestling with giving up some good sexing up to keep his self respect intact. The sexing up wins.)

Ruby chirps up and asks: "Is Jorge singing this song?"

Wise, wise child. For JORGE is my personal Torquemada and he has leaned on me, painfully. He's a member of the Mexican National Team and a vicious personal trainer whose services my wife and I have retained.

Part of his vicious and mind bendingly cruel regime is to wrench my body like a gorilla with a toy lamb in the interest of "stretching" me. That's when I let rip with a double helix of obscenities right to his face. Unless of course I'm busy screaming. He just smiles.

He harbors no mercy. He is like some crazy zen samurai assassin, with a giant rubber bouncy ball instead of a sword. But believe me, after a while that goddamn bouncy ball starts to look like hand tempered steel after a while.