Evidently the secret to catching one’s Walleye limit is founded in “Leech-ology” and in particular Leeches from one of the many swamps of Minnesota. I find it ironic though that leeches have two suckers; one at each end. I mention this only because I was invited to an old fashioned fish fry at Che’ Cush’s last night; once again treated to entertainment that’s not found anywhere else on the planet.
Bursting at the seams with Walleye, our gracious host donned in his “Kiss the Cook” apron, used a towel balanced on his shoulder to wipe the extra grease and spooge from his hands. Preparing our deep fried experience….he was in his element.
Aunt Myrna who has transformed herself from a large jolly woman to what could only be described as “Twiggy”, came bearing wine.
Cush Jr. and elder brother emerged from their rooms in a cloud of smoke reminiscent of a scene from a Cheech & Chong movie and appeared to be on fire. Still smoldering Jr. offered me a bowl of his special blend. I’ve learned to treat whatever he’s offering with respect and limit myself to two tokes. Normally that would do me for the entire evening, but nooooooo I had to breathe in one more! When ‘munchies’ strike it tends to be all consuming and it possessed me. I couldn’t stop eating, admittedly inhaling more than my share. I had no control over it.
JJ showed up late. He loves making an entrance especially when he’s holding beer and Crown Royale. That said, JJ’s first stop was to enter the clouds in and around Jr’s room and didn’t reappear until 30 minutes later! He wore that shit-eating grin the rest of the evening suspecting he also was overwhelmed by munchies.
For the two or three of you still reading this Gorgonzola, whenever there’s a party at Cush’s home telling a story or anecdote becomes a test of wills. Even collectively we’re no match for Cush’s longwinded meanderings. These cacophonies of clucks escalate to volumes that beg for police action and/or a strongly worded letter from a neighbor.
We were screaming at each other!
Four hours later all the booze had been guzzled and things had spun out of control. Little Aunt Myrna can no longer hold her liquor and staggered right through the screen door stumbling down the steps landing straight into JJ’s lap and seemed content to just lie there. The highlight of the evening though was only matched when Edison flipped the switch to light up a NYC block, was when Cush illuminated his string of flashing trout lights blinking every second. He was so proud! Standing with hands on hips like an old Superman pose, Cush demanded we acknowledge his find. We looked at each other and as if on cue began oooohhhing and awwwwing like the Fourth of July! That seemed to appease our host so he wandered off behind the shed to piss and could be heard singing “Somewhere over the Rainbow.”
It was a magical evening. The deep fryer long since coagulated as the guests slipped away leaving Cush talking to himself. While typically this would not be out of the ordinary, but he was oblivious to the fact the party was over.
Eating the last bits of Walleye I was going to say goodbye but Cush was giving himself a good scolding; something about touching Hoffa Jr’s hair piece… God help us.