Dan Hawkins Seeks The Wisdom of Busey
by Scipio Tex on Sep 16, 2009 11:44 AM CDT
in Texas Longhorns and Other Football
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PrintIt's Boulder, Colorado. Dan Hawkins has locked himself in the master bathroom of his Iroquois longhouse where he sits despondent on his flawless tile. Not even his dog-eared Sun Tzu coloring book can cheer him.
Hawkins: Please, Busey-spirit. I am your brother. The Hawk seeks your counsel. I have nowhere else to go. I promised to win 10 games. Reveal yourself, bring forth your wisdom.
Busey: I am here. There is no "here." The mind is a hand and the ego its pinky.
Hawkins: Master! Thank God.
Busey: God is a dexterous hobo riding the rail line of the infinite. The Devil a Pinkerton detective with a truncheon. Now cover your dick or I'll swat it. DICK GAME ON!
Hawkins: No, no not dick game...
Busey: ON I SAID!
Hawkins: Okay, okay. Take it easy.
Busey: Cease your mewling, otter pup. Your energies?
Hawkins: Perishing. My team is horrendous.
Busey: In my yondering days, I woke up supine in a truck stop bathroom in Sasketchewan after a 96 hour bender, my mouth brimming with saliva from kava and betel nut - my wrists cuffed to a 16 inch exposed sewage pipe; a Palawanese shaman leering over me, extracting sixteen inches of bad entrail full of impacted heroin balloon, his filthy taloned hands covered in my scarlet essence; an ashy Marlboro pointed from the side of his mouth like it was an accusation, its blaze lighting up the scene like a Baroque horror amusement. I reeled in despair and as I looked up at the steel gray of the linoleum shitter stall, I saw the wisdom Ass, Gas, or Cash - No One Rides For Free written in the scrawl of an imbecile. I smiled. Then I knew.
Hawkins: Knew what, Busey-manifestation? Attitude determines your altitude?
Busey: Ditch your corporate team-building slogans, whistle-gibbon. You're bringing a saucer of milk to a mechanical tiger with no endocrine system. THE BOY!
Hawkins: I don't know what that -
Busey: DICK GAME. Swat. 1-0.
Hawkins: Ouch! That blow actually gave me cotton mouth. DICK GAME -
Busey: - NOTOFFINFINITY!
Hawkins: OFF!
Busey: I got it in there. Dick Game still on. Mind your walnuts, australopithecus.
Hawkins: What do you mean? My son?
Busey: Don't play coy. He flings the swineskin like a wood nymph and his only experience with pocket presence was at the Adult Video Mega Store. He's wacking you off.
Hawkins: But he's my son. My beautiful son. The apple of my eye. I've always told him that FAILING stands for Finding An Important Lesson, Inviting Needed Growth (beams).
Busey: He's a collection of cells. A paramecium's best ambition. A hyena's feast if he crashed a bi-plane in the Sahel. You call him Cody. I call him 3rd And McLong. Neither of us is right. His real name is Tammy.
Hawkins: I don't know. Look -
Busey: Shhhhhh. Look in my burning corneas. Do you see doubt? Or fear?
Hawkins: No, Busey-sensei. Never have I seen weakness on your face.
Busey: Your capillaries are caterpillars and your self doubt a can of insecticide turned upon you. Focus on the illusion of my words. Life is an inane limerick - swat - DICK GAME! Two-zip.
Hawkins: Please stop that. I can taste mercury in my mouth. DICK GAME OFF! MEGA INFINITY
Busey: Now you're awake. Now you're existing. What does your Spirit Force tell you? Let it cleanse you like a brillo pad mango
Hawkins: Practice harder.
Busey: I deny it. I deny you. What must you do?
Hawkins: Bench my son?
Busey: Offer your son to me.
Hawkins: An offering? Sacrifice him with a boning knife on an altar made of femurs?
Busey: No.
Hawkins: Offer him in a parcel with a bright ribbon?
Busey: I'm losing patience.
Hawkins: I don't get it! Please help me! You have to help me!
Busey: Bring Tammy to Greeley, Colorado. Cover him in bear grease. Offer him a protractor, a Judy Blume book, and a wolfskin. Set him loose. Six days. I will hunt him with a bolo and a war pony. If he survives, he goes to the next level
Hawkins: Must it be so, Busey-vastness?
Busey: Your sweatlodge has run out of kindling.
Hawkins: It will be so.
Busey: I love these granite countertops.
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Busey: He’s a collection of cells. A paramecium’s best ambition. A hyena’s feast if he crashed a bi-plane in the Sahel. You call him Cody. I call him 3rd And McLong. Neither of us is right. His real name is Tammy.
Primo. All that’s missing from this Quonset Hut is a Nick Nolte summoning.
by Vasherized on Sep 16, 2009 11:54 AM CDT reply actions
Good Lord Almighty.
Where do you come up with this imagery?
by Levander Williams on Sep 16, 2009 12:02 PM CDT reply actions
This is my favorite BC post of the last 12 hours
by uthornfan014 on Sep 16, 2009 12:31 PM CDT reply actions
Scip,
Didn’t you watch the Wyoming game? Did you not get the message that the great state of Wyoming was trying to send to you?
Meth is bad.
by fswood21 on Sep 16, 2009 12:38 PM CDT reply actions
Sweet jeebus. Good stuff.
I have had the pleasure of spending some time around Busey. He is bat-shit crazy 24/7. Having said that, I’ve worked on two projects that he was in. They were 15 years apart and he recalled the names of the principals in the first project when I spoke with him on the most recent project, which was two years ago. His memory is still sharp.
p.s.
Never leave him alone with the womenfolk.
by texoz on Sep 16, 2009 2:20 PM CDT reply actions
Holy tits, man…I’m not sure what goes on in your head to come up with this shit, but I’m all for it.
by Hiphopopotamus on Sep 16, 2009 2:50 PM CDT reply actions
Can I have some of your drugs?
I don’t want them all. Just some.
by unclebevo on Sep 16, 2009 3:32 PM CDT reply actions
I’m going to print this, shred it and then smoke it through a hookah pipe and learn how to play the sitar.
by Chooky on Sep 16, 2009 3:42 PM CDT reply actions
correspondence from the dark side of the moon indeed
by huge on Sep 16, 2009 3:45 PM CDT reply actions
You are one mechanical tiger of a writer. Bravo, sir.
by jamdog on Sep 16, 2009 3:46 PM CDT reply actions
Jiminy freaking crickets……This post makes zero sense, and perfect sense.
If that makes sense.
by magnusbleuveigner on Sep 16, 2009 4:34 PM CDT reply actions
I’m entertained and frightened at the same time.
by bateshorn on Sep 17, 2009 9:16 AM CDT reply actions
“Busey: In my yondering days, I woke up supine in a truck stop bathroom in Sasketchewan after a 96 hour bender, my mouth brimming with saliva from kava and betel nut – my wrists cuffed to a 16 inch exposed sewage pipe; a Palawanese shaman leering over me, extracting sixteen inches of bad entrail full of impacted heroin balloon, his filthy taloned hands covered in my scarlet essence; an ashy Marlboro pointed from the side of his mouth like it was an accusation, its blaze lighting up the scene like a Baroque horror amusement. I reeled in despair and as I looked up at the steel gray of the linoleum shitter stall, I saw the wisdom Ass, Gas, or Cash – No One Rides For Free written in the scrawl of an imbecile. I smiled. Then I knew.”
Fucking nails. Please make the Busey/Hawkins dialog a weekly entry until Hawk’s inevitable pink slip.
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