March 2005 / Volume VI / Issue II
George Anderson
Schnobs

He resembled Harpo Marx in a wacky way
the fuzzy mop, the frantic disposition
the constant nodding, the slapstick antics
but with none of the insane creativity–
he talked in a slurred, lispy manner
usually emanating disproportionally from his nose
& often he had to repeat his words to outsiders
for a second or third time

one evening I remember calling on Schnobs on Girouard Avenue
he was with Little Joe the midget out on the front steps
I brought a six pack with me & handed some around
Joe with his short stubby fingers had a hard time
grasping the bottle, he seemed to have had a few beforehand
half way through he tried to guzzle down the beer
& it slipped through his stubbly fingers & the bottle smashed on the ground
I laughed & handed him a fresh one

Schnobs later suggested we call on my brother Buds to see what was happening
we downed several beers
& bought a couple of cases on the corner on the way through
the Pakistani owner instructing his Rottweilers to stay cool as they
attempted to leap at us from behind the counter

we drank & talked for a while–
I can’t clearly recall what about
it all seems a quick wild blur now
but one thing lead to another

Buds reckons that someone had an argument with Schnobs
over something so we had hung him
face first out of the second storey window–
Schnobs screaming, kicking for dear life
almost slipping from our grasps to the pavement
the guys laughing themselves stupidly

‘that should teach the cunt a lesson’ someone said
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