Another free paper-clip attains the vaunted paper-clip collection

(I ONLY WRITE HEADLINES LIKE THAT TO GET THE ALMIGHTY BLUSTER-KING ALL BENT OUTTA SHAPE — LIKE WAVING A RED FLAG AT A BULL.
I PREDICT A NOISY TORRENT OF FEVERED BLUSTERING ABOUT MY HORDING OF PAPER-CLIPS, MUCH LIKE THE BOMBAST I GET ABOUT RETURNING SODA-CANS FOR DEPOSIT.
IT AIN’T LIKE WE SUBSIST ON INCOME FROM RETURNING SODA-BOTTLES. THE OTHER DAY WE PASSED 10-25 BEER-CANS TOSSED ALONG THE SHOULDER OF THE ROAD RETURNING FROM THE SO-CALLED ELITIST COUNTRY-CLUB.
WE DIDN’T STOP.
PEOPLE TOSS ASSORTED TRASH HERE-AND-THERE — THEY SEEM TO THINK THEY HAVE THE RIGHT; MUST BE REPUBLICANS — LET THE DEMOCRAT RIFFRAFF CLEAN UP THE DETRITUS; SCUMBAGS.
“CIVIC-DUTY,” LINDA SAYS. BOUGHTON PARK SHOULDN’T BE LITTERED WITH TRASH; NOR MICHAEL PROUTY PARK.
SO THE CANS ARE 5¢ A CAN; WE’RE GETTING REWARDED FIVE CENTS IN PASSING. “VICTIM OF SOICUMSTANCE,” AS CURLY SAYS. [NYUK-NYUK-NYUK.....])

So here I am yesterday (Wednesday, November 21, 2007) at the Eye-Center in Canandaigua; follow-up of laser-welding of my left retina a few months ago — do yaz remember that, guys? (I bet Peg does.)
My Ophthalmologist at that time was Heidi Piper; Houghton College, 1987.
“I see you’re a Houghton-grad,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Well, so am I; Class of 1966.”
“Class of 1987,” she said.
“So ya probably had the new Science Building,” I said.
“Yes we did.”
“If that Science Building had been there when I was there, I might have stayed with Physics. Our science-labs were in dungeons, and the good profs were in History.”
I revisited Dr. Piper yesterday.
“She and I both went to the same college,” I said to her assistant, pointing at Dr. Piper.
“And I can tell,” I said. “She has her feet on the ground. Houghton graduates are like that. I’ve come across quite a few and they all have their feet on the ground.”
Unlike the towel-headed doctor I had at Folsom Health Center.
I’ve been taking along “The History of the L-Street Power Station” as reading-material, although -A) I can’t fathom a red-neck NASCAR-dad sending me a history; -B) it’s clearly (or so I’m told) way above my head (the original boilers were hand-fired? Good Golly, Miss Molly!); and -C) it doesn’t treat discharge of raw sewage into the Reserve Channel from beloved Porta-Johns.
I set the book aside while Dr. Piper surveyed her laser handiwork.
Finished, “Here is your book, Mr. Hughes,” the assistant said. “I’ve marked the page you were on with a paper-clip.”

“The almighty Bluster-King” is my macho, loudmouthed brother-from-Boston.

“The so-called elitist country-club” is nearby Boughton (“BOW-tin”) Park, where we walk our dog. It was called that long ago by an editor at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, where I once worked, because it will only allow taxpayers of the three towns that own it to use it. We are residents of one of those towns. “Michael Prouty Park” is a small town park nearby up the street. It’s mainly athletic fields.

“Linda” is my wife.

In New York State the beverage-containers are five cents return-deposit.

RE: “do yaz remember that, guys? (I bet Peg does.)” —My all-knowing siblings have a habit of pretending things that happened to me never happened. “Peg” is my baby-sister.

“Houghton College” is from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it. Houghton is a religious college.

RE: “Towel-headed doctor I had at Folsom Health Center......” was an Indian and wore a turban. My sister in south Floridy calls all Indians “towel-heads.”

My macho, blowhard brother-in-Boston works at the “L-Street Power Station.” He loudly badmouths me for having majored in History, unlike him, who majored in Engineering.

RE: “Discharge of raw sewage into the Reserve Channel from beloved Porta-Johns.” I tell my brother-in-Boston that he is Porta-John manager (actually he’s the “Technical Manager”). I suggest his “beloved Porta-Johns” were shot through by al-Qaeda terrorists, and are therefore discharging raw sewage into the Reserve Channel, part of Boston Harbor — all because he wasn’t doing his job; which is to protect his “beloved Porta-Johns.”