…oncet I knowed a feller what wrote a song about the Gobi Desert…don’t recall him making much money on it…
Monroe D. Underwood
Wallace was a little under the weather.
He popped for a bottle of beer.
He said I feel terrible.
He said I am going to dump this den of unspeakable iniquity.
He said I am going to move to Wyoming and raise mountain lions.
I said is there a booming market for mountain lions?
Wallace said I don’t know about that but they don’t got no air pollution in Wyoming.
He said it’s the air pollution gives me these here headaches.
He said air pollution and them Sox.
I nodded.
I said I understand all about that part.
I said the part I don’t understand all about is the part about the mountain lions.
Wallace said well I got to do something with my time.
He said why I could go bananas just sitting around on some goddam mountaintop.
He said a man should consider things like that.
I said you know it never entered my mind.
It started to rain.
There was big thunder to the west.
Old Dad Underwood came stomping in.
He kicked a barstool.
He said &@#$%¢*!
Wallace said don’t kick that barstool and stop saying &@#$%¢*!
Old Dad Underwood said don’t mess with me sonny.
He said I am in one highly dangerous state of mind.
He said I may just kill somebody.
Wallace said what’s the matter did somebody steal your mineral oil?
Old Dad Underwood said I will tell you what’s the matter.
He said I just met some dirty sonofabitch named Smith that’s what’s the matter.
He said now my record is busted all to smithereens.
He said now I ain’t nothing but just another goddam has-been.
Wallace said ah it was ever thus.
He said fame is but a fleeting thing.
Old Dad Underwood said you can just knock off all that philosophy jazz and get me a beer.
Wallace said well cheer up.
He said you still ain’t met nobody named Ignatz Riffniak.
Old Dad Underwood said that’s on account of there ain’t nobody named Ignatz Riffniak.
He said you just made that name up.
Wallace said yes and that ain’t all.
He said I also just made up a song.
He said this song is about Wyoming.
Old Dad Underwood said somebody already made up a song about Wyoming.
Wallace said well that don’t bother me none nohow.
He said look at all them songs somebody made up about Ohio.
He said the name of my song is “When the Golden Beer is Foaming in Wyoming.”
Old Dad Underwood said oh Jesus Christ.
Wallace fixed Old Dad Underwood with a gimlet eye.
He said all right wise guy let’s just see you make up a song.
Old Dad Underwood said I heard somewheres Wyoming is a dry state.
He said hell a man can get a drink in Ohio.
Betsy came in.
She sat in a booth.
I bought her a highball and sat with her.
I said I thought you had a call.
Betsy said I got rained out.
I said how can a whore get rained out?
Betsy’s eyes flashed.
I said how can a call girl get rained out?
Betsy said he wanted to go in the grape arbor.
I said that don’t make no sense.
I said the grapes aren’t even ripe yet.
I said what was wrong with the bedroom?
Betsy said his wife was painting it.
I said maybe we better go before something terrible happens.
Betsy said why don’t we wait until I finish my highball?
I said by that time it may be too goddam late.
Betsy finished her highball.
It was too goddam late.
Wallace sang “When the Golden Beer is Foaming in Wyoming”:
When the golden beer is foaming in Wyoming
That’s when I’ll be coming home to you
Little sweetheart of the great big canyon
We will have a brew or maybe even two.
I said my God Betsy why don’t you ever listen to me?
Betsy applauded Wallace’s performance.
Wallace turned beet-red with pleasure.
He sang “When the Golden Beer is Foaming in Wyoming” again.
During the encore Old Dad Underwood fled the premises.
Beer streamed from his moustache.
Betsy said oh Wallace that was simply beautiful.
She said so sentimental.
She blew Wallace a kiss.
Wallace broke a quart of Jack Daniels.