The dawn cracked hard like a pool ball on a steely grey sky. Just another smog filled Monday in LA. George and the Dude were sitting on the couch across from me.  They had come bearing gifts the night before, a quart of vodka from Ralph's Super Market and a fifth of Gimbly's Dry Gin.  They also came with two platinum blondes, one long legged, the other a bit stout but with heaving mounds that giggled almost out of her blouse when she laughed. Neither of them old enough to remember the cold war, the Beatles, or President Clinton for that matter, not even twenty-something yet. I sat comfortably on the couch between these two lovely bookends talking dirty with George and the Dude, a.k.a. the dead beat Jeffery Lebowski.

I was quizzing Carlin on the words that you couldn't say on television. George had his lips wrapped around the business end of a hookah nursing a bowl of opiated hash. The sweet aroma of cannabis and damp panties hung low in the room like the proverbial second shoe waiting to be dropped. George's bright red face lightened as he exhaled and he gasped, "No, you can't say CUNT on television."

The Dude was drinking his usual White Russians staring at the 4 milk jugs on the two white Russians who were rubbing their thighs on mine.  He kept cocking his head back and forth looking at the bimbos.  He said, "Hey, Hank which one of them girls who are rubbing on your thighs there is the one that came with me.  I said, "Fuck, if you don't know then it sure as shit beats the hell out me". There was a pause, then a nod. "Oh, right" said the Dude.

I went back to pounding Carlin for more answers. I was into some bookies for some long green on a nag who came up short and needed cash in a hurry.  I thought I could write some gags for Johnny Carson and make a few extra bucks. So I sez to George, What 'bout pussy, can I say pussy? Carlin,"only if the next word is 'cat'."

What about, twat, poontang, nookie, cookie? Carlin, "twat and poontang, definitely not, nookie maybe, cookies, is ok, but only if you say 'milk and' before."

The screen door squeaked and I instinctively reached for my piece under the sofa. "Hello, Hello, ya'll, Mamma's back with da goods" and in Mamma stepped. Mamma was a big black woman, must have weighed 210…. kilos not pounds.  The thin thread worn cotton flowered sun dress / muumuu that clung to her moist brown body barely contained her bulk. It was a hot and humid morning. Mamma had breakfast for us, 4 six packs of malt liquor and 2 dozen sliders from the White Castle over on Easy Street. She plopped down on an armchair that was narrower than it needed to be.  The sides creaked, then the arms tweaked outward under the pressure of her massive legs, but the chair held.  She put 2 six packs and a dozen sliders beside her on the floor and handed me the rest.

George and the bimbos went straight for the burgers. Hash will do that to you.  The Russian babes were saying, "Thank you, thank you, ve love American food, White Castle rocks, hee hee". I grabbed a brew and tossed another to the Dude which knocked him in the head. I hadn't noticed that he had nodded out. He said, "Ouch" then he saw the unopened beer in lap and said, "Oh, thanks man".

Mamma was on the run from the law.  She was wanted for questioning in the death of two midgets who worked for the Coon's Brothers Soul Circus.  The pair of them were found together in the same extra large queen size bed crushed and suffocated to death.  An extra large queen size pair of women's knickers was also found at the scene.  Mamma wasn't worried about beating that rap, after all it was just a freak accident.  But, what worried Mamma were the 583 outstanding traffic violations against her.  Mamma drove like a bat outta hell, and the MAN wanted a piece of her. Mamma had an 84 Cadillac Eldorado convertible. With the top down she had no problem getting into her ride. She had the front seats removed when she bought the thing.  She drove from the back seats.  She was that big. She filled the car. No room for passengers at all. In her defense, this was no full size Caddy of the seventies; remember there was an oil shortage back then. The 8 cylinder engine was bored to 600 cubic inches, was fuel injected, and turbo charged. But that's another story for another time.

So we drank and we smoked the better part of the morning away; Mamma, me, and the rest.  George was still up. The Dude and one of the Ruskies slipped off to a bedroom or a bathroom or someplace.  I guess he finally figured it out. I looked at the long legged one and asked, "Can I see your axe wound?", "Can I see your gash?". "Vhat are you talking about?", she says. I turn an eye towards Mamma and I say, "Can I see your axe wound?", "Can I see your gash?"  Mamma says, "You want to see some gash, I'll go in the kitchen an' git me a butcher knife an' then I show you some gash, you dirty old bastard."  George piped in, "Those are keepers, you can use those."  And, so started my new career as a television joke writer.  By the way, "What is the dirtiest thing ever said on television?"

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