~ I have an acquaintance who is one of those advocates of conspiracy theories. He knows who was behind and why JFK was assassinated. He has the inside scoop that the landings of the astronauts on the moon were staged on a set hidden at Area 51. He knows the identity of "Deep Throat." He has always thought that the movie Capricorn One should have won an oscar for best picture.
~ I have my own theory about this man, however, but he is also a master of one-upmanship. His epitaph, when the time comes, should read "Been there, Done that."
~ I can live with the conspiracy thing, after all there many like him out there who subscribe to that train of thought. It is the conspiracy he creates and casts over me and others. He has the biggest car. He has the biggest big screen TV. His wife is the best cook. If it weren't for for his Christian devoutness, I'm sure there is something else that would be larger than ours. At sixty-five, on the cusp of retirement, one cannot help but be awed by his sexual history.
It is curious that his genitalia would be non-mentionable, but the use of it would not be. If this man put a notch on his cane for every supposed conquest, the first time he'd lean on it would result in its breaking in two, and sending him onto his keester.
~ As if his being and having the biggest and the best wasn't enough, another foible of his jumps up and bites you. He has been everywhere you have been and stayed longer. He has done more than you have and better. He has seen more than you have and was closer to it. He saw Hank Aaron hit number 715, surpassing the Babe. He saw Fisk willing the ball fair as it cleared the Green Monster at Fenway Park. He saw Muhammad Ali, then Cassius Clay, beaT Sonny Liston. Could he possibly be the man, who first sighted land from the crow's nest of the Santa Maria? Is that his signature on the Declaration of Independence? I, of course, am being facetious at the moment.
~ Just recently he was glossing over his trip to Super Bowl XXXIX, on gratis tickets from his friend, Robert Kraft the owner of the New England Patriots. It occurred to me that I had seen him in the Stop & Shop down the street two hours prior to the game. ( Not much time to get to Jacksonville from Boston.) He was loaded down with bags of chips and ice. When I mistakingly mentioned the sighting, he assured me that it must have been his brother, who although they weren't twins, bears a striking resemblance to him. Score another victory for him. Although I know I was right, he had at least had a convincing cover story well prepared in advance. I don't even know if he in fact has a brother.
~ One time, I had him dead to rights, though. However it was the result of a tall tale of my own that had given me an edge. In the presence of three of his friends, I fabricated a whopper. I told them of the front row seats beside the runway at the most recently televised Victoria's Secrets show. The other men were flabbergasted. Mr. Capricorn One, begrudgingly ceded to my good fortune.
~ "I'm afraid I missed the show," he said. "Lucky you." He paused before adding, "Unfortunately I was hired by the producers to be backstage in the dressing rooms. I had to help the models in and out of the lingerie they were to wear out on to the runway."
~ I know he had to be crushed, having to play second fiddle to my front row seat. Poor guy, stuck back there in those dressing rooms with all those models, it must have been awful. Well, if I never again get one up on him, at least once, for one shining moment, I staged what may someday be fodder for for all those advocates of Conspiracy Theories.