The life and times of Timothy Allen Kisper

Shucks, Folks. Ole Tim here is speechless. We been engaging with some art therapy here at the Outreach Center. They had us put on a play. I played the hunchback and Barney played a dragon, it was fun and all but more importantly was the folks who came in to volunteer. They were from a regional theater company and there was this on gal, Miranda, who seemed to take a shine to me. We were kindred spirits sharing that ole' demon called, addiction. While mine's been the booze all these decades she had a problem with heroine. I can relate, 'cuz in my pre-naval days of high schoolin' I tried pretty much every conceivable drug known to mankind and a few that weren't, yuk-yuk! Anywho, Miranda's a playwrite and does these one woman shows down in NYC and she was impressed with my yarns. So, in some spare time, she recordered some interviews with me about my life and experiences and she's gonna turn them into a play. So sometime next year I'll have to venture down to NYC (that is if the Good Lord sees fit in keepin' me on this planet) and watch a play about my life. Although, since she does one woman shows, I guess she'll be playing me. That's kind of weird and scary. Maybe Ole' Tim should skip this one, yuk-yuk. Anyhow, I think I owe it to Miranda to make the journey, 'cuz, ya see she wanted to experience the whole "Tim Kisper" package and not to turn this into some kind of blue nightclub act, but , Your's Truly, got to spend some private time with Miranda. I know I'll keep dreaming about her powdery pale face with that scarlet lipstick and purple ringed eyes. I'll be seeing Miranda. You play the strings of my heart...

Glen Kovacs is dead

Way back when I was in high school, like a million years ago, I hung around with this fella, Glen Kovacs. Mostly, freshman and sophomore years, didn't see him as much after that. We'd go swimming down at the lake in the summertime, petty theft at the drug store and Woolworths, chase girls. Yes sir, we were a couple of regular rabble rousers. Going into junior year his Mom passed on, she was sick for a while, so he promised her to make something of his life and make her proud. He didn't hang out with me after that. He got his grades up and joined the baseball team. As my life was spiraling out of control I dove deeper and deeper into drugs and alcohol he cleaned himself up and straightened himself out. Last time I saw him was a few days before I left for the Navy, I was walking home from a party and he gave me a ride home, told me he got accepted into a college out west, someplace in Nebraska I think, my memory ain't what she use ta be. He seemed happy I joined the Navy. We wished each other luck and said goodbye. Back in March, he died. It seems he became a lawyer out in California and was riding his motorcycle home when he lost control and crashed. We were the same age. I'm sorry, folks that ole Tim ain't his usual jolly self but this here reminds me of my own motality. So, even though I don't drink no more, here's one to you, Glen. I think your Mom will be happy she gets to spend Mothers Day with you in Heavan and I think she'll be proud of you being a lawyer and such.
Goodbye, my friend, even though I ain't seen ya, in over 30 years I'll miss ya. Think I'll go down to the lake tonight.

On The Hunt For Cap'N Crunch

So, today I get me a cravin' for some Cap'N Crunch. After the foul demon, booze, sugary cereal is my lesser vice. So your ole pal Tim heads on down to the Roseland Superette, a neighborhood mini-market and I'm perusing the rows looking for some scrumptious breakfasty treat and I hear one of the gals sez they got a vagrant in the store. Havin' lived the homeless life the past few years I go into defense mode an figure they're talkin' 'bout me. Heck, I don't look all that bad in my new Outreach provided duds, but then old habits die hard I suppose. Must'a been a cop car nearby cuz as I head up front a boy in blue wanders through the door. The gal points past me and sez, "There's a fingerless black man hanging out in back by the cooler." I gets a sigh of relief, cuz she wasn't talkin' 'bout me. But waitaminute! I know a fingerless black guy! Barney! As the cop is hauling him up the isle I suck in my gut and boom, "He's with me." The cop sizes me up and lets his free hand rest on the butt of his gun. "I'm from the Outreach Center, "I add, "This guy's a vet. Last year some punks set him on fire." I sezs. The cop relaxes. "I remember that, "he mutters. The gal sezs he's a thief and I find my inner srength to spin on her and sez, "How can he steal, he ain't got no fingers." The cop grabs my arm, I panic but he pulls up my sleeve. I guess my naval tatoo was peekin' out. "A sailor, huh?" he sezs. He was a jar-head. "Just make sure he gets home. "the cop sez and leaves. So me and Barney head back to the Outreach Center, where he dumps a whole boatload of Slim Jims outta his coat. "I steals 'em with my teeth." he says. In all the excitement I forgot to get the Cap'N Crunch so tomorrow we're gonna hit up Lincoln Candy and Tobacco.

Howdy Partners

Yuk, yuk, folks, it's ole Tim checkin' in and updating all you fellas on the comings and goings of one, Timothy Allan Kisper. Even, though we had us a fairly mild winter up here in North Lake Country, spending a lot of time outdoors and such wasn't too good for this old knuckle-head's health. I came down with some pneumonia and was carted off to the ER by some kindly souls, it's a good thing they didn't throw me in the nut house, yuk, yuk. Well, the Good Lord must'a been smiling on me cuz not only did I git better, but I garndered the interest of some more kind souls who wanted to help me get my life back on track. Thank Ye, Oh Lord for givin' this poor wretched shlub a, what are we upta' 7th chance, yuk, yuk. I got my little room at the outreach center, it's warm an' I got a bed to sleep on. I watch me some TV every night with the other fellas in the common room, got me a good friend, Barney. Barney's a Negro who lost some fingers to the frostbit, so I help him openin' the pickle jar, yuk, yuk. And did I mention all the pickles we can eat. Plus baloney sandwiches, tapioca puddin' cups and the worst ole decaf coffee this side of the Mississippi, yes sir. Anyways, Barney was set on fire by some teenagers a year back, maybe you read 'bout it in the papers, so he's got the flashbacks, that ole PTSD and he wakes up screamin' bloody murder some nights. It's just like the good Book sez, ya don't know how good ya got it, ta ya see someone else who got it worse. Barney's a good Joe and he got my back and I got his. He was a machinist mate in his youth so we got the good ole, USN in common, swappin' yarns about the sea. I almost forgot, I went and got me a job. Well, the outreach center did. Remember how I was tellin' bout that awful coffee, it don't matter cuz I'm clearin' tables at Lucy's Coffee Shoppe and they got all that rich and fancy coffee that an ole bum like me ain't used to. So I guess things are goin' good for me for a change. My frown's been turned upsides down. How 'bout you all, what's shakin'?

Tis that time-o-year again, folks.

Yesiree, this ole knucklehead's at the rescue mission for my turkey and dressing on ole T-Day. You got to love the fine folks at the rescue mission, God bless 'em. Like usual they got telephones and laptops set up so us unfortuates can reach out and touch someone, oh I crack myself up. Well, I'd like to tell ya'all I'm doin' fine and everything's spiffy and just dandy, but I'd be a liar. And the Good Lord don't like a liar. I'm out on the mean streets again, just surviving. That's all I can do. I;m dealing with Hepatitis and sleeping in the cold ain't helpin' my old bones either. This may be my last message on here unless Lord Jesus sees it fitting to keep his humble servant on this ole rock-in-space fer another year. I'm tired, I'm not too happy with where I'm at in life but I don't blame no one but myself. Mom, Peggy, Ken and the kids, Vivian, Sweet Jill, I've wronged you all durring my trip down this dusty winding road we call life. I'm sorry, I seek your forgiveness. I'm meek and humble and a drunkard old bum who don't deserve no-ones dang forgiveness. Mom and Sweet Jill I hope the Good Lord's treatin' yer well in his ole house up in the sky. I hope I can make up for all my transgressions so I may enjoy the sweet Baby Jesus' bosom with ya. I'd like to say hi to Joe Sloss and the Puppet Guy and hope you and yours are doin' well, may the Good Lord keep yer safe on life's journey. And thanks to young Darren here, a kind hearted volunteer who took time out from spending this day with his kin and helped out us knuckleheads here at the rescue mission.
God Bless,
Tim

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Insubordination

Insubordination! Insubordination I say, yup folks that's just what ole Steve Miller down at the Job Lot said to yours truly. Seems I can't defend my good name against customer complaints. Job Lot rules and regs. And gosh dran it, I may lose my job. Heck it might be a lousy job and all, but it's what I got, plus Vivian'll throw me out if I get fired. Ole Tim's in a real pickle, folks. Yes Siree Marie. I know all about insubordination, as you may recall I was in Uncle Sam's Navy. There was this time when I was workin' in the Corpsman's office at Camp Pendleton and me and some of the boys wanted to head up to La Jolla to catch a girlie show at this night club. So me and Terry Waitte and Mike Fernandez snuck out one night and took the bus up. We'll your's truly missed the bus back and I had to hoof it. Got back 0600 the next mornin', yes sir, I was in the dog house. The Chief wanted to bust me down and yelled and yelled. So, yes, I know all about insubordination.