I am Clever: A Guest Essay by Stingray

I am Clever? No. Not so much….

Christopher, as the months pass and I read your blog, which happens to be the best blog, and only blog I have ever read, I feel a need to contribute. I have watched you blossom as a very strong author and I want to share my thoughts, too. I want my words to be read on your space and not have to hassle with going through all the trials that you have to become so well regarded amongst your internet followers. People love you, and I know deep in my heart of hearts that you have found your calling. So now I would like to take just a few brief paragraphs to provide some additional background on my dear friend, Christopher, aka, “Defensemaster”, as told by the one and only “Stingray” of the Stingray Regime.

In my world, random and misguided thoughts are the cornerstone to common sense. Things that seem juvenile and sophomoric to professional adults amuse me and that along with my passion for watercolors and fine chocolate drives me in this post-boredom era. For I feel that to truly be a human in this world one needs to embrace breakfast foods and eat them every day. See…. Christopher ate his breakfast foods and look where it has taken him. To the top! The Top of the Town and all the way to farthest reaches of the galaxy in his Millennium Falcon. I want to hold him now. I want to hold him in my arms and look deeply into his eyes just to experience the blackness of his soul one more time. I want to feel his vacuum of anger suck all my positive vibrations into his complex neurosytem and watch as the sheepish, boyish smile appears upon his delicate features. He is beautiful. You cannot deny that fact.

A little history: Christopher was born on an Alpaca farm in the Netherlands and some would say that he was raised by his blue healer dog named Laddie. The boy and his dog were inseparable and to this day his aunt Nikki claims that they actually could speak to each other through a series of growls, tickles, and flatulence. Ah, to see them running through open pastures together, rolling in the wildflowers, and dashing through the shallow streams is a scene right out of this hopeless romantic’s fantasies. You see, young boys and dogs go together just like college girls and red wine. We learn so much from the young but yet expect so little in return. My only regret is that I didn’t have a talking dog with me the last time I was with young college girls getting drunk on red wine. If only I could turn back time I would make certain I was adequately prepared.

Since I made a promise to keep this brief I would like to share on last story about Christopher before I retire to my slippers and pipe. On the night of December 13, 1985, I witnessed our amazing intellect/warrior actually take flight in a contraption that he built with his own hands out of balsa wood, chicken feathers, and model airplane glue. I remember it like it was just yesterday. The night air was crisp and the moon was full. There was a slight breeze coming out of the northwest which made for the perfect conditions to fly his “wings of hope” directly down Main Street U.S.A. You see, he named his invention after all those who have dreamed of flight. He made a solemn vow that night to donate his prayers, high fives, and best intentions to retards all over the world and he did. He is a man of his word.

There were only three of us there shivering in the frosty night’s blanket of flurries and streetlights to witness that miracle of flight. Guy, Jay and myself took a vow to Christopher never to tell anyone of what was to take place but I can keep my silence no more. He is so modest but no more, damn it. It is a story, no legend, which must be told! All that I can say was that it was perfect, a perfect takeoff and perfect landing. Soaring so high into the moonlight and then swooping down upon the buildings and cars like a big, hairy barn swallow. None of us spoke a word and the tears rolling down our faces in the moonlight looked like traces of angel dust landing gently upon our moistened cheeks. Did I mention the angel dust? Perhaps that’s what I wasn’t supposed to talk about and the flying was just an attempted suicide averted by the Ames Police Department. No. No wait. He really did fly. He flew like a bird because he is so smart and so strong and I really, really miss my friend. Fly home, Christopher. Fly home.

He is a great American, dear readers. He knows more than you do but he doesn’t have to tell you that because you already know it. And what makes him even more special is that he can fly.

Go now, but always go in peace and in the immortal words of my favorite pastor, “Go fuck your mother, I did”. Peace be with you.

StingrayHe