We have these two guys here at the Roundup/Rim Review who will forever remain unnamed.
But here are a couple clues.
One has a motorcycle and could fire me in a heartbeat, and the other can't remember when his hair had color and has this uncanny knack for making everyone yawn who comes near him.
Because my palatial cubicle is right near one of the two corporate restrooms, these two guys, whom we'll affectionately call Frick and Frack, have occasion to pass within earshot about 700 times a day.
Which would be okay except they both like to sing little snippets of songs at precisely the moment they pass by.
Which would be OK if they finished the darn songs. But no, they only sing that snippet three, four, sometimes five or six words and then move on.
You end up with that unfinished song rattling around in your head until one of them comes by again and changes the tune. There is just no closure.
At some point a couple of months ago I decided, unbeknownst to them, to record these snippets for posterity.
Not knowing to what end, I kept them surreptitiously stored on my computer until it clogged up and started gagging (Macs will do that).
So the time has come to unburden the system. And in looking them over trying to make some sense out of their seeming senselessness I was struck by how they could be paired up so that the whole equals more than the sum of the parts, especially with some asides and commentary from me:
Frick: "Hound dog ..."
Frack: "Walkin' hand-in-hand ..."
Me: A boy and his dog, a typical Rim country scene. But shouldn't that be hand-in-paw?
Frick: "So you say you want to go to the show ..."
Frack: "Honey, I wanna go ..."
Me: What did these guys sing about before Sawmill Crossing? And the sooner they go to the show, the sooner I get this column written.
Frick: "Yes I ..."
Frack: "Drove my Chevy to the levee ..."
Me: Don't know that we'd use that term here in the Rim country, but be sure to stop at the edge boys.
Frick: "Oh, oh, oh, oh ..."
Frack: "Oh, oh, oh, oh ..."
Me: What did I tell you about stopping at the edge. Fortunately, the ditch at Sawmill Crossing is dry. We'll get a tow truck right out.
Frick: "Julie, Julie, Julie ..."
Frack: "I need you ..."
Me: Julie Wantland is in the last office on your left, and if you're asking for a raise mention singing lessons. It'll improve your odds dramatically.
Frick: "I've got a tiger by the tail ..."
Frack: "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"
Me: If it's Saturday night, give her $7 and send her out to Star Valley for an exciting evening of Bingo at the Lamplighter RV Resort. The other six days of the week, how about that show.
Frick: "You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out ..."
Frack: "You can have it like this, and you can have it like that ..."
Me: In or out? This or that? What's it gonna be, guys?
Frick: "Old man, look at my life ..."
Frack: "Let me be forgiven ..."
Me: As soon as you guys quiet down, we'll talk about forgiving.
Frick: "We're an American band ..."
Frack: "Pretty good, not bad ..."
Me: As an American band, you guys are actually "Pretty bad, not good."
Frick: "Sing a song about the weather ..."
Frack: "Got rice cooking on the microwave ..."
Me: What versatility. I'll bet these guys could sing a song about earthworms. Isn't Wednesday amateur night at Mario's?
Frick: "Honey, I wanna go ..."
Frack: "So this is goodbye ..."
Me: First door on your left will take you directly to the parking lot. Hang a right, you're on the Beeline and on your way out of town.
Frick: "Follow me ..."
Frack: "Life goes on ..."
Me: Hey, this column could have a happy ending after all.