02-28-2023, 10:22 PM
Hey . . . or should I say “Ya’ Hey”? Thanks for sticking around for my second set of the night at the Comedy Wigwam and Strip Club!
And how about those Native lady erotic dancers? C’mon. Give it up, one more time, for the Dog-Faced Pony Girls! Maybe not the best looking Rez sisters, but when you’re blessed with big Tom-Toms like theirs, who’s looking at your face . . . and they never fail to make it rain . . . it’s like a rapper in a Vegas Gentlemen’s Club, making it rain, when they dance!
I thought about being a dancer, once . . . during my college days. I even picked a stripper name. But my buddy, BigMark, advised me to rethink my employment choice, as I wasn’t enough of a looker to pull-off my chosen stage name . . . “Pocha-hot-ass”.
He’s an honest fellow and wise . . . but also the kind of guy who farts in your wallet and then says: “Here’s your gas money!”. I should know. He ruined three of my purses with that stunt.
OK. Let’s stoodis!
So . . . where was I? Oh, yeah . . . my schooling. It’s kinda funny that I was a CPA . . . especially since, like I said, I was terrible in math. It’s not that I didn’t try, but I guess my Indian DNA prevented me from strictly following the prescribed rules of arithmetic. I remember spending one weekend, desperately reviewing word problems so I would be prepared to answer any question, in class, on Monday. And my chance to answer did come.
My teacher posed the following question: “If Victor had a case of Pepsi and he drank 19 cans . . . ” Before he could finish the question my hand shot up and I was waiving it, excitedly, in the air!
I knew this one! This was my moment! He paused, acknowledged me and said: “Yes, Tiki . . . Do you have an answer?”. I stood up and proudly said: “Diabetes, sir. Victor now has diabetes.” The whole class broke out in laughter . . . at my expense. It was the last time I ever volunteered an answer in Rez school. Like I said, back in the day, math was not my strong suit.
But I got the last laugh . . . Victor ended up dying from Covid . . . which is the polite Rez way of saying “complications from diabetes”. If you die or are killed, on the Rez, the cause of death is “Covid”. We learned that from your CDC.
We use Covid for “alcoholic”, too. You know . . . something like this: “Yeah . . . Benny got all fucked-up at PowWow and got kilt when he crashed his truck. Yeah . . . full-blown Covid cuzza his crazy-ass drinkin’.” On the Rez, there are no Covid deniers.
Thrown from your horse and break your neck . . . death by Covid. Drug overdose death . . . Covid. Stabbed your boyfriend to death because he ate all the frybread . . . OK . . . we call that “Justifiable Covid ”. Anyway . . . back to my education.
Can you imagine how surprised and proud my parents were when I graduated, with honors, with a degree in Accountancy . . . and then passed my CPA exam in one try? Yup. They were beaming. Especially when I immediately got a job, with a company that dealt directly with the National Parks and . . . it came with a car! Oh, yeah . . . she was bragging to all of her friends and anyone else that would listen. On and on and on . . . Tiki this and Tiki that. I heard she even got kicked out of Bingo for her constant yammering about me. But it was flattering and they did sacrifice quite a bit to allow me a life of my choosing. So, I kept my mouth shut. Until I found out she was bragging that her Rez daughter was working for an Indian owned company.
So . . . I asked her, “Momma . . . why do you tell people I work for an Indian owned company? I never told you that!”. Wrong . . . thing . . . to . . . say. The look on her face said it all . . . I’d seen that look a hundred times before and was preparing for a another childhood “wooden spoon” education. Yeah . . . I can tell by your nervous laughter you know what I’m talking about! But . . . it didn’t happen.
Instead, she just stormed off without, saying a word. I had no idea what I had done to cause her such hurt and anger. So, I asked my father, who witnessed the whole incident and had the common sense to remain silent.
“Little One . . . do you remember when you to told Sylvia Many-Goats, who was your boss?” “Yes, father.” I replied. He then says, “Chief . . . Financial Officer . . . wasn’t it, Little One? There is your answer. Now go make peace with your mother so I won’t go without supper.”
So . . . for the next ten days we were forced to find sustenance at the Tuba City Truck Stop, for supper, until Momma cooled down. I recommend the Mutton Stew with extra frybread. A real favorite of Sally Takes-No-Shit, too.
Momma was happy, when I quit the job after 5 years and told her I was now going to pursue a different path. I’d been hanging out with some of my Rez girlfriends who did PowWow dance competitions, as a living. I told her, I, too, wanted to pursue dance as a means of income and I would study and perfect my technique in Flagstaff. She wished me well and 5 months later came to visit and see how I was progressing. How she found me, I’ll never know.
I can only imagine the look on my face was when my Momma walked into that strip club and saw me on the pole. Or when she slowly walked up to the stage, holding a wooden spoon . . . and then slipped a 10-dollar bill, in my G-String.
Thank goodness my Father left with his buddies, a half hour before she arrived. Whew! Now that would have been some trouble! Speaking of trouble . . . the Dog-Faced Pony Girls are ready to come back out to Come and Get Your Love. So hit the ATM at the side of the bar and give ‘em some paper love and show ‘em you care!
Thank you all! You’ve been wonderful!
And how about those Native lady erotic dancers? C’mon. Give it up, one more time, for the Dog-Faced Pony Girls! Maybe not the best looking Rez sisters, but when you’re blessed with big Tom-Toms like theirs, who’s looking at your face . . . and they never fail to make it rain . . . it’s like a rapper in a Vegas Gentlemen’s Club, making it rain, when they dance!
I thought about being a dancer, once . . . during my college days. I even picked a stripper name. But my buddy, BigMark, advised me to rethink my employment choice, as I wasn’t enough of a looker to pull-off my chosen stage name . . . “Pocha-hot-ass”.
He’s an honest fellow and wise . . . but also the kind of guy who farts in your wallet and then says: “Here’s your gas money!”. I should know. He ruined three of my purses with that stunt.
OK. Let’s stoodis!
So . . . where was I? Oh, yeah . . . my schooling. It’s kinda funny that I was a CPA . . . especially since, like I said, I was terrible in math. It’s not that I didn’t try, but I guess my Indian DNA prevented me from strictly following the prescribed rules of arithmetic. I remember spending one weekend, desperately reviewing word problems so I would be prepared to answer any question, in class, on Monday. And my chance to answer did come.
My teacher posed the following question: “If Victor had a case of Pepsi and he drank 19 cans . . . ” Before he could finish the question my hand shot up and I was waiving it, excitedly, in the air!
I knew this one! This was my moment! He paused, acknowledged me and said: “Yes, Tiki . . . Do you have an answer?”. I stood up and proudly said: “Diabetes, sir. Victor now has diabetes.” The whole class broke out in laughter . . . at my expense. It was the last time I ever volunteered an answer in Rez school. Like I said, back in the day, math was not my strong suit.
But I got the last laugh . . . Victor ended up dying from Covid . . . which is the polite Rez way of saying “complications from diabetes”. If you die or are killed, on the Rez, the cause of death is “Covid”. We learned that from your CDC.
We use Covid for “alcoholic”, too. You know . . . something like this: “Yeah . . . Benny got all fucked-up at PowWow and got kilt when he crashed his truck. Yeah . . . full-blown Covid cuzza his crazy-ass drinkin’.” On the Rez, there are no Covid deniers.
Thrown from your horse and break your neck . . . death by Covid. Drug overdose death . . . Covid. Stabbed your boyfriend to death because he ate all the frybread . . . OK . . . we call that “Justifiable Covid ”. Anyway . . . back to my education.
Can you imagine how surprised and proud my parents were when I graduated, with honors, with a degree in Accountancy . . . and then passed my CPA exam in one try? Yup. They were beaming. Especially when I immediately got a job, with a company that dealt directly with the National Parks and . . . it came with a car! Oh, yeah . . . she was bragging to all of her friends and anyone else that would listen. On and on and on . . . Tiki this and Tiki that. I heard she even got kicked out of Bingo for her constant yammering about me. But it was flattering and they did sacrifice quite a bit to allow me a life of my choosing. So, I kept my mouth shut. Until I found out she was bragging that her Rez daughter was working for an Indian owned company.
So . . . I asked her, “Momma . . . why do you tell people I work for an Indian owned company? I never told you that!”. Wrong . . . thing . . . to . . . say. The look on her face said it all . . . I’d seen that look a hundred times before and was preparing for a another childhood “wooden spoon” education. Yeah . . . I can tell by your nervous laughter you know what I’m talking about! But . . . it didn’t happen.
Instead, she just stormed off without, saying a word. I had no idea what I had done to cause her such hurt and anger. So, I asked my father, who witnessed the whole incident and had the common sense to remain silent.
“Little One . . . do you remember when you to told Sylvia Many-Goats, who was your boss?” “Yes, father.” I replied. He then says, “Chief . . . Financial Officer . . . wasn’t it, Little One? There is your answer. Now go make peace with your mother so I won’t go without supper.”
So . . . for the next ten days we were forced to find sustenance at the Tuba City Truck Stop, for supper, until Momma cooled down. I recommend the Mutton Stew with extra frybread. A real favorite of Sally Takes-No-Shit, too.
Momma was happy, when I quit the job after 5 years and told her I was now going to pursue a different path. I’d been hanging out with some of my Rez girlfriends who did PowWow dance competitions, as a living. I told her, I, too, wanted to pursue dance as a means of income and I would study and perfect my technique in Flagstaff. She wished me well and 5 months later came to visit and see how I was progressing. How she found me, I’ll never know.
I can only imagine the look on my face was when my Momma walked into that strip club and saw me on the pole. Or when she slowly walked up to the stage, holding a wooden spoon . . . and then slipped a 10-dollar bill, in my G-String.
Thank goodness my Father left with his buddies, a half hour before she arrived. Whew! Now that would have been some trouble! Speaking of trouble . . . the Dog-Faced Pony Girls are ready to come back out to Come and Get Your Love. So hit the ATM at the side of the bar and give ‘em some paper love and show ‘em you care!
Thank you all! You’ve been wonderful!