My Friend Mort

Have you ever had one of those friends who do not make sense when they speak, but rather leave you reeling once they open their mouths? Such is the case with my friend Mortimer, or Mort for short. Now, you must realize that Mort has an answer, or an opinion for everything. He loves to drink, and does it to an excess. Oh, and by the way, he smokes like there is no tomorrow. Mort loves to drive his old beat up car, which I believe was the second car ever built in America. That’s how old this car is.

One day, out of the clear blue sky, he came by my house in order to take me out to lunch. No matter how hard I tried to get out of riding in his car, it was to no avail. Did I mentioned that Mort always drives his car on fumes? It is a very scary situation. On this particular day, we began our drive to the local eatery, and I noticed that the car kept lurching as if it were running out of gas. Mort stopped the car, removed the gas cap, placed his lips over the tank spout, took a deep breath, and blew into the gas tank. He entered the car and said,” That should do it”. Bewildered I asked him  why he had blown into the gas tank. His reply floored me. “Well, he said, peolple are always telling me that I have a lot of alcohol in my system, so, I blew some into the tank, which should be enough to take us to the eatery. On our way back, I’ll do the same”. I just looked at him and scratched my head.

Two weeks later, he came by the house again. This time I decided to talk about politics with him. I could not wait to hear what he had to say about the subject. “Mort, I asked, What do you think about Obama?” “Well, he said. I believe that they could become national champs if they play the way they used to”. I looked at him and asked, “What in the world are you talking about?” He stared at me as if I were some kind of a nut, and replied, “What do you think I’m talking about? Don’t you follow football? I’m talking about Obama, that college team down south.” He shook his head in disbelief. I changed the subject, and remained quiet for the rest of the day.

On another occasion, I asked him how he felt about minority races. He became very pensive, leaned  back on his chair, and puffed on his cigar, long and hard. For the first time, I felt that perhaps we would be able to discuss a subject in depth. He took a deep breath, and began to express his inner most feelings. His words were very negative regarding this very touchy subject, and for the first time, I got very angry at him. He said that he did not really care for minority races, and went so far as to demean them. I was speechless, and felt like belting him on the mouth. He felt my anger and in a sheepish way, asked why I was so angry. I told him that minorities are our equal  in God’s eyes. He looked at me confused and said, “I don’t understand why you would get so angry as something as insignificant as minority races. The other day, I was watching the Olympics, and I watched some of these minority races. I did not like them one bit. Anyone can run 100, or  200 hundred meters. These minority races are over too quick. Now, major races like the 1500, or 5000 meters are something to behold. That’s why I don’t like minority races, because they are so boring.” I stopped talking, shook my head,  went in the house, shut the door, and went to bed with the biggest headache I had ever experienced.. That is Mort, my friend. Wait for my next post. You won’t believe it.