The Prison Mirror

TWISTS & TURNS
By Bok Sok

This being Memorial Day (or thereabouts) we are reminded of an ancient G. I. adage to the effect that "It's always the best Joes which get the business." By golly, in those days it seemed to be true more often than not. Some onery old cuss who had every mother's son in the regiment pining to lay the sights on him, bore a charmed life - while the likeable lads drew mortar fire like a magnet.

They used to say the good die young and perhaps that's the sad secret of why the cream of the crop lies planted, which brings up the purely negative observation, conditions sometimes indicate they may be better off at that. This can't be right though it just seems so on dark days. . . .

But today is different cause, neighbor, we got it now! From here on in the world is our oyster, and there is no more sweat, tears, toting of bales or landing in jails - the million dollar idea has come home to roost and what I mean the welcome mat was out! Such as the model "T" did for Henry and the invention of Whitney's Cotton Gin meant to Seagrams, this notion is bound to accomplish for battered up Bok. What is the earth shaking discovery, this catastrophe for hard times and tut stutt - well brace yourself friend, brace yourself. It's none other than Bok Sok's Chocolate Coated Chewing Tobacco for Beginners and Refined Elder Addicts! Comes in the handy one pound pocket tin or the economy sized picnic bag, ideal for family gatherings and Scandinavian reunions - so how's all that for a twenty six carat world beater? Got the idea from watching a young feller who swore he would learn to chaw tobacco or die trying. Dunno as he ever learned, but can vouch for the fact he purty near died two or three times. . . .

Had you noticed? Just a coupla weeks ago snowballs were still beating on the windows - but now already it's mosquitoes, big as bats, only these babies ain't blind by a dang sight. Thank goodness the largest of the critters can't get at us. They are too ignorant to fold their wings and slip through the bars, so leave the dumb beasts drone around outside and starve to death. . . .

It takes all kinds to make a world, but far too rarely do we stumble over one who goes all out to make it better. There is a certain curly headed citizen of our acquaintance who is a bear for constructive reading. "Thought Starters" is the name of his hobby and he really has a half-nelson on it. The guv goes nosing round libraries and book stalls for any kind of a new idea, or maybe just an old notion in a new spring outfit. But that's only the beginning - when he grabs a new slant, his favorite trick is to pass it to other folks, and the more the merrier.

Not that he forces the stuff on anyone - our friend is cute that way. "Say," he sez, "I read something that is pretty good - what do you think?" Or maybe - "I'm not sure about this - need another opinion, etc." The first thing you know the man has a fresh customer or a dozen such. And every day I'm more and more convinced he's got something there.

You know, a good book is a funny thing. Trouble with a lot of us is, we don't tackle the pig from the right angle. You can flop down to read a dozen dime novels in a dozen nights, get all there is in 'em, and never look back - but when a wise one writes something that pries away at the chinks in your noodle, you gotta go slow to do any good. Such books are like fried snails - tasty as the dickens, but people who swallow too many too fast are liable to get sick and lose the whole shebang. If something really gives you a jolt, the trick is to make a few notes. Mess ups such as present company can rarely claim they never knew any better - they just never bothered to remember or failed to keep notes.

Yessir, Mr. Thought Starters has a thoroughbred idea by the tail. I hope he keeps ahold of her. . .

The other day an irate joker had the temerity to classify poor old Bok as nothing more nor less than a pathological liar - which is a high class name for a character constitutionally opposed to anything faintly resembling the truth. Such an unfortunate is eternally dissatisfied with fact and reality - he feels an uncontrollable desire to add romance to every phase of day to day living. Now then - the surest and most clear cut facts and reality we see lately are iron bars and four walls - an' if we ain't eternally dissatisfied with 'em, we are dum close to it! Furthermore a little day to day romance of any description (but preferably five foot six red head) is one of the mostest things we desire. On these counts we stand accused and plead guilty.

Liars are funny people. There are those who tell stories about other people - and there are those who confine their tales to purely fictional characters and harmless, abstract situations. Some will tell a lie and swear to it - while others are just looking for laughs. In this latter category are a multitude of stage, screen, and radio personalities - not to mention most of the world's great authors. Such folks might be defined most briefly as those inhabitants of this vale of tears who make life worth living.

Of course the nuthouses are crammed with pathological liars. These are simply the artists who let their talent get the upper hand - they got a trifle too involved with make believe. Such catastrophe is most easily avoided by one simple precaution - when a liar gets to believing his own line, it's time to shorten sail.

Nosir, the longer I look at it the more I figger a pathological liar with a little cash insight is a going proposition. It may be a close balance, but his assets should outweigh his liabilities - and his name might even be good on a check. No doubt about it - there's worse things a fella could be called. . . .