5 February 2022
In my freezer is about a half-liter of six-year-old coffee. Well, not quite six years old, not until the 20th of June. It was inspired by a brilliantly hilarious cartoon, possibly by Skip Williamson. I’m not sure, as it remains in Bud’s possession. I do recall, however, that it was done in the graphic style of Williamson’s “Snappy Sammy Smoot.”
The joke is presented as a two-panel seriagaph. The first panel shows “Sammy” declaring that he likes his women just like he likes his coffee. The second panel shows smilin’ Sammy slurping his cup and saying, “Sixteen years old!”
I had originally thought about saving that half liter of frozen coffee for another decade, just to test the premise. Adolescence may be long behind us, but our recollections of sixteen and seventeen year-old girls (who looked convincingly like women at the time) are still quite vivid. I thought perhaps that Bud and I could do a test when the time came to see if sixteen-year-old coffee measured up to Sammy’s comparison.
That seems less likely now, in light of my recent dismissal and impending relocation. I am not going to try to move a block of ice from Ohio to Texas, and I have my doubts that Bud remains as committed to the joke as I was when I first put it in the freezer.
update 230305: A year and many miles later, it is now seven years old (and counting). Said block remains safely frozen in Westexas. It turns out I’m sentimental and weak (who could guess?) and a half kilogram was small enough a load to fit into my cooler with all the other goodies I’d packed. It sat in L’Historienne’s freezer for a few months until she fetched it up to me here in Geezer Tower. Perhaps once Bud’s shed whatever’s still riding him, we can revisit some fun. There’s almost ten years left to sort this shit out. I remain optimistic — unless that jab does him in first!