BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 317
he extended things. He was a six month drunk, then a six month Baptist. In either case, I
often wanted to kill the man.
We all know what a drunk is like, especially a mean drunk who then turns into a
crying, slobbering drunk after a while. Pretty disgusting, all around.
I‟m not sure it‟s any better than a six month Baptist. A saved Baptist. Every
goddamned thing I said was met with, “Hallelujah!,”, “Amen!”, or “Praise The Lord!”
Okay, God and Bill have our own deal. We like it, and it works for Us. Still, hearing
those words from the same guy who called you a motherfucker last month can be a bit
disconcerting. Hearing them all day and all night, every time something is said, gets even
worse.
If Rita and I hadn‟t been in my car, following behind theirs, I probably would‟ve
murdered my uncle on the trip down there.
I think Rita knew I wanted some pussy, and I think she knew where I hoped to get
it. She coyly asked me about scoring some grass down there. Although I had no idea
where I would‟ve looked, I did have a dime bag in my glove box. To be honest, I‟d never
sampled that bag. I had it on hand only for friends, as I preferred drinking beer after my
addiction in the hospital.
So, it quickly became a real estate matter. Every woman has a small area, about
4” x 4”, that can be rented for more money per hour than any piece of land that size, even
in Texas oil country. It‟s a very valuable property called a ting-tang, a nookie, a snatch, a
muff, or a pussy. Or, a woman‟s real estate. It‟s damned awfully real.
Rita had one, and I was an interested party. Very, very interested.
We discussed it, and even did a saliva swap, but hadn‟t yet gotten down to brass
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