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His eyes are like blue twinkles in the midst of a hairy face, his graying dark hair tied back loosely. She is blonde and long legged with a story like a hippy and her flowers say "Peace be unto you and peace be unto me".

They are not on any boards or committees.

In the evening, I gather with them. Count Bobula and Big Nasty. I call him Count Bobula and he calls her Big Nasty. I know not where her moniker comes from and I dare not ask. She is Big Nasty. That, and more do I know of her.

In the evening we discuss the travails of the world. He is, I know, by means of his sir name and his good taste, French. She is, by means of her sir name and her rock steady, quirky home decor, an English woman and she is well mannered, though she is capable of throwing a good fight when one presses.

They are my neighbors. They are, my friends. By chance and by time of test and there you have it. No more discussion of friendship to be made.

Count Bobula and Big Nasty work hard and pay dues unto whom dues are paid.

But once or twice, they have been quite comical to me, and I, being the writer that I am, will share the story.

For whatever reason, and I do not know the reason, Count Bobula upset the Big Nasty. And she, being the loyal and caring person that she is, who considered the treason at hand, did whip the ass of Count Bobula and she tossed him over their car as though he were a rag doll.

Here, we do consider the quirkiness of the English. For well mannered we are. And schmucky we are, but woe be unto the one who pushes us too far.

I thought upon the terror which reigns within the most agreeable of English and I said unto myself, "Hate us if you will, betray us and you kill".

Yes, I thought upon the many good traits of the English and what might transpire should you cross us.

Count Bobula now says, "French I am, and my libation attests, but mess with the English is to die at the test!"

Yes, Count Bobula. And now you know the lesson.

Big Nasty is a free soul. Her flowers stand like testaments of beauty. But to cross her is to pay the fine of royalty.

Count Bobula was my friend before Big Nasty. We toiled together at the same sweat shop. We agreed upon music which began in the 60's. We smoke the same cigarettes. We know the players.

And he said unto me: "Where did I go wrong?"

And I said unto him, "Assume a virtue, if you have it not."

"Huh?" he moaned, in pain.

"It is Shakespeare and it has saved many a soul", I assured him as he wept.

He promised to remember it and lit a cigarette.

Learn more about this author, G E Barr.
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