Introducing Oscar Crisp Dipper


Oscar
Crisp Dipper had a passion in life. It wasn't his beautiful wife,
Christie, nor was it their handsome German Shepherd, Duke. Oscar Crisp
Dipper was all atwitter over finely manicured sidewalks. In his mind
there was nothing more beautiful. The neat edges that went off to some
far off place in front of him were stunning. They far surpassed
anything offered by the Louvre, The Museum of Modern Art, or Savannah's
own Jepson Center.

Oscar Crisp Dipper had never been to any of
those places. To visit them would be a waste of time. He was certain
that no collection of African masks, pastel water colors, or paint
splashes on canvas was worth a nickel if it meant time away from the
city's sidewalks. The hundreds of thousands of paved surfaces around
Savannah were his mistresses, and he was their bitch. They couldn't
have controlled his actions more if they'd been wearing S&M attire,
and Oscar Crisp Dipper liked it that way.

Oscar Crisp Dipper
first fell in love with pavement, sidewalks in particular, as an
eighth-grader. He got the heave-ho from a little student government
hottie named Bernice. She felt that he was way too controlling. "I will
wear my Coca-cola shirt's collar any way I damn well please, Oscar
Crisp Dipper," Bernice said. Oscar thought flipped up collars were like
flipping a middle finger at uniformity. It made him sick to think that
Bernice would sink so low.

"If you would just turn your collar
down, you'd see, " said Oscar Crisp Dipper. Bernice flipped Oscar the
bird, flipped up her collar, and flipped her long silky hair over her
shoulder. With that she was off to bocce practice and Oscar Crisp
Dipper was left on the school's cold front sidewalk alone.

"A woman got you down, Crisp Dipper?"asked Coach Roper. "Yes, sir," Oscar said.

"Listen
here, Crisp Dipper. I would pick every blade of grass from each and
every crack in this sidewalk before I'd let a female get me down. Buck
up." Oscar nodded his head, shook the man's hand like a war buddy, and
sat down on the concrete to think about the advice he'd been given.
"Every blade of grass," Oscar whispered softly to himself.

When
bocce practice was finished it was nearly dark. Coach Roper was on his
way to his white 'K' Car when he took a heck of a spill over the still
down trodden Oscar Crisp Dipper.

"Darn it, Dipper! What in the
name of Special Ed are you doing still sitting on that god forsaken
sidewalk?" Coach Roper shouted. "I nearly busted my pie hole with that
face plant."

Oscar struggled to stand up. He'd been on his hands
and knees for the better part of three hours. Coach Roper was dusting
himself off when all of the sudden it became apparent. The glow of five
pristine squares of sidewalk surrounded the fourteen-year-old.

"Dipper,
what have you done?" the befuddled Coach asked. The answer was quite
obvious. Inside every crack and a half inch on every margin was plucked
clean. Coach Roper's gas-powered edger from Sears couldn't have done a
better job.

"Ever blade," Oscar said. "Every blade, sir."

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