This Grocery Store Gig Has Got to Go

You know, kids, Hutch is tired of working night shift at the grocery store. The turkeys are starting to talk to me, and they just don't make good sliding shoes since the janitors started using that new floor waxer. It just don't make no sense for Hutch to keep going on this way.

Yesterday I went to interview for another job at this place called Zero Unlimited. They do some sort of top secret work for top secret clients, and they never explained what I'd be doing. But it's got to be better than working at the grocery store where the best part of my night is sticking turkeys on my feet.

Now Old Hutch doesn't want to brag, but my interview was with the head honcho, Mr. Paul Freeman himself. Yup, sometimes it pays to be a star of the small screen.

The man certainly knows how to make an entrance. He came screeching into the room on what appeared to be a child size dune buggy. He was stuffed into the front seat with his knees up by his ears and his stomach wedged against the steering wheel. In fact, I would have thought he was an escaped lunatic from the nuthouse, but his secretary assured me that this was, without a doubt, Mr. Freeman.

I'm pleased to say my interview took place within this strange vehicle while we were hurtling down the hallways in the complex. There was more screeching as employees jumped into doorways and cubicles to keep from being run down. Freeman's foot never waivered on the accelerator, and I'm sure there has been more than one worker that has been rushed to the hospital or morgue after getting in Freemans ways.

Old Hutch was more than impressed, not only with Freeman's vehicle of choice, but also of the potential monster hunting going on in the secret underground corridors and Freemans propencity to babble on and on about cheese, Shooters, and Lenny.

But perhaps the biggest selling point was that he was dressed in an ape costume, minus the head, and wore a massive sombrero. This looks like a place I want to work, damn it!!

Of Songs and Stalkers

Sometimes people ask me, "Hey Hutch, what was up with that song you sang in the seventies? Don't Give Up on Us Baby? Sounds like you may want to face reality and stop stalking the poor chick that just doesn't dig you anymore."

Well, Old Hutch, he just has to chuckle when he hears that. I'll admit, I did stalk a few lovely ladies in my time. Even thumped a few with a very large stick, when their constant whining got to be too much. Oh, how I love those high maintenance women... good times.

Anyway, I always found that the women like lots of attention. They like the chocolate, flowers, love poems, ballads, and serenading that I used to do outside their window late at night. Women just scream for joy when you show up at their work to whisk them out to a romantic lunch, or give them a ride home everynight after work, or keep your arm around them the entire time you're at a celebrity party so that no other guy can talk to them or try to get their phone number. They even like it when you follow them around all night, keeping a close eye on them so that no one tries to follow them into the john. Yup, stick close as glue, that's what Old Hutch does, and in my time, I was pretty good with the ladies. Yes sirree.

And I don't think they call it stalking when you just can't wait to see your special lady so you hurry over to her house only to find she isn't home. So you wait and wait because you had planned this special surpise dinner all week, but the dumb broad doesn't even have the courtesy to be there.

Then about five hours later when you're falling asleep on her doorstep, here she comes down the walk all dressed up and shouting, "What are you doing here? Get out of here right now. I told you I never wanted to see you again. If you don't stop hasseling me I"m going to call the cops and get a restraining order on you."

And then her new boyfriend who's a professional football player kicks your ass as you scream "I love you! Why are you doing this to me? I'll never leave you! We were meant to be together and our love will never die!" After they load you in the ambulance, you're convinced she'll call to make sure you're okay, but I guess I just always pick the selfish type because next thing you know I'm outside their window throwing rocks, trying to get an invite to go upstairs before the police arrive and haul me off.

So don't tell me Don't GIve Up On Us Baby is about stalking. I don't even know the meaning of the word. All Old Hutch knows about is love. Love that never dies. Love that makes you lonelier than you've ever felt before, but you know even if it takes sixty years that someday she'll be yours again. Now that's love.

Don't Blame Me For This

The King said something about a meme and then beat me with his spatula. So here it is, in glorious black and white, or whatever color it is. I'm a little toasted right now.

[A is for age:]
No idea, man. I just use my head shot to track the parts I can play. Right now it's down to Old Codger, Homeless Drunk in Alley, or Corpse.

[B is for booze of choice]
All booze is choice in my book.

[C is for career]
I used to be Hutch.

[D is for your dog's name:]
Oh man, I didn't know I had a dog. Wonder what I did with it. My brain hurts.

[E is for essential items you use everyday:]
Booze. Frozen turkeys. Grand Turino. Huggy Bears platform shoes. Butter.

[F is for favorite song(s) at the moment:]
Don't Give Up On Us

[G is for favorite games:]
Turkey Shoe Slide

[H is for hometown:]
Quite honestly, I'm not sure where I am right now.

[I is for instruments you play:]
The sweet guitar for the sweet sweet ladies.

[J is for jam or jelly you like:]
I like jelly 'cause jam don't shake like that.

[K is for kids?]
Let's see, did I have kids? No idea, man. I must have been drunker than a skunk in a moonshine hole.

[L is for last kiss?:]
What are you talking about? There's no way I've had my last kiss. The ladies like Hutch.

[M is for most admired trait:]
I was Hutch.

[N is for name of your crush:]
That Farrah Fawcett was fine, until she lost her mind and insisted the turkeys in aisle seven were talking to her in her dreams.

[O is for overnight hospital stays:]
Woah, there's too many of those to count. I lost track after that accident in 1979 when I drank an entire case of Ripple and ended up with my ass in a sling after the weight lifting competition in Venice.

[P is for phobias:]
Tadpoles. Very large rocks. Pointy hats.

[Q is for quotes you like:]
Starsky...shut up!

[R is for biggest regret:]
I played Hutch.

[S is for sweets of your choice:]
The sweet sweet ladies.

[T is for time you wake up:]
People are always telling me it's time to wake up, but I'm not falling for their mind games.

[U is for underwear:]
Don't wear it.

[V is for vegetables you love:]
Beethoven.

[W is for worst habit:]
Drinking in the frozen food section at night while I wear slide around in my turkey shoes... you're not going to let my boss see this, are you?

[X is for x-rays you've had:]
Too many to list, my friends, too many to list.

[Y is for yummy food you make:]
Cheez whiz with toast triangles.

[Z is for zodiac sign:]
Woah, Hutch ain't going there. Wasn't that guy locked up for good after getting convicted of those murders.

Now wheres that case of Ripple the King promised me? And where's that fine lady that I was going to meet and croon some sweet loving music to until she was mine for the night?

Hutch Loves the Ladies and Cake

Yeah, you know I love the ladies, especially when they're dressed like 1920s flappers. They make me a bit uneasy, but I just drink some Old Crow and go into a stupor.And when a girl looks like a hooker, well I just about go crazy...except when Starsky sees me with them. Then it's just unnerving and shameful. So I tell him I like women with cake in their purse, because hookers usually look like they could have a cake in their purse. And if there's one thing I love, it's cake.
But if there's anything I love more than cake, it's women. Women manniquins are at the top of my list. They're pretty, they don't talk back, you can eat cake off them, and when you get mad, you can rip off their arm, beat them with it and they don't call the cops.
Now if there's one thingI know it's that ladies love my singing. I'm not really sure what went wrong at last nights party, but the only one who was looking at me doe-eyed was Old Starsk, but then again he'd had way too much to drink.
Starsky sure does know how to throw a party. He invites a couple of women, a couple old guys, and then we know we're going to score because there's no competition. Plus he makes a fantastic cake. His cakes are as big a lampshade and twice as tasty. Damn Starsky throws a good party.

Of Cakes and Kings....

I remember when me and old Starsk had us a cake fight. It was an accident, you see, because this old broad had called Starsky a punk and then up and throwed a big old slab of cake in his face. Heh heh heh, well you can imagine how mad ol' Starsky got on that one. He was pig biting mad and jumping around like a tick on an old hound dog.

Next thing you know, old Starsk is picking up a trowel full of cake himself and flinging it right at the old broad. But you see Starsky had an arm that amounted to nothing. He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn even if he tried. And though the troublemaker was standing right next to him, well....that old arm of his just slung back and winged that cake as if she was ten yards downfield.

Needless to say, old Hutch ended up with a face full of cake and humiliation. That Starsky, he was always hitting old Hutch with something. Good times... come to think of it, old Starsk only seemed to have trouble with his aim when old Hutch's head was in the immediate vicinity.... good times.

I'm Locked in the Freezer

Hey, is anyone out there? Ol' Hutch made a little mistake last night. I was supposed to unload a shipment of turkeys in the walk in freezer before I punched out for the night. But I made a little miscalculation.

It seemed like a good idea to unload the turkeys and drink a bottle of Wild Turkey to make the job more fun. One turkey in the freezer....one gulp of wild turkey....two turkeys in the freezer....two gulps of wild turkey. You get my drift.

I don't know what I was thinking, because next thing I know I'm frozen to a pile of turkeys due to the massive amount of drool I produce while sleeping. When I finally am able to get my shelf stocking apron off, I notice that the whole place is dark because everyone left for Christmas.

So if anyone has a key to the store, and can unlock the padlock on the freezer, I'd like to get the hell out of here. In fact, I need to get the hell out of here right now. There's no bathroom and I don't have a coat.

So unless you want me wearing a coat of turkeys and using the corner of your precious freezer as my own personal outhouse, I'd suggest you let me out of here pronto...ya stupid punks.

Hutch's Confession

Sometimes when I stock the shelves late at night and there's no one around, I put turkeys on my feet and pretend they're shoes. Then I grab a ham for a hat. I stuff my hands into a couple of angelfood cakes, grease the floor with butter, and slide on my turkey shoes until I pass out either from konking my head or all that Old Crow I had to drink.

If any of the kids that work there catch me, I stuff their heads in a turkey. Those punks aren't going to get away with calling me "Old Man Ham", or "That Crazy Guy Who Wears Meat", or "That Guy Who Used to Be Famous in Some Old Tv Show My Dad Used To Watch When He Was Kid." I'll show those stupid punks who's the boss. Aren't laughing so hard now with a turkey on your head, are you punk? Didn't think so.