Another story- then I must retire for the day

I'm getting the prickly sinus feeling- and so shall give another gift of myself. A story for you all.

In honor of Sin City opening today- this one is true. (Mickey Rourke is in it- you'll see the significance)

Many years ago, Spouse and I were travelling from Billings to Missoula. We stopped in Butte (at the Harrison Ave Exit, if you must know) to get gas. We pulled in, and saw a red muscle car steaming from the radiator- it was covered with white spray painted words - "Just Married" and "LA Sucks" prominent among them.

As we went inside to pay, a fellow ran up to us- he was a tad excited. He shouted, "That car- it's Mickey fucking Rourke! I saw him drive up and he smiled at me! Mickey fucking Rourke! He's my favorite actor!" Then he ran to the next car with the same message. So I looked at Spouse, we shrugged at eachother, and said, "cool. Mickey fucking Rourke."

We went in to pay for the gas. I got in line. Spouse is with me (not Spouse at the time, btw- but Boytoy). Who should saunter up, but Mickey fucking Rourke. With his rather windblown and skanky-looking new wife. He eyes me as if to say, "step aside and let me cut in front of you." I didn't move, or blink- I just started a conversation with the short woman behind me- about the tub-o-soda that she was purchasing. She told me that her husband consumes two of these per day. I wonder if he's still alive, or in a diabetic coma somewhere in Butte...but I digress.

Mickey fucking Rourke gets in line after her and listens to our riveting discussion of soda. Hee hee. We were sooooo cool. Didn't gush. Didn't say a damned thing. But sure did check him out. He was tall, had a silly Prince Valiant black hair cut, with a baseball cap on top, and wore long baggy shorts with a leather jacket. Overall an odd assemblage. His wife was in very short brown leopard-print shorts, with a brown suedish jacket with fringe. Very LA, not very Butte. Most noticable- he has an enormous- gigantic- head. Must've made the boxing career hard- there was so much target to hit! We decided on the spot to start a rumor that Mickey Rourke is hydrocephalic. There. My gift to you. An old story in agonizing detail, and a stupid rumor. Happy day, all! And we all lived happily after. Except the Mountain Dew swilling husband- who I'm sure is prematurely dead. (and it was Mountain Dew- she told us.)