Peacock & Peach

Gerry grew up in a low rental district in southern Ontario, almost ghetto like in the 60’s, 70’s, and part 80’s. They were and still are tough neighborhoods and one had to learn how to fight, run, or hide. High on the introvert scale he didn’t associate much but he did learn how to fight in the streets. Saw the first guns come into the area in the early 80’s via Jamestown, New York when the Crips and Blood began to venture north. By the mid 80’s he finally left the old neighborhood to never return, to start his own life. He thought he left everything behind when at the age of 63 he had a confrontation in downtown Toronto and like Iron Mike, Gerry came out of retirement. He didn’t get paid 5 Mil. but came out on top of a much younger opponent. Robin Hood was his boyhood hero, and he loved to climb trees and later learned archery. Gerry is always for the underdog. His first bicycle was purple. Athletic in many sports he is about to embark in Roller Speed Skating. A runner, past triathlete, like most Canadians played hockey. Learning early in life that a silent standout in a crowd is feared. He stays in shape to protect his children shielded from the life he knows. He has a wife, six kids, one grandchild and one on the way. A mechanic, once a graphic artist and illustrator.

Peacock & Peach

A vein fucker the peacock in full bloom disgusted with the look of its own feet runs and screams at the sight of them, unlike the big cock on the high roof top of a weathervane, helpful, quiet, strong with an arrow to point the winds direction. I knew this guy, Johnathon Peacock. A real ladies’ man and what an asshole. Ran around town, didn’t appear to have a job—made every man suspicious of his wife. Mothers hid their daughters. One of those fuckers that called himself a professional poker player. Poker face alright, I wished I had given him a few.

A stranger road into town and it wasn’t long, the woman called him Arizona Peach because he had the length and the girth of a large can of iced tea and the inviting flesh tone of a peach. The town was in disarray with two serial fuckers with poker faces running around town. This was really starting to piss off Peacock.

“Who does that Peach think he is, laying claim? This is my town!”

“What are you going to do Peacock?” I asked.

“I've got a good mind to beat him to death with my beef salami.”

“Pfaff, I’d like to see that. What are the odds”?

When the sheriff got wind of what Peacock had threatened, and when the cock on the roof signaled a change in direction, the sheriff made a phone call to the prison guard. Then he made another to his favorite makeup artist. He then announced to the town there’s going to be a little competition between Peacock and Peach and both these men will remain in my custody until next Tuesday.

Everyone in town was anxious, next Tuesday is today and just about all the towns folk thought it might be a grueling sword fight to the end. They brought their raincoats. Suddenly the cock on the roof pointed west, the wind picked up and out of the east two white panel trucks show up. Peacock and Peach haven’t seen any action for a week. Two van loads with the most beautiful burly woman with poker faces. RuPaul driving one and Bianca del Rio driving the other.