I’m fadin’ fast. Real fast. Warp speed. Sure, I still play well against the moribund, the sclerotic and a few cachexic gomers, plus, if ya wanna know, I do extremely well against prepubertal girls who weigh less than 60 pounds. But … I’m losin’ to some bums these days, chumps that I used to beat with my eyes closed. In fact, I don’t call them “bums” and “chumps” anymore. I call them gifted and accomplished players. Hey, if they beat me, why not, because these bedwetters are killing me now. (Ed. Now you duh bum! Your arrogance merits this rightful comeuppance. Yep, you’re the bum now, the chump … the bedwetter!)
Yeah, so okay, I’m not sittin’ on a high horse these days. It’s more like a miniature horse. No more gloating with a photograph of me with my foot perched on a carcass after a kill. Now I’m the vulnerable prey, and now I know what they mean by oh how the mighty have fallen.
I never really knew how inglorious and miserable it was to lose. I do now: it hurts. So I want to apologize for all those years of of being what I suppose you’d call a bad winner. To all those losers I taunted and made fun of as stupid or inept, I’m sorry. Listen, now I have deep, heartfelt regrets about that. I’m sorry to all of you out there that I killed, and for rubbing in the salt to the wounds afterward by saying that you were stupid or inept – or both - even if you were. My humble apologies. Lao Du
Editor: That doesn’t sound like a sincere apology, and it doesn’t sound like our wonder boy has serious remorse. There’s certainly no humility wound up in this so-called apologetica. It so happens that I played with Lao Du the other day, and this reinforced my feeling that Lao Du has not yet joined the righteous and virtuous despite this phony contrition of his. Yes, he may no longer be a bad winner, as he put it but, unfortunately, he’s converted to being a sore loser. I want you all to know that I beat the yutz three games to none, and then he threw a tantrum … AND his racket. Oh, and he cried! I’m also pretty sure he lied to his diary.
Someone asked me recently if she could come and join us at PPP in Pleasantville. Of course, I said, we welcome just about anyone – PwP and volunteers – all welcome to come to our sessions. There are only a few requirements for admission. Naturally, we require vaccinations for safety. We had also mandated mask-wearing for awhile, too, but relaxed that as pandemic conditions improved in our area. We were always consistent with another rule, however, the one that said that no one was allowed to bring any AR 15’s to PPP. Otherwise, it was just bring yourself and a list of active checking and savings accounts that you have at banks and brokerages, as well as notarized info indicating your cash on hand. You have to provide these documents, along with your credit card and social security numbers to Lao Du upon entering the door. (We don’t know exactly what he does with all this collected personal data, but we have all observed an updated wardrobe and a new Corvette with which he’s been tooling around town. It’s the Torch Red one in the parking lot at WTTC, in case you were wondering.)
Conspiracy Theory Goin’ Around The Ping Pong Club: George Soros is negotiating to buy the WTTC in order to convert it into a Yeshiva, and will begin busing students in from Munsey after the deal is consummated. When asked if the students will be required to wear masks, Sorros replied: “No, only yarmulkes”.
Editor: Staff News: We almost hired a new guy to help us run the program at PPP in Pleasantville. I don’t like to put anyone down, but this guy had the cognitive resources of a roundworm, plus he held some unsubstantiated ideas, such as this conspiracy theory that some players using long pips and antispin at our club were satan-worshiping anarchists who were drinking blood that wasn’t their own. He had dropped out of college after one semester and, to my knowledge, had never worked at a job for more than a few months. (His last employer had accused him of malfeasance, nonfeasance and misfeasance – that’s a helluva lot of ‘feasance.’) Even worse, he had inadequate ping pong skills. His social skills were equally deficient, in addition to his having halitosis and a horrendous case of B.O. In other words, he had what you’d call a thin resume … and he stunk. Nevertheless, we almost hired him anyway, because the present limping, older gentleman - the dinosaur that we’ve got, our so-called ringmaster who’s older than 3 previous US presidents - is all but ready for Hospice Ping Pong. (Some anecdotal evidence is proof. 1: The DMV is about to revoke his driver’s license. 2: Recently, he refused to follow his orthopedic doctor’s recommendation stating: “I already have a frozen shoulder, why should I put ice on it?”)
It’s not only his knees and shoulders which are shot. His pacemaker needs a new battery and he can’t seem to find his racket or keys on most days (or nights). Maybe worse than any of that, his ping pong rating is plummeting. It’s just so embarrassing for all of us here at PPP to see him playing with that antique racket he uses, the one that he probably made in his garage in 1954. I mean, lemme put it to you this way: This old codger shouldn’t be spending his declining years up here in Pleasantville. The guy is ripe (overripe) and ready for a senior living situation down in Florida somewhere.
When we had to tell him that we were thinking of putting him out to pasture - Thank you for your service, but we’re looking for some new blood - his only response was that there was no need for that, because he’d get a transfusion. Can you imagine that? Well, whadda ya gonna do!
Thing is, we’re still stuck with him for now, but it’s costing us money – for the defibrillator, supplemental oxygen and commodes that we have to have on hand just in case something fateful occurs. We had an emergency Board meeting about him, but hiring a hitman was ruled out … on a close vote. We’re thinking of taking his keys on Tuesdays so that he can’t make it here on our regularly scheduled sessions on Wednesdays. Of course, we’d welcome new applicants to take over his duties and for some new ideas as to how to jettison this geezer, but if this doesn’t happen real soon we’ll have to consider hiring the guy with the halitosis or taking another vote for a hitman ( hey, they shoot horses, don’t they?).
If you know someone who can occasionally hit the ball over the net – and who gargles Listerine - please contact us so that we can replace our old coot.
We’ve been giving out stuff handed down by the estate of PPP’s late, generous benefactor, John Beresford Tipton. Now this giveaway stuff is admittedly mostly expired snacks, and we were giving it to the fortunate (unfortunate?) winners of our little contests (for singing, acting or making faces) during the last 15 minute segment of our ping pong sessions. Well, in a similarly generous spirit, there’s this Chinese philanthropist (he requests anonymity) who wanted to give PPP a donation of some of those 1000 year old eggs he had hanging around. But I had to tell him that none of us at PPP could eat them because they were probably well beyond the expected shelf life (expiration date was probably somewhere in the middle ages). I surely didn’t want to insult him or his culture - or deter future donations - so I asked him if he had any eggs that were only 500 years old instead, since we could probably use those. He looked at me askance (I don’t know why he gave me that suspicious look), and walked away shaking his head. Oh, well, I didn’t mean to offend him, or anything. C’est la ville! Can’t please everybody.
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