Vince Taylor and Me

When I was dieting for my first contest back in 1988, I called Vince Taylor’s house and reached his mother. She told me he was in Germany loading up on gh at the time. So I asked her if she could tell me any of Vince’s secrets because my first competition was coming up soon. She asked me what I wanted to know. I said, ‘Well, what does Vince eat to get so huge and ripped?’

I sat there, telephone to my ear, rapt with attention and awaiting the Secret of the Nimh. I bounced on my bed in excitement. I was about to get my first peek inside the Lost Ark. That magic elixir was firmly within my grasp. All I had to do was sit back and listen:

‘Oh, Vince doesn’t eat anything except pizza and coke. Oh how he loves his pizza and coke. That’s pretty much all he eats!’

Surely this must be the sound of early onset dementia. Surely this old woman needs to be dragged to the nearest nursing home and robbed of her jewelry.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘Because most guys eat like chicken and fish and stuff.’

Giving her another chance. A way to stay out of that Seizure Village Old Folks place.

‘Oh, I’m sure. After all, I’m his momma. No, Vince just eats pizza and drinks them cans of coke all day long.’

‘Diet?’ I asked, taking copious and thorough notes with my trusty pencil and notepad.

‘No, not diet. Just regular Coke,’ she said.

Clearly losing it. Or perhaps she was part of the plan to deny Special Ed his future pro card. I had to test her one final time.

‘Ohhh, the regular Coke,’ I replied, ‘that comes in the silver can.’

Got her!

‘No, no, no. You need to get the wax out of your ears boy. I said ‘REGULAR COKE’. In the RED can.’

Damn you!

Damn you, Vince!

Damn you, Gramma Taylor!

Damn you all to hell!

RIP Gramma Taylor

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