Fargo North Decoder

An old Internet chum from the turn of last century—oh, how that sounds like such a long time ago; but relatively for many, it certainly is—introduced himself to me by logging onto a comedy forum I hosted on one of my now dead-and-defunct, formerly illustrious Web sites, mentioned succinctly in my previous entry. Fargo North Decoder was how he signed his name, or shall we say typed it after many words of astute wisdom were expressed explicitly in his myriad of postings, rich in pertinent, contemporary commentary, satirizing the times in his own extremely twisted, right-winged way.

Much of his prolific writings was aimed at Bill Clinton, one of my favorite presidents: speaking of which, President’s Day is coming up next week. My profoundly comical cyber-amigo wrote his witty tirades most likely influenced by those infernally funny e-mails that fill up one’s in-box, sent by well-meaning friends and left there for future inspiration, oddball cacophonies; or intellectual drivel and diatribes (oxymorons, if I ever read any). I was tempted to place a smiley-face emoticon at the end of the previous sentence, not for formal writing 🙂

The new millennium, which ain’t so new anymore, spawned many pleasurably exciting, yet some dreadfully tragic events; economic recession, two wars, two new Chief Executives of the US, one of which served two terms while the other is into his second; and murderous circumstances: life-altering occurrences, changing our way of living from then until now; thirteen years later and I’m not getting any younger. April 15, 2002, dealt Fargo his final blow. He was found dead, hunched over with his head resting on his new MAC computer’s keyboard; and his right hand was still clenching the mouse. My buddy’s son evidently had access to his father’s e-mail contacts and sent a mass-message out to all, informing us his Dad had died the previous day around 11:00 A.M.

Fortunately I had the intuitive foresight to save his diabolical entries, most of which are stored on an external hard drive. However, an ancient, 3.5-floppy disk found recently from yesteryear contains stuff I can’t remember exactly what’s on it, even though the label states, “Fargo’s Last Stand at Comedy Corner”; and I can’t just plug it into a nonexistent slot in my present computers, as floppy-disk drives are no longer provided. I’ll have to pull out an old machine from the few left in storage to inspect what’s on the mysterious plastic disk. Better yet, a retained laptop with Windoze 95 running the antique would be easier to set up.

One of Fargo’s last entries on my comedy venue examined “age,” and how we all view it. His contribution is set forth as is; the punctuation, grammatical and sentence structures were left unmodified in any way:

     Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like
     to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years
     old, you're so excited about aging that you think in
     fractions.

     "How old are you?"

     "I'm 4 and half."

     You're never 36 and a half, but you're 4 and a half going
     on 5! That's the key. You get into your teens, now they
     can't hold you back. You jump to the next number.

     "How old are you?"

     "I'm gonna be 16."

     You could be 12, but you're gonna be 16. And then the
     greatest day of your life happens: you become 21. Even the
     words sounds like a ceremony--you BECOME 21. YES!!!!

     But then you turn 30. Ooohhh, what happened here?? Makes
     you sound like bad milk. He TURNED. We had to throw him
     out. There's no fun now. What's wrong?? What changed???

     You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40...
     stay over there, it's all slipping away...

     You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, you're PUSHING 40, you REACH
     50...my dreams are gone...

     You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, you're PUSHING 40, you REACH
     50 and then you MAKE IT to 60...Whew! I didn't think I'd
     make it.

     You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, You're PUSHING 40, you REACH
     50, you MAKE IT to 60, and by then you've built up so much
     speed, you HIT 70! After that, it's a day by day thing. You
     HIT Wednesday, you get into your 80s, you HIT lunch. I mean
     my grandmother won't even buy green bananas, "Well it's an 
     investment, you know, and maybe a bad one."

     And it doesn't end there...Into the 90's, you start going
     backwards: I was JUST 92. Then a strange thing happens, if
     you make it over 100, you become a little kid again: I'm
     100 and a half!!

     Age is a funny thing.

Anecdotes from Fargo North Decoder will grace these sheets from time to time, as well as some of the other nonsense archived from Comedy Corner.

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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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