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CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #574

Every once in a while I like to take a moment and reminisce about my early years growing up in the hardscrabble, New England fishing village of Stymie, Massachusetts. The citizens of Stymie were a simple folk, mostly uneducated Kelvanese immigrants whose lives revolved around what they liked to call the three F's: fishing, fornicating and fighting. One of my fondest memories was the night I pulled off what the locals called the Stymie Trifecta. At seven PM I caught a two-hundred-pound grouper with nothing but my bare hands and a stick of dynamite. At ten o'clock I had relatively safe sex in the backseat of an abandoned AMC Pacer with my second cousin Devonatella. And just before midnight I punched it out with a one-eared, welterweight pastry chef from the neighboring town of Dimple. (The brouhaha ended when I landed a decisive blow on what would, or should, have been his left ear.) Now I know what you're probably thinking, this all seems a mite implausible, like a bit of a yarn, a bunch of hokum. All I can say is next time you're up around North Helmsley-by-the-Bracken, take the Shemphead Highway over to Stymie and ask around. You'll see it all happened exactly as I described. One word of warning: If you pass through Dimple, best not to bring up the fight at the local bakery. Like stereophonic music, it's a sore subject.

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1st Aired: 07 Dec 2017

www.chucklorre.com
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