100 Dirty Words
by tommy kirchhoff
Itís better to have your enemies think youíre crazy than reasonable. Me?
Iím pry just a big, dumb fish swimminí in 100 kinds of snow. Corduroy, corn
snow, crystalline or crustóIím eust to all of it.
Everybody thinks an overgrown guppy like me canít patrol the mountain same
as other fish. But, Iím a businessman. If I catcha little baitfish poachiní
powder O.B., Iím real calm when I say, ďCumeeear.Ē I listen to him talk; and
then I listen samore. Vinny the Shark told me long ago, ďA fish is killed
by its open mouth.Ē So if little squidbreath canít bite his tongue, I cut
him, and putim on ice.
Maybe because of my size, I canít blast through the Wipperweeds at the Canyons;
and maybe Iím not as graceful as a dolphin on a Deer Valley groomer. But at
Park City, Iím the prince of the fishbowl.
And anyway, ski patrolís just my day gig. Ominna let you in on the cosa nosta.
I gotta a nice little SpeakEasy in Park City that serves good beer and REAL
drinks; you know, big as you want, strong as you want. I got guys dealiní
death cookies in Nevada; I got cocaine snow at Alta; and I got ALL KINDS of
hoars in Wyoming. Moneyís always welcome, even if it comes in a dirty sack.
And thatís where The Church does the dishes for me. Crisp and clean and no
I made a killing at Sundance this year. Who needs all that film fluff? Booking,
bumps and takiní baconóthatís where the action was. Lucky for me, Harry Oís
had total control of the Park City nightlife. They sharpen up like good steel
and keep things looking cleaner than a backcountry dump. The barís a perfect
base for all my dogfish to do business. And we ripped an avalanche. Course,
there were a few casualties. We got hung up in some mashed potatoes after
that late snow party. I had to have Tony the Tuna and Manny Mackeral do some
serious cleanup. The next day, both of those fins got reeled in for assault
and battery. ďAlways draw an eel from the hole with another manís hand.Ē
Now that the townís back to normal, Iím back up to my ass in alligatorsÖand
itís time to drain the swamp. My enemy has been working up something stinking.
I may not be the brightest beluga on ice, but I know when that shark-livered
varmint is about to throw a bomb. Back in snow school, my enemy and I were
always swimming circles around each other. Then one day on heavy windpack,
he placed a shot above me and I was caught in a slide. I was almost killed,
but he came to my rescue. As oz freezing and beein crushed in heavy slabs
of snow, my enemy made me repeatedly vow my life to him. I bowed very, very
low that day, and Iíve held that bitter memory ever since. Now ommina exact
Right before Sundance, my enemy tried to make me an offer to partner up
on the piste. Barracuda lose their teethóbut not their nature. I told him
that my lineís ardy skied out and that I donít have much to offer. It was
a lie; but killer whales donít hunt goldfish. Ainít that dafaquin truthÖ
Since then, heís been quiet; silence makes no mistakes, ya know what I mean?.
Aowncare what kinda offer he tries ta make. If I let him believe heís my equal,
heíll think heís my superior. My plan is to set up some of his piranhas using
their modus operandi. Then, when they get picked up in the moguls, Iíll make
a sizable contribution to the local government.
Waita minute. Maybe thatís dumb. Iím, Iím leaviní somethin out here. I know
I had a good plan, but uh, wairdit go?
Ah Skrewit. Omgoan skiing.