broke his bank, totaled his car and slept with
his wife.
of course, everybody was sleeping with his
wife but a nicer guy you never
met.
T.K. Kemper played a couple of years with
the Green Bay Packers
then a bad knee got him.
he went into automotive repair,
did very good work.
he was a
lousy card player though; we'd get him
drunk and take it all from
him,
his wife lurking in the background, her tits
hanging out.
T.K. Kemper.
big, big guy.
hands like hams.
honest blue eyes.
give you the shirt off his back.
give you his back if he could.
one night after work he saw two punks
snatch a purse from an old
lady.
he ran after them when
one of the punks turned, had a gun, fired
5 shots.
he was a big, big guy.
he caught all 5 shots, hit the pavement
hard, didn't move.
there was a good crowd at the funeral.
his wife cried.
my friend Eddie consoled her,
then took her home and f**ed
her.
T.K. Kemper.
bad knee.
good heart.
he was not meant for this indifferent world.
only with supreme luck did he last
29 years.