Oh great it's Flanders
Now my whole day is ruined
your joy ruins lives
The Crack Man Cometh, pt. 1:
So I figured today I would take you down the very long, very shitty path I had to walk through what I like to deem "the crack years". After my parents got divorced, we moved with my dad to Kansas to live with my uncle. after about a year, when I was ready for high school, we moved to North Kansas City, and that's where it happened.
My dad is a lover, he needs the ladies in his life. What's wrong with that, you might ask? Well in itself, nothing, but since he was too lazy to go looking for what he wanted (my dad is white but will only get with an ebony queen) in the right places (church, library, a bar, somewhere public and legal) he ended up picking up....let's say "less than favorable" prospects. This is the story of one of them, probably one of the better ones since he married this one.
I will not give out her real name, though I am pretty sure she does not have Internet access it still would not be right, so I'll call her "Janet". Dad came home really late one night, all excited because he had met someone finally. I was genuinely happy for him, 1) because that meant I did not have to worry about walking by his room and accidentally seeing him jerking it (come on, at least shut your door I have to walk by there to get to the bathroom!) and 2) he would leave me alone about finding him a woman, like I really wanted him banging one of my friend's moms.
He pulled me aside, away from my little brother (I am not sure why, since my little brother is about 30 times the thug I am or could ever be, you can't be gangster and be a fat boy with glasses, it's just not cricket) and gave me the juicy details on the beginnings of what he assumed was a love dynasty.
"I was at a crack party"- wait, stop right there. I had no idea what he was talking about and he was still droning on about laying waste to 200 dollars of the rock candy and how it made him feel and blah blah blah.... my fucking dad smokes crack? I felt a gray hair appear on my head and my attention turned to all of the items in our house that would soon be ensconced snugly in the closest pawn shop -"and that's where I saw her: I tell you son I fell in love, she was doing the rock circle-" I must interrupt yet again, the "rock circle" is a hallowed tradition apparently at these "crack parties", where a sufficiently skanky woman will go around in a circle of dudes, each of them holding either a crack rock or a component to a crack pipe (from here the tradition gets kind of muddled) and she must suck them off in order to attain that quest item, not unlike Zelda, except with crack and blowjobs instead of fairies and wizards. Anyway, -"and when she got to me it was love at first sight." Now at this point 2 questions popped into my head. Guess which one I asked:
1. How far back were you in the circle?
2. How fucking far back were you in the circle?!
I mean really, think about this: you are sitting in a circle, apparently after having smoked a bunch of crack or whatever, and you see some lady blowing dudes for rocks. Is the first thing through your head "Man I think I'm in love"?!
Anyway, I went to bed completely confused that night. On the one hand, my dad just told me he was smoking crack, which sucked. On the other hand, he did NOT tell me whether or not he kissed that woman, but no matter I was not ever going to let his lips touch anything I planned on consuming anything from.
The next week was a blur, I got a girlfriend (I might post about her, not much that is funny but from the poll votes my misery seems to be entertaining) and football season started, as well as school starting. That weekend though all hell broke loose.
I met Janet. She was ugly, but hey my pops liked her what did I care. I had to catch myself from saying something like "Nice to meet you did you suck any cock for crack recently?" or "Are you high right now?" And with a herculean effort I managed to stay silent, simply staring at her mouth wondering how many men it had pleasured in the last 24 hours.
We lived in a 2 bedroom, 1063 square foot apartment. It was a little crowded before, but we had a futon bunkbed and a sega genesis so it was all good. When Janet moved in it got even more crowded, and I wondered how long this would go on. Not much longer, though it ended not the way I thought it would. Janet's 3 kids and her nephew moved in as well. How awesome to share the vast wealth that my pops brought home with 5 more people when I was wearing played out clothes to school already! I could see the XJ900 ProWings coming back at me like an unstoppable rebel force: The great days of actual Reebok shoes and pants that fit and did not smell of marijuana were over.
Of Janet's 3 kids, one was the proverbial gangster, always getting into fights, dealing drugs and humping an alarming rate of hot chicks all the time (dammit!) with what he never minded showing us was what had to be a 12 inch cock. Which further pissed me off, especially since he showed one of the girls I was trying to date and she too became mesmerized, though I can't fault him for that.
Her daughter was strangely attractive, but almost never there and thusly was my favorite out of the three (Long John Polearm was also cool but like I said he banged too many people I wanted to get with for me to like him very much)
Her youngest son was opportunistic to the core. He would come over to our house, eat all the food (usually within a day), play video games until his grandparents had their fridge stocked, then leave our house to repeat the process over there. I hated him because he could get out of the hellhole whenever he felt like it.
The food situation became dire soon thereafter as well. We had enough during the year it was just the 3 bachelors to keep me fluffy, but once the size of the family more than doubled and my dad quit his job because they wanted him to stop smoking crack and "I've got morals!" (no joke) we got about 2 dozen eggs, some bread and Doritos to eat pretty much for all meals every day, which was awesome to me if I had been able to eat any of that stuff. But since my brother and I were the only ones going to school, no dice.
I know you are wondering about why my dad would quit his job. Well, they found out he was smoking crack, probably when he stopped showing up on time and we only lived 6 blocks from his job (really). Instead of firing him, because he had worked there for at that point 13 years, they told him in order to stay employed he had to go to rehab, which they would pay for of course. When he told Janet and the rest of us about it, it was at this point he got all annoyed:
"I told him I quit! I've got morals! I can't stop and I won't stop". Remember that last sentence, it was to become his mantra. When asked what he was going to do since now there were 8 people living in a 2 bedroom apartment with no income, he proudly displayed his gas attendant's shirt and informed us that they did not drug test.