Why's it so damn hot?
I smell like burning bacon
my ass sweat fills cups
Onward with the Crack Chronicles!
Alright we left off talking about the different characters in this saga: My dad, Janet, the pole smoking crack fiend (well technically that could also be my dad....wait I'm getting ahead of myself) Her son, Long John (Polearm), Her fatter son, who would literally call and ask if we had more groceries before coming over to eat them all, let's call him Fatso, because he was, in fact, a fatso, being almost 200 pounds at 11, and a total douche at that. Her daughter is inconsequential and thus warrants no catchy name in my blog.
So we tried to settle into life in Northeast Kansas City, home of the many varied gangs, which funnily enough included only one neo nazi gang and the rest were split pretty evenly between what I called the Vatos (latino gangs), which were by far the coolest ones because as long as you did not bother them they never bothered you, I guess they were not even a gang just a bunch of strangely calm latino gentlemen who would beat the shit out of you if you made too much noise or complained about their music and all wore wifebeaters and chinos, and the requisite wannabe Crips/ Bloods, with Ramon and Pookie both claiming membership (another story).
Anyway, life was not that bad, Dad did not trust Janet at all, and so like any loving husband would do, he constantly called to check up on her, followed her into the bathroom when he was home, all the while telling her "I don't mind smelling you baby, I love everything about you", yes sounding just like a bitch the whole time. He also took us out of school to watch her while he was at work, and to tell him where she went if he called. He actually left work and drove home the one time she walked up to the corner store for a soda, and when he got there his face was red from crying so hard. He then went inside to smoke some more crack before leaving for work, and got fired the next day.
"So what is Toboggan Boy, Stevester?" You might be wondering aloud. Toboggan Boy is my dad. I will explain. Sometimes different dealers and assorted people my brother and I were strangely forbidden to interact with but whom Janet's kids ran to like they were Santa Claus would come by to pick Janet up to go shopping or to go to a crack party or whatever it is they picked her up for - I know one of them was a dealer who would only pick her up when they owed him a lot of money, so he was a regular visitor. Anyway she would head out to the car, and my dad - wearing whatever it was he was wearing when they showed up - including more often than not this pair of incredibly tight faux silk burgundy boxers (my dad was a fat, hairy white guy who, as my mom said, had no ass but literally "just a crack that runs down his back and has a hole in it"... get the visual, hold it, hold it now VOMIT!!) and nothing else - would try to run down 3 flights of stairs to either stop her, see if he could go too or just to kiss her in front of them so whoever it was (usually either their dealer or someone in her family, who all knew they were married) would know she was his. When he was wearing the shorts, he would stand outside for as long as it took, nothing else on, ensuring that I would never get a date.
Anyway, the nickname came about that winter. Janet decided she was going to go visit her mother, it being the Christmas season and all, and this time she was not going to take my dad, no matter how much he jumped up and down or whined (which he did every time until everyone let him have his way). When her mom showed up, Janet attempted to covertly sneak out of the house in order to get some peace and quiet while my dad was asleep. We were standing around outside, just hanging out. I happened to look up and see my dad looking out the window, a crazed glare in his eye at the treachery his love was causing. We hear the "aWhough whough whuuuugh!" sound of him bawling his wimpy eyes out just slightly above the din of him running down the stairs, yelling "Baby NoooOOooOo!"
It had been snowing, and living in a dump like that none of us had yet taken the initiative of salting the ground yet. There was a healthy patina of snow on the stairs. My dad had apparently missed this crucial fact as he came barrelling out the door, wearing only the silk boxers with the smelly skid in the back. I will try to explain what happened next as if it was happening in slow motion, as it in reality only took about 15 seconds from start to finish:
My dad burst through the front door, yelling "Baby NooOOo!" and running in actuality pretty fast for a fat old guy. he hit the first group of stairs at full speed, and miraculously made it down them still going strong. When he hit the landing before the second, much longer flight, the adrenaline/ crack fueling his system apparently began to wear down, and his eyes got wide as he....slipped. Amazingly, instead of busting his face, the snow acted as sort of a ramp and he slid, head first in his burgundy faux silk boxer shorts, to the ground, not even missing a beat as he jumped up and ran almost headfirst (he hit it with his shoulder) into the car, and even possibly dislocating his shoulder did not stop him from the "Baby No"s... More later.