Wednesday, September 19, 2007


Autumn Breeze
Cherish the cool breeze
smells of burnt wood and warm hearth
and my dad's crack pipe

You Liggit Steeve!

So my dad finally got evicted from the duplex we had lived in off and on for almost 10 years soon after I moved in with my older brother. I wondered where he would go because the rent for a 4 bedroom duplex was 350 and he was complaining about not being able to afford that on his super salary of 5.85 he was pulling down from the corner gas station where he worked.

I got a call from my little brother a few days later, and he sounded kind of down. He informed me my dad had found a place, and I was genuinely happy for him for that, until I heard the details. Apparently dad had found a room in a modified crack house just off of 10th and Central in KCK, the area that accounts for about 70% of the calls to the local police station for drugs and gangs. He was staying in a "room", which I mistakenly assumed meant a small apartment, which was in actuality a room with a toilet and shower in a closet and another closet with a sink and refrigerator in it, so a modified studio. I went and saw the place, stepping over crackheads who were asleep at the foot of the steps, and made sure I never let my skin touch any surfaces.

This place was a dump. There was that constant smell of urine, crack (I kid you not) and fucking failure. So I knew I was in the right place to see my dad. I could hear people fighting and screwing through the sheetrock walls. There was my dad's 1890's wrought iron bed, which forever smelled of clammy wet ass, so of course I ran my cheek against it in fond remembrance, a 1970's model floor television, no cable of course, a phone on the dresser, and a cot next to the refrigerator in the kitchen, where I guess my little brother slept. Awesome. My dad and Janet had left to "go see about a little something" which meant they were going to go get rocks from the dealer on the first floor, I dunno why they thought we were fooled, and my little brother gave that exasperated sigh which meant either my dad had pawned off something else of his or he had heard another "foolish foolish man" story, but I was wrong on both counts.

"You'll never believe what I woke up and heard and saw the other night," he started, the pain of remembering such an experience obviously troubling him.

Apparently he had woken up because a rat or roach had crawled on his pillow, or maybe he had heard the commotion coming from the main room (my dad and Janet called it a "parlor", it just looked like a dingy crack den to me), but at any rate he woke up and sat up to find my dad in a very invigorating session of cunnilingus with Janet.

He described sitting there, horrified, as there was this disgusting slurping sound intermingled with these strained farts coming from Janet as she mashed his head further and further down into the bowels of...ugh I don't want to finish. She was also saying in an almost angry way "You Ligget Steve, you liggeeeeeeeet!" my dad, apparently, was completely naked and my little brother got a fleeting glance at his own dad's naked asshole, which no one should ever see (but unfortunately is passed down like a trait, my son accidentally saw mine and no I will not explain how). JJ (my little bro from now on) kind of cleared his throat to see if they would at least stop since there was nowhere for him to go to escape having to hear them, and Janet apparently looked up at him and then went right back to what she was doing.

"I don't really see anything wrong with that, they were making love" you might be thinking, which would be fine if they had stopped or at least quieted down. But no, they continued "National Geographing it up" in JJ's most eloquent words. My dad apparently finished and then mounted her, and with each mayonnaise infused thrust would moan about "goopussy, goopussy" over and over again while JJ tried in vain to blot out the horrid sound of Janet's monkey hole getting pounded while she still machine gunned flatulence in little spurts throughout the entire encounter. I mean who would keep doing that while getting a faceful of farts the whole time?

They finished, and in typical fashion lit up a crack pipe and smoked their checks away before falling asleep, completely naked still, on top of the blankets, the smell of sex and crack (which is a sickeningly sweet smell) and shit and BO filling the entire area and permeating the walls and clothes with their cocktail of funk. Sadly this was not the only time that happened either, and the practice would rub off, as when JJ moved in with R he would "National Geopraphic it up" with R standing in plain view in his bikini underwear, slurping some tea and staring intently....I gotta tell you I shudder while writing this, because I know for a fact when I lived there he would listen at the bottom of the stairs while I beat some lucky girl's back out too. That's fuggin nasty on so many levels I will not even name them.

More tomorrow, though none Friday as I will be in the middle of nowhere pretending to be homeless, or as it is also known as, "camping" in the damn Ozarks. Here's to the makers of portable DVD players, the PSP and Nintendo DS!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I so need to name my band Cocktail Of Funk, now!