My brother, the douche

My brother, the douche
Is it no wonder he smells?
and what's with the perm



So this story is set in that wonderful time when I had pretty much nowhere else to go to escape the crack rock. That magical time when I would walk 4 blocks to a different bus stop in order to hide the fact that I lived in that dump that was the house on 5401 Woodland.



The city had condemned the house we lived in, and though we never paid rent the Smeags also never paid the 800 dollars in back taxes, assuming we could just live there rent free forever and never have to pay for anything else. He also only mowed the lawn once every other month with a fucking sickle. I kid you not, Smeagol, who is all of 5'2, and weighs about 95 pounds, 100 if you count in the grease in his hair and coat of failure he is constantly wearing, along with the thin patina of filth that is always there because he does not bathe regularly, or if he does he misses the same parts every time, is trying to mow our lawn with a 6 foot long grim-fucking-reaper sickle. Now, truth be told, it was king of bent so it was straight along the bottom and kind of resembled a rake without the little talon things on it... but it was still a sickle and that's how he used it, looking completely fucking insane the entire time and usually running out of energy long before he could finish or even put a sizable dent in the yard.



Another reason the city condemned our house was because it was literally rotting. There were these huge gaping holes in the roof, that whenever it rained we had to set out a couple of fucking TUBS to catch it all and rarely did even then. It also served as a local wildlife sanctuary, where all of the stray cats and squirrels and various rodents could get in out of the elements for a few minutes by walking unhampered into the attic, where I would later find someone's tranny magazines (I to this day do not want to know who those belonged to) along with a split beaver magazine, which I did keep as it sounded funny. Yeah, that's why I kept it. Porn Roxxors!

The distinct architecture of the house was situated so that there was the attic, and then a small wooden door that led directly into my room from there, so at any given time during the night (especially in the winter for some reason) I could fall asleep listening to the soothing sounds of various rodents scratching at the door and cats meowing and humping each other long into the night. I tell you it did wonders for my rep with the ladies. I tried to dress it up by constantly having a radio going, but it rained one night and of course soaked the radio, which then promptly fell out of the hole in the back window when Mystery's cat accidentally bumped it while committing suicide. That's right, we found the cat dead behind the house, next to my damn radio, which annoyed me. I didn't care about that stupid cat, I knew he was in a better place, though it was funny seeing Mystery doing her little annoyed snort because another one had escaped.

Anyway, it was warm out, meaning Smeagol had turned his preciousssss heat down finally, as it was 100 degrees outside, and bought a nice little inflatable pool. Pretty sweet, I thought, and I quickly changed into some trunks to go sit in it, as it was about 3 foot deep and sure beat sitting in that hot ass house, the fragrant odors of Mystery & Smeagol's (Look for that brand in your grocer's freezer) sexmilk, ass, stank ass clothes washed in the tub and general BO baking into my clothes and psyche. I mosey on out, and without looking put my leg into the pool.

And feel something that is not water or pool side, but skin.

I yank my foot out, and look in the pool to see Bageera, Smeagol's 16 foot Burmese python, lazily swimming around. Luckily she had eaten recently, so she did not mind so much that I had touched her, but still. Smeagol comes Raptor-walking around the corner of the house, and seeing me standing there in my trunks, starts giggling like a 12 year old bitch. "Tee hee you almost became lunch niggie giggle giggle!"

At that point karma kicked in and Smeagol stubbed his toe on one of the stone steps leading up to the house and began rolling around on the ground howling like, like, well like a mystical retard baying at the moon, waiting for Jesus and his magical skateboard. I like to think of all the cars that drive by and saw this scene: An incredibly buff manstud standing there in bright orange swimming trunks, only one leg and the middle wet so it looks like I pissed myself; a gigantic snake swimming around in the pool; a lawn that is only about 1/5 mowed, a sickle still leaning on the front porch; various wildlife peering out from the gigantic hole in the roof, and what looks like a raptor with a perm rolling around on the ground cluthcing his foot like it had been amputated. What a friggin douche.