Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Get Outta My Dreams (part II)

Overtime, niggie!
I only work "Booty-assed"
Failure? Yep, that's Me!


So Smeagol, being a classy guy, called and left a message for Mystery to vacate the premises, which I assume she does, as I do not see her for almost 6 months. Smeagol completely deflected any interest the ladies would have in JJ, and I had a girl and am not no GQ model, especially standing next to JJ, so the evening was uneventful, with Smeagol eating most of the popcorn and slurping our sodas until we gave them to him out of disgust, then falling asleep, totally wasting the 8 bucks I spent on his ticket since he could have slept at home.

A few days later, Smeagol calls me up all excited. "I got a fine honey with me, I am going to bring her up!" OK whatever, I pick the house up and wait the requisite 2 hours it takes Smeagol to make the 20 minute drive up to my house since he has to take these outlandish routes to evade the police that are constantly pursuing him like the unstoppable rebel force that is also the exodus of his teeth and success from his frail failure-ridden thong wearing body.

He pulls up in a 2001 Mercury Mountaneer. It's July of 2002. I look on in complete shock, wondering what retarded car salesman allowed Smeagol into his shop, much less let Smeagol drive off in a brand new vehicle. There is a real life temporary tag in the back window, not one of the horrible laugh-worthy poorly spelled completely unrealistic date (Smeagol has had temp tags with blue and green marker on them, he has had them with the month misspelled, he has had them with dates 6 or 7 months in the future, he has had a temp tag dated February 30 ("for leap year niggie!") and a bunch of times temp tags that he only taped the bottom up so when cops got behind him they would assume the tag was legal but was coming off, a good theory, but one that never worked) looking ones he usually bought.

While I was looking, I heard Smeagol grunt and moan like a mystical retard as he tried to extricate himself from the vehicle, having to hop the last 4 or 5 inches to the ground and doing that anguished "Goddamn it niggie!" he did under his breath whenever his feet were ravaged by a cotton fiber or a stiff breeze or a kitten walking on them. He raptored over, cawing with pride, and then she stepped out.

At first blush, Erica was not all that bad. She had a decent body, maybe a little trim for me, but had some nice curves and from behind that crinkle hairdo that is so hot. Then she turned around. Holy hell I could see her brain through her nose. She was definitely a 4, maybe a 5 if you could keep from looking at her face. I also noticed that I had seen her before... but where? Smeagol grabbed her in a scaly claw and informed me that she was Erica, and that she was his main squeeze now, doing that annoying little chuckle people on tv do when they are all gathered around the fire, leggings and turtlenecks on, holding a coffee mug in both hands while they talk about housing prices and their investment portfolios before popping viagras to....

Anyway, Erica seems to remember me as well, and we head up to the apartment to visit. Even though he has a girlfriend, Smeagol manhandles (raptorhandles?) my lady and cops a generous feel in the process. I then, whilst looking at Erica and her hideous child, some really big headed kid that has Constasnot coming out of his nose and that koolaid lip ugly ghetto kids have, that I realize where I kow her from. She was a freshman at Northeast when I was a Senior... this chick was only 19 years old and the Smeags was 33, not that there's anything wrong with that but that on top of the fact that he has no teeth, a messed up perm and no friends to speak of, what is wrong with this girl?

We find out tomorrow.

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