That Crazy Smeagol
Doth this raptor know no shame?
His thong sure doesn't
1. When we were little, mom would take us to cemeteries and make us get out in different sections, and tell us to bring her a set number of names. This was called "getting culture"
2. My mom told my little brother and I that there was an electrical field over the water at mall fountains to keep us from stealing change. I believed it until I was in my 20s (I am not going to tell you how long into my 20s I was before I touched the water)
3. When I was 4, my mother took me to Gilham park and threw me in the deep end of the pool, and told me if I wanted to live to swim out. This was because I asked for swimming lessons a week before
4. When my mom would beat us, she would pick us up by one leg and whip us like a pinata, with a broom handle or extension cord. I one pissed myself whilst being beaten especially hard, and my own piss got in my mouth. I blamed her.
5. I know I have said something about it before, but one time (at band camp) we were at the mall, a crowded mall, let's say Metro North, and she was making a fucking home in the free samples of chips and salsa, and exclaimed loud enough for anyone in the greater metro area to hear "Wow, that was great, I ought to go suck Jeff's dick now to get the spice out!" Right in front of my friend.
6. When her mystical retard sightings would hit her, she would call me at all hours in the middle of the night to inform me of all manner of weird shit she wanted me to do: "Stevester! I dreamed of a fish eating it's own head while a chicken jerked a robot gigolo off onto the countertop! You have to go to Warsaw and pick up a Maple leaf before the Klingons attack!"
So I get a call this weekend from JJ, nothing much just wanting to shoot the shit, and I feel that familiar inkling that something is up with the Smeagol. Turns out that storage company he had his crap at was getting complaints about his - shall we say - less that desirable scented locker. Note when we dropped off the maggot infested fridge, the shit encrusted fish tank and doo doo plastered washer and dryer, we did not spend any time on cleanup. The fact that Smeagol was never very good at adhering to payment schedules factored in, and I heard he is looking around to offload some of his things at various people's houses, because he doesn't want that smelly crap stinking his apartment up, not when his thong does that job admirably by itself. He asked for my phone number.
Anyone got some storage space?