I'm out of haikus
and yet they still flow freely
Dat's doo doo butter
The Call
So I was getting off of work, and was contemplating standing out in the little courtyard outside the law firm and listening to the Jesus music that had been playing all day whilst masturbating furiously, when my mom called. I looked at the number, wondering if I should just let it roll over to voicemail, remembered she would not know it was voicemail and would simply talk about how spiritual it was that I listened and didn't talk for an hour, and picked up.
"It's Smeagol' she said breathlessly, as if it was an emergency 'he's been beat up something bad Stevester. I need you to pick up JJ and some of his friends and drive over to his house to help him out right away! Is your Escort certified?" Like muthafuckin' bacon, beeeeitch! No I am kidding about that last part but it woulda been funny as shit, right? Rather than take the case, like I knew JJ would, I asked her what happened, as I did not want to make a trip all the way out to Smeagol's house, a-fucking-gain, and have nothing be wrong. Mystical Retard has sent me numerous places based off of dreams, visions induced by the crack rocks, and other forms of dementia; I mean when we were kids we would go out weekly to "get some culture" and our mother would drop us off in the middle of a cemetery and make us walk around and make our way back to her van. Do you know what walking around in a cemetery, completely alone, sometimes in the dark can do to a child? Fuck dude!
Anyway, this was no Mystical Dream, and she had not had any crack for a few months. "Smeagol told me Angelina whooped his ass and is making him live in his own basement, only letting him out to go to work! You gotta grab some people and go help your brother, it's so spiritual!" OK I was not surprised Smeagol had had his anus whooped. That part I get. The part about him being forced to live in his own basement I get, although at first I wondered why he did not like it down there. If you think about it, though, raptors need a warm environment to survive, and his basement was in Old Independence, and was cold, dark and gloomy, not unlike the cave he inhabited when he was in Lord of the Rings. What got me was he was allowed to leave his captor and go to work, but never made any move to escape. Who does that sound like?
I can see it from both angles: from one side, Smeagol should never be allowed in public, as his failure is toxic in large doses, much as the scent of his thong can kill a small child at 50 paces. On the other hand, why would you even bother being with someone if you are only going to beat them up and make them live in the basement all the time?
Fuck it, I am bored, and I do not feel like going home to listen to the wife tell me all the gossip in the neighborhood (she is not a gossip, but she loves talking, unless those are the same things and then she is a gossip, I am not sure how that works), so I pick up JJ and Hoodrow and we head out.
Before I go on with the third and final part of this trilogy, allow me to levy a spoiler alert: though there is a dingy cot and a bucket along with the washer and dryer in his basement, I have no definitive proof Smeagol was actually forced to live down there, though he had had his ass kicked by Angelina, and her younger sister.
Tomorrow: the shocking conclusion and a surprise guest (hint: crack is very much involved, but not in the way you might be thinking...)
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