Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Indian Giver

corned beef and cabbage
unfair to fart in the gym?
hell if'n I know!

So after the warm reception the state of Kansas gave us, making me walk 2 damn miles to school lugging a cello every damn day in addition to a backpack full of books, we bid our temporary home in my uncle's basement (really) a fond farewell and moved to North Kansas City, to the ghetto if there could be said to exist one up there. It was a tiny 2 bedroom apartment, but it was clean, air conditioned, and 2 blocks from Macken park, which was fantastic because that is a beautiful area. Nay, I dare posit that with the exception of Dawn, my retarded neighbor and Walt, the retarded guy we played Smear the Queer with all the time (I will explain the rules later) it was a veritable utopia. I got a girlfriend at school, I played football, my uncle let me work at his moving company until I dropped an ethan allen centerpiece sculpture and the driver I was working with waited until we were in the middle of nowhere to inform me he had been raped by an older man when he was my age, and then there was my dad, who cried while he jerked it and used to sit on the couch and literally whine "I need some puuuuussssyyyyyy!" Great Times!

It seemed odd, then, that Smeagol started coming around. I know now it was because he smelled success, and felt he needed to crush it, but back then he seemed to be genuinely caring about my dad and his need for love pudding. He would come over and sit with my dad, who was whining because of his lack of a love petal to pollinate, and listen to his boring tales. Kinda funny, since my neighbor, the one with the retarded daughter, was single. I never understood why they did not hump. Maybe because she was hideous, but if he needed lovin' that bad I don't think he would be that particular, but I digress...

Anyway, Smeagol had a nice car, was dating Mystery, but we will not count that against him, I only note that because he said he was drunk during their entire courtship and he obviously was not, and he did a very nice thing for me: he bought me a car.

No one ever knows why, but Smeagol is known to go out of his way in the oddest of situations and seem like a decent human being, until you find out what his hidden raptor agenda is, and then you realize that cud you are chewing on as he hand feeds it to you is really a dingleberry attached to his thong, the kind with peanuts and corn ingrained in it so it tastes like chii con car.... nevermind.

So Smeagol drives over this 1982 Buick Regal, and I have to admit: it was a beautiful car. I would be proud to drive that car today. It was a cream color, with a tan interior, very straight, clean, with a 305 in it, nice automobile.(Whatever the GM version of the 302 is, if I have it wrong you have too much time on your hands and that time could better be spent masturbating. Try it!) He said he got it for 500 dollars, because there was a little piece of the fender in the back that was missing, like it had been cut out or something, and that he was going to get it legal for me so he would keep hold of the title. The warning lights that should have gone off at that point went ignored as I gently caressed this lovely used car much as John Holmes caressed the labias of homeless women. I know that analogy made literally no sense but I am tired, fuck it.

So I got my drivers permit, and drove all over town with my new ride, my dad riding uncoolly in the passenger side, refusing my repeated pleas to hide his head or at least wear a shirt and pants next time, he loved wearing these cutoff shorts back then, totally gay.

Tomorrow - the conclusion, including my first brush with the law and my realization that Smeagol was a piece of crap. Don't miss it!

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