Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The move, circa 1997

Ode to PBR,
Your price, amazing, the taste
well at least it's cheap

So that fateful day came when Smeagol came by and asked me to undertake what would be the most dangerous mission I had ever handled: to move in with him into the house my great uncle and great aunt had died in a few months prior. Smeagol was happy at his good fortune, as we did not have to pay rent and he never bothered to pay back taxes or the mortgage, because that is not how Smeagol rolls yall. We threw out my uncle's crap, including a transsexual magazine and one called Split hairy beaver, and also some magazines in the same box with Hulk Hogan in them (Don't ask, I didn't) and settled in.

After the initial scare with the police helicopter coming by because I was throwing bowling balls through televisions (if I haven't told that story I probably never will) we got to work on the home, much like on HGTV but with more drivebys and loud rap musics coming from all around, and people walking into our house and taking stuff while we were in other rooms. Great success!

I got the job at Burger King, and although I was a year older than the rest of the juniors, enrolled in school at Westport, only to play football and then show up sporadically the rest of the year in order to try to get tang from the ladies, which I never did because all women want hardcore thugalicious guys and it is hard to be a thug when you are a fat black guy who knows no ebonics and wears glasses, not to mention tight shirts with the company name of where your dad works on them because you are too much of a loser to afford Fubu or even the knockoff Phubu clothings...

Smeagol relished being a complete douche, telling me whenever I missed the bus "you better get to hoofin' niggie" while lounging on the couch after calling in raptor at work. I soon found out while it was better living with Smeagol because if he talked too much smack I could best him in both physical and intellectual combat, things were still not as I would have liked them. Mystery was a complete buttfucking moron, hiding food from me, or trying to, I would see her scrunched up on the couch in plain sight, looking at me from the corner of her eye as she tried to eat a cookie from the sleeve of her shirt (really). They would buy like 10 dollars worth of groceries, and hide them in their room in a little mini fridge, which until I started working at BK was fucked up because that meant I either went hungry or had to come up with some cash to feed myself. The funny part about this is when I would come up with like 5 dollars at a time (I don't want to explain how, let's just say there are some homely girls that got a taste of life with the Stevester and leave it at that) I ate better than they did, with Mystery eating raw hot dogs, Smeagol eating a raw fish while grunting anrilly in the corner, and me munching on some tasty Zipps mayo infused burgers and curly fries.... I miss Zipp's.... good shit.

At school things were not a whole lot better. Jeff's daughter (who was disgustingly smoking hot) was in my classes yet more popular because she gave up the twat on a regular basis, and therefore never spoke to me. There was the guy who showed his penis to me in the restroom and asked me if I was gay, and the Indian kid who shit all over the inside of the stall (it happened at Northeast too, maybe it was his cousin or something) and the guy who tried to shoot me not once but twice because he did not like my face.

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