Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Stay away from me, you damn dirty Raptor! pt II

Sexy time explode
watch where you sit on my couch
also on my porch


So I start walking the dog, and mosey up to the town cop, who has already encased Smeagol in his rightful home, cuffed in the back of a police cruiser, his face plastered to the window like those cute furry garfield toys that are so popular, only this is a raptor, so I was pretty sure I could hear the reinforced window melting from the stench of kim chee, 30 day old taco bell, and failure.

Mystery is standing in the road, looking at a tree and flopping her arms up and down like, well like Mystery. The cop is searching the car for illegal contraband and receipts for all of the green thongs he is coming across. I walk up with the dog and Mystery retards ove and is all like "Duh, I am so sorry Steven, I guess we need to get some money from you to bail him out. I think it will be like 500 dollars..." THen she does her little snort thing. You know that thing Stan's sister does on South Park? That.

"Uh, no..." I respond, as there is no way I am going to bail him out of jail and then lose 500 dollars in the process. The cop moseys over, and in an almost eerie Mr. Garrison voice, goes "Mmkay unfortunately I can't let you move the car, as the tags on it do not even go to a car to begin with, they go to a 2004 Mercury Mountaineer, and the tags have been expired since early 2006 anyway, so I am not sure where that sticker-" he points out what I at first assume is a piece of multicolored tinfoil, and then realize is actually 3 or 4 stickers put together so it looks like his tags do not expire until the year 089 "actually came from, mmkay? I am going to go ahead and take him to jail, you will need to post bail or I will have to send him on to Platte COunty, they have a warrant for his arrest also."

I walk off, intent on losing Mystery and hopefully stranding her, but she does a surprisingly good job of keeping up, doing that little snort thing every few seconds, and asking me 3, count them 3 fucking times if I will cosign on the bail bond, and all 3 times I inform her that I will not as I do not want a bail bondsman coming to my house/job/nudie bar where I dance on the weekends and embarrassing me because he cannot find that wily raptor even though the scent signature of his thong enhances the senses like the strong musk of unwashed bison balls.

We get to the house, and I grudgingly hide my "Hot and Horny Burkas part 7" which I had planned to indulge once the coast was clear, and she asks for a yellow pages. Ugh, paper? Not me son! I get on yellowpages.com or net or whatever the fuck it is and bring up all the bail bondsmen with enough money to post an ad in the phonebook. This moron grabs a sheet of paper and writes each number down, while sitting at the computer desk next to the phone. O-o-okay.

She then starts calling one after the other, and gets denied over and over as soon as she mentions Smeagol's name...

Tomorrow: Is Smeagol's freedom over?!
Was his thong confiscated at the police station?
Do you really want to see another poor picture of a raptor?

Join us tomorrow on.....steveshaikus.

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