Tuesday, December 23, 2008

suck shit through a tooth!
crow creeps in and seals your fate!
Florence Nightengaaaaaale!

These are lyrics to 99.7% of all death metal songs. Cherish them, friends.

I guess I harp on this, but I never understood my mother's unending belief that Smeagol, much like the war in Iraq, was about to turn some corner and evolve back into a human again. It's something future philosophizers will no doubt dub one of the world's greatest mysteries, right after we find out his magical thong is actually a space alien from the planet rapturis failuria, a doomed planet too hot for human colonization that has been stealing air and resources from it's neighbor planets for eons... but I digress.

Let's look at the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, shall we? Smeagol routinely borrows money from her, and that same day not only no call/ no shows when she is his duty nurse (meaning his boss), but then refuses to pick her up from work, ending in her walking home in the cold, rain, and sleet numerous times whilst being accosted by all manner of masturbating vagrant, which she probably thought was hilarious. He sleeps at her house all the time, eats her food, borrow moneys and never pays it back, and on top of all that insults her on a near daily basis, and yet she still tries with him. How far should a mother's love go before you realize your baby is actually a raptor hell bent on the destruction of this, our planet Earth?

Anyway, Smeagol is not the reason for this post, though he probably should be. No this post is about the Diplomat, the magical steam engine car, and why Stevester should never be allowed tools or to be near something that would require mechanical aptitude.

Twas summer, nay, a warm summer to be specific, and times were kinda tough for me. Ercie had just declared she was going to have her nephew shoot me, and I was working nights out in the middle of Kansas for almost half the pay, which I assured my corporate overlords was wrong as I had done nothing wrong but they cared not, which made me sad. Anyway it was time to give the old steam engine car a magical oil change. I did that, foolishly storing the oil in an old antifreeze jug.

Fast forward lets say 3 weeks, and the car is running a little warm. I go check the fluid levels, then zip my pants up and go check the fluid levels in the car (I was a quart low). The coolant was a little low so I grabbed the jug of antifreeze and filled it up, never even bothering to pay attention to the fact that what was coming out of the jug was black, not green. As I am not racist I do not see color. Astoundingly enough, the car drove for about 2 weeks like this, with oil in the radiator and all. Then the car started acting funny, and by "funny" I mean it died on the road mid turn. I managed to get it to my in-laws house, which was only a few blocks away, and her dad came out to look at it. I told him I just filled the overflow thingie up, actually saying "thingie", to which his brow immediately furrowed. He knew I should never touch tools or the inside of an engine compartment, and it was with dread that he opened the hood. Nothing seemed amiss, and I stood there with a look of bemusement on my face as he tried to find where I had screwed up.

He finally decided to flush the system and if that didn;t work to replace the radiator. It was at this time he took the cap off of the radiator to see if there was anything in there. Did you know when oil and antifreeze mix oil expands and coagulates? I did not know that, and I think he did but did not expect that. I wonder how people reacted when driving home watching a car seamingly money shot all over the ground and me. I wonder if they found it hot as we flushed all the coagulated crap out, watching it spray deliciously all over my hardened nipples, glistening in the hot summer sun, the surprised and disgusted look on her dad's face as more and more of the sexy time liquid shot all over the place, the way my wife giggled uncontrollably at my mental retardation.... great times.

Update: Smeagol is definitely coming over tomorrow. I called him today and he informed me the reason he had not been by earlier is he had been working "booty ass overtime niggie", and the reason he had not answered my phone calls was because those "bitch niggies at sprint made all my calls long distance". I asked him if his car was running, to which he said yes, and then in the same breath told me to call him when I was on my way to his house to pick him up tomorrow. Unbe-fuckin-lievable.

1 comment:

Bill Wabbit said...

PART 2 ASSHOLE! PART FUCKING TWO!!!