Thursday, December 18, 2008

You black gunga din!
with your swarthy scent and walk!
Why can't I quit you?!


Today's tale, children, is one of tenderness. One of good times, hugs and kitten snuggles. Of a young man, let's call him Stevester, and his magical journey into the mind.
Life on 54th and Woodland had finally gotten to me. my wife, who was during that time my girlfriend, was constantly nagging me about seeing Smeagol in his thong at the bottom of the stairs, and the horrendous smell coming from the toilet because Mystery refused to flush was causing some sickness. It was time to find a new place.

I know I have spoken about the move to the magical realm that is 5th and Maple, with the Somalian brotherhood calling us to prayers every fucking morning and offering to trade their sister for my wife, this is a different tale of family and gentleness.

You see the sweet n sassy ride I had at that point, a 1985 Grand Marquis, possibly sensing the ghetto I was moving it to, started developing a myriad of strange problems. For one, the windows would roll down, but not back up. This was not so much a problem during the summer, and even less of an issue during the fall, but led to some trouble during the winter. You see, being decent folk we had gotten Wyatt Earp a job at Burger King, and being bald on top during that winter he wore this gay knit cap. He was always doing gay stuff, yet he got no end of joy calling me "bitch-nugget" and "gay slut-dog"... great times

Anyway this one time (at band camp) we were driving home from da BK after a fine evening slopping the populace, and the local constabulary corps noticed that all of our windows were down, which was odd because it was snowing heavily, including into the car. At this point I would like to point out my license was suspended from a previous misunderstanding which I would rather not get into; suffice it to say cocaine is a helluva drug and some people have no sense of humor.

The cop moseys up to where my wife and I had expertly switched seats, and asked her where the owner of the car was. She informed him it was mine, but that I was not in the car. The officer looked right at me, and then ignored me for the rest of the stop, choosing instead to arrest Wyatt for having a handlebar mustache and yet not being a police officer. I think they made out in the car.

Part II tomorrow

1 comment:

Christopher said...

I like big butts and I cannot lie. I am already starting to miss work and my vacation really hasn't even started yet. WTF?