Tuesday, February 24, 2009


rasta man give up
smeagol done take all your fish
Smeags no give dem back!

That's my attempt to use reggae. Ja mon!

Anyway, sorry about the last few days, sickness is tearing through my house like a realistic game of Oregon Trail, every other day one of my kids, the wife, the dog, random homeless people who had been sleeping in my basement, get struck with cholera, dysentery, consumption or "other". Kinda strange, the other day I saw my youngest son trying to ford across the lake, which as we all know from Oregon Trail is friggin impossible!

Alright, enough with the Oregon Trail references, let's move on. Apparently some of the old ghosts of winos long lost still haunt my old job, as my dad gets no end in joy telling me all about the bummetry going on down by da Firm.

Remember Roy G.? No? He was the homeless man who was one of the regulars at the lovely Town Pavilion, known not only for flashing random people, but for being caught in one of the numerous unsecured back hallways, bent over a railing with 2-5 shitty condoms either on the floor or still hanging out of his ass as another bum drunkenly pounded his stinkhole to oblivion, but you already knew that story.

Apparently, Roy is also known for being one of the more active winos, not only content to shit his pants and wander around aimlessly like the others, Roy knows he wants more out of life. Not content to simply sit in a chair quietly until the next roaming security guard comes by to remove him and then leave without a fuss, Roy is known for farting loudly in said leather chairs, wiping all manner of bodily fluids on said chairs, and then coming back over and over again.

On this fateful day, my dad was the unhappy victim of a Roy encounter, and informed him he needed to go. According to my dad, who is now too boring to even bother come up with a lie, Roy got up and pointed his cocked finger at my dad and made gun sounds, and threatened to kill him by way of nuclear arsenal. My dad escorted him out and informed him in no certain terms that he carried around a 14 inch Mag lite in the middle of the day for a reason, and the altercation ended. Fast forward to yesterday afternoon, and Roy was in the char again (he does this 5 or 6 times a day). Dad told him to get up, he did, and started shuffling toward the door. My dad follows, sure he is going to start a fight (I was going to type 'stink', but let's just assume Roy does that by default), and Roy gets to the doors, spins around, and says in a game show hosts voice: "It TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiIiIIIIme to GO!", shuffled out the door and began urinating in the plants in front of the building. It was probably a lot funnier when my dad told me.

Anyway, back to sickness, it finally got me, I was so sick it was late yesterday afternoon before I could comfortably fart without fear of....you know. I briefly thought about keeping a 2-liter and a funnel by the couch so I could a) not have to sprint to the crapper, and b) have something to brag about when I filled said 2-liter up, but then I remembered Toboggan Boy's 3-liter bottles of urine, filled to the brim as he was too lazy to walk literally around the corner to the bathroom, and I don't want that.

I will try to get more this week, including where Smeagol is and what he is doing, other than trying to get JJ arrested by having him drive him to his PO's office instead of going himself because, and I quote, "I don't wanna go to jail!"

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