A Couple Big Slices

The Mahavishnu Orchestra—“The Lost Trident Sessions”

MoTW—“Teachers”

All that follows is as true as Part One.

I suppose getting sent to rehab at such a young age would be
frightening, but I found that it really wasn’t. My roommate, a 35 year
old ex-rodeo clown addicted to smoking dried cow shit, was my mentor and
he made sure I didn’t go through any homesick pangs by becoming my
father and mother, even going as far as whipping me with a belt when I
messed up or breast feeding me when I became cranky and hungry.

The dorm was filled with people with all sorts of addictions from all
walks of life. From the alcoholic movie star to the ditch weed addicted
yuppie and from the female sexaholic to the steroid abusing sports hero,
we were one big happy family all with one goal in mind: cleansing our
bodies of the evil toxins.

Within 24 hours of my admittance, the Contact had cleared my system and
when asked if I felt that I had combated my addiction to the drug I
assured them that I had and I was discharged.

During the car ride home, my parents and I cried a lot as we opened up
to each other like we never had before. When we got home we had a group
hug and then I did something that pissed my dad off and he layed into me
with his belt and then sent me to my room without any dinner.

Later that night my mother came in wearing a sheer, see-through teddy
and offered me her breast for some nourishment which I declined. I told
her that I was now a grown boy and could hunt for my own nourishment.
She started crying and ran from the room which got me to wondering how
she could be my real mother when she was only 18 years old, but that
thought was soon lost after my father came in and whipped me again with
his belt.

The next day while in the shower I discovered a few sprouts of hair
around my groin area and I felt an urge that I had never felt before.
Scared, I ran downstairs to ask my dad what was going on but he had
already left for work. My mom was cleaning up the kitchen and asked me
what the problem was but when I saw that she was only wearing a bikini
and the urge became stronger, I knew that I had some major issues.

I ran back to my room and dressed and then left for work. All day long
as I collected the carts in the parking lot I wondered what the stirring
in my groin was. Luckily, some guys I knew showed up during my shift and
wanted to know if I wanted to smoke some cigars on the roof of
Marshall’s after the store closed. Figuring that I would be able to
finally get some answers to my burning question, I agreed.

When 10 o’clock came, I punched out and walked to Marshall’s, which was
located at the other end of the strip mall, where I found my four
friends. We hung around until the last customer left the store and then
went around to the back of the strip mall and climbed the ladder located
behind the book store.

When we got to Marshall’s, we noticed an 18 wheeler parked behind the
store and decided that this would be our escape route, if needed. We
would simply jump from the roof of Marshall’s to the trailer then jump
to the covered dumpster next to the trailer and then climb down the
dumpster and disappear into the night.

As we smoked the plastic tipped Swisher Sweets I had ripped off from
work and discussed politics and world events, I wondered when the best
time would be for me to ask my burning question. When the talk finally
turned to the upcoming school year I opened my mouth to speak but
couldn’t get out the first word because of the voice coming from the
bullhorn:

“YOU UP ON THE ROOF! STAND UP AND COME TO THE EDGE SO WE CAN SEE YOU!”

We got up and ran to the edge of the roof expecting to use our escape
route, but when we saw the four police cars below, we decided that
escape was futile. The cop on the bullhorn ordered us to stand still and
I raised my arms expecting this to be the next command.

I guess it wasn’t going to be the next command since they decided to
open fire on me and me alone. After being struck 53 times, they decided
they had made their point with me being the example and my friends were
allowed to climb down from the roof. (Later I would find out that they
thought the cigar in my hand was a gun because it “sure looked like one
in the moonlight”.)

Off to the hospital I went.

END OF PART TWO

COMING NEXT: Part 3? Jerome? Email? Who Cares?

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name TheWeirdcrap.com and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beggining. The idea of writing weekly columns (blogs didn't exist yet) also came from Stephen. So I guess that makes him the creator of the "blog" phenomena.

https://theweirdcrap.com

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