I Tried, I Failed, I Gained

King's X—XV

MoTW—Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II

I decided that my next step in my presidential run would be to hit the
town Michael Moore style and get some serious feedback and answers on
some serious questions we all just gots to be having.

Since Detroit it known for crime and some other stuff having to do with
automobiles, I figured I would head down to GM and get some of those
answers I mentioned above.

So I picked up the bow-legged baby and headed to the city but not before
strapping on some serious firepower for our safety and well-being.

As a tot, I was taught to always, ALWAYS head to crime ridden areas with
a full tank of gas so a) you wouldn't get stranded because you were too
stupid to check out that simple to read gas gauge and b) you wouldn't
find yourself carjacked because you were too lazy to fill up in a "safe"
neighborhood before heading into the crimezone.

I had a little more than half a tank so I stopped at the local BP
station to fill my fuel efficient car to the max, a little cry of pain
bursting from my lips as I saw the price of $4.05 listed on the sign by
the street. But no matter, that's one of the reasons I'm running for
presidency, so I took some solace from that.

When I got to the pump, I noticed that the price was $4.15. I looked at
the sign again and it still showed $4.05 and then I saw the teeny-weeny
print below that so I walked over and found that $4.05 was the cash
price.

Yeah, like I have cash.

I shrugged it off and went back to the pump and saw the bow-legged baby
staring at me out of the back window so I shrugged at him, pointed at
the sign and then at the pump and shrugged again. He didn't seem to care
and just continued with his staring.

I jammed the nozzle into the gas hole, making it as sexy looking as
possible in case any pretty people were checking me out and then started
whistling a tuneless ditty as the car got its dose of go juice.

An old man came out of the convenience store and walked over to me.

"Excuse me sir, what kind are you getting? Are you getting the regular
gas?"

"That I am," I replied as I savored being called "sir". First "sir"
which would than lead to "Mr. President"!
Whoo-hoo!

"Are you paying with a credit card?"

I replied that I was.

"Yeah, you know it's now cheaper when you pay with cash? Those thievin'
sons-of-bitches! It's the gas stations that're setting these high
prices."

I agreed that they were worthless fuck-bastards.

"Those thievin' sons-of-bitches!" he repeated again.
Then I heard a thumpa-thumpa sound and looked around as he kept
muttering about those thievin' sons-of-bitches and spotted my most hated
vehicle of all time pulling into the station, one of those GM pieces of
shit monstrosities called the…..well, you know.

A kid too cool for the world with designer sunglasses and highlighted
hair hopped down from the vehicle, not bothering to turn it off so we
could listen to the thumpa-thumpa music whether we wanted to or not and
sidled (really) into the store, where he could purchase some beer and
condoms so, later that evening, he and his friends could get drunk and
have safe sex with the mole holes in his backyard.

I walked over to the monstrosity and went into candidate mode. I started
rambling on and on about how the demand for large vehicles that waste
gas are another reason why the prices are so high, etc., etc.

Soon I was screaming at the top of my lungs about how evil these
vehicles were and I was slapping the vehicle like I was Frank Drebin
interrogating a prisoner and then kicking it, my voice rising and rising
and the old man was backing away, first slowly and then quicker as panic
set in and then I realized I had probably just lost a vote.

Then the kid came out of the store carrying a case of beer and a small
bag and saw what I was doing. He became irate, yelling that it was a
graduation present and what in the hell was I doing and he was going to
beat the shit out of me and so on and so forth.

He put down his beer and bag and advanced towards me but then a small
blurry thing flew by me and landed on top of his head and starting
beating on him with its tiny fists. The kid tried to shake the thing
loose but it held on with its feet, its toenails digging into the kids
scalp as it continued to rain punches on his face, neck and shoulders
until the kid could take it no more and collapsed as the thumpa-thumpa
music went on and on.

With a final few flurries of its tiny fists, the little bow-legged baby
let out a screech, pulled its toenails from the kids scalp and hopped
off his head. He then took the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at my
car.

I got the message and went back to the pump and squeezed in a few more
drops to round it up, got my receipt and left, realizing that I had
probably lost yet another vote but obtained a free case of beer thanks
to the quick thinking of my wee bow-legged friend.

STILL $0.00 SPENT ON MY RUN FOR PRESIDENT!

COMING NEXT: I want to sniff what's in that bottle

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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