Press The Button, Pull The String And Watch Him Dance!

Lacuna Coil—Shallow Life

MoTW—Confessions Of A Superhero

So it came to this. Instead of being a man (a rather short one at that),
Mr. Goateed spunk decided he would drag children into his stupid
dumbheaded accusation of my supposed inability to read.

Instead of being a man and gathering up all available pikes, chains and
lentils in order to do battle with the ever-dominant me, he has to stoop
to the loosest form of animalistic behaviour that would make even the
most jaded fucker out there spew gallons upon gallons of liquid Flaming
Hot Cheetos from their frothing maw.

Yeah, it came to THAT.

The worst thing about this is that they weren't even his kids. They
weren't even kids for Mushmouth's sake. They weren't even female even
though he, in his obvious crack addled state, had them dress up in cute
dresses adorned with pretty flowers and panda bears.

The razor stubble gave away this charade, but it makes me wonder where
he got these little people. It would seem to me that getting pikes,
chains and lentils would be easier to acquire, but I guess I've got to
hand it to him to try to take it to the next level, even though he
failed miserably as all goateed fucks inevitably do.

So he brings them around and one of them points at me and asks if I'm
the one who can't read and then they all laughed or something and then
went on their merry way. Whatever. I'm tempted to let this whole thing
just die out, but probably won't since I'm just not that type of person.

I've been thinking that the reason Bob is the way he is is because of
heavy drug intake. But the more I think about it, I think it's something
deeper and darker………

Let's go back about 15 years and look at a couple guys who decided to go
drinking and driving one night. They piled into a rusted, white '73
Corolla and went on their merry way, cracking open Coors Light tallboys
as they drove around some Nebraska backroads, unpaved of course.

After a case or two of beer and getting hopelessly lost, the car ran
over something in the middle of some road, knocking off the muffler and
back half of the Corolla.

Drunk but highly inquisitive, our two fearless wanderers got out of the
car in order to investigate the what, when, why and how.

Discovering that the driver had run over an albino, they freaked out and
ran back to the car hoping that nobody saw what they (or the driver) had
done. (Note: The driver was Bob. It was definitely 100% not me.)

Shockingly, the Nebraska myth about the tree people was true since a
bunch of them ran out of the woods and tackled Bob. The ones coming for
me stopped short when I offered them some beer and smokes.

That night I found out that they weren't really tree people, per se. No,
they were just albinos dressed up to LOOK like trees because that's what
they do at night. The one Bob (not me) had run over had forgot his tree
costume and, due to albino custom, was forced to lie in the middle of
the road for no longer than three minutes and pray to the Moongod.

And then Bob had to come along and kill him. What a dick.

Anyway, we sat there drinking, smoking and feasting on the dead body as
the other tree people had their way with Bob in ways I cannot explain.
Let me just say that he didn't just squeal like a pig. I distinctly
remember hearing a cow, lemming, giraffe, aardvark, pigeon, African
spitting beetle and pterodactyl that night as well. There might have
been others, but I was really drunk which is as good of an excuse as any
I suppose.

So this went on for something like six or seven hours until the sky
started to lighten and then it ended as quickly as it started. I bid my
new friends adieu and, after one final toast, they went off to their
albino fort deep in the woods and I was ready to pack it in for the day
(or night).

I picked up Bob and tossed him into the driver side of the car and
ordered him to drive me home. At first he refused but a few slaps to the
face later and he was seeing things my way.

Since that fun night, I have been asked many times what exactly happened
that night. Everytime I give the same answer: "I was pretty wasted that
night. I do not remember. I'm sorry. If I could remember ANYTHING from
that night, I would sure tell you, no doubt about that. Hey, is that a
water moccasin in your kitchen sink?"

And now you know.

COMING NEXT: The next plan of attack!

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

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.