Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Jay threatens national security

Secret Service has no sense of humor. Today I took Jasmine to this high end, classy-ass establishment called Fuzzy's Pizza Parlor. As I’m unloading a $20 onto the clerk I see a man in a dark, three piece suit step up. It’s July, 157 degrees outside and 212% humidity. Who the fuck couldn’t figure out that little secret?

SS Agent Dipshit was at least a half foot taller than I am, forcing me to suck in like a bloated cock (rooster, not dick). He pretended not to notice, but I know he did.

He ordered a Coke, making an obvious scene of scoping the joint which consisted of me…and Jasmine. When he reached for his wallet I saw his piece riding his ribs just as he glanced my way to make sure I understood. I considered whipping his ass right there just to show him I wasn’t scared, but out of respect for the US government and the fact that I like my balls on the outside of my body, I let him be.

I grabbed our salads and pizza and headed back to the table just as a second agent, SSA Dillweed, came in and joined him. Two more dark Suburbans pulled into the lot and backed into their spaces. The front passenger door opened, not the back, and President Bush stepped out. H, not W.

Old Georgie Boy walked in, bypassing the register because I’m sure somehow I’m paying for this elaborate meal, and took his table in the far corner right in front of the window. SS sat a respectful two tables away, eyeballing me as if Osama bin Laden was going to jump out of my ass any second. Someone brought Georgie a Greek salad, a slice of pizza and a Bud Light in a bottle.

Out of the deepest depths of stupidity, I started whispering to Jasmine all of the things I could do at that moment to get myself shot. You know, just for fun. Kids, don’t try this at home. Over the course of our meal I say to her:

1. Point at the President with my hand in the shape of a gun and yell, “Bang!”
2. Start screaming “By Allah!” as I run toward him with my arms out in a “choke hold” format
3. Hit the tile and stealthily belly crawl across the wide open, empty restaurant floor
4. Whip out Big Jay and piss on his shoes….from 10 feet away
5. Tell him I voted for Perot
6. Say loudly to Jasmine, “When I say “now” I want you to dive under the table. Ready? NOW!”

That’s as far as I got in my creative brainstorming before my tax dollars were put to use as SSA Dipshit walked to my table and said, “Sir, I believe it is time for you to leave.” Which is just fancy government talk for, "Out, bitch."

We went quietly, but you let me catch that steroid-eating, brick-shitting motherfucker at the IHOP someday and I’ll show him who’s the bitch.