Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Scrambled eggs

This weekend I went out to mow my lawn because I got a nasty letter that read something like this:

“Dear Ass Wipe,

What the fuck is up with that jungle in your front yard? We saw a Viet Cong hiding within the brush as we drove by. Mow that shit, would ya? And send that dude home.

Sincerely,
The Neighborhood Nazis, AKA the HOA”

My next door neighbor hires a team of, shall we say “non-English speaking” professionals to cut his lawn while that fat fart of a fucker that sprang from the fruit of his loins 15 years ago sits on his ass outside playing GameBoy. So this weekend after I finished my lawn I decided to engage the son of bitch and make his life worth while.

“Hey, Juicy.” I’m not fucking with you, that’s his name.

“Yeah?” He stuck a five fingered pork chop over his eyes to squint at me.

“Wanna shoot some hoops?”

The answer was no, but I think he humored me. As it turned out, the boy had some thrust in those haunches. It didn't take long to see Big Juice was in the hizz-ouse!

While we played I applauded myself for getting him up and moving. I started thinking about the positive impact I could have on his life. He would grow up lean and healthy, happy and jovial. He would marry a bombshell that Ang would hate because she’s hot and all the guys will look at her. I will share with him my hard earned secrets, such as the correct method to funnel beer and how to take a leak without ever touching your own penis. As I went in for my lay up I smiled inside and imagined all the—

“Watch out!”

Too late. I was airborne with 200 pounds of momentum headed right for him. He tried to turn away, but I smacked him in the face with my pelvis, serving up a monster size plate of scrambled eggs before we both hit the pavement. The world went painfully horizontal and the animal-like groaning appeared to be coming from my own throat. I spent a moment motionless on the ground, fighting tears and nausea, red-faced and not breathing while my nuts retreated into my abdominal cavity. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeeeeeeee!”

Through bulged eyes I saw Juicy get back to his feet and look down at me. “Juicy,” grunt, pant, wheeze...

"Ah, shit! You okay?"

One last groan and then I whispered the words of defeat. “Go play with your fucking GameBoy.”