Monday, May 23, 2005

Weekend in HELL

You think you know a man by reading his blog. You put up with his smack, tolerate his blustering and laugh at his bullshit and you think you know him. But I’m here to tell you, my fine friends, when it comes to Trashman and Jack, you don’t know shit.

I’m a busy man, see, I got lots of friends that I hang out with on a pretty regular basis. But I know that isn’t the case with some folks. So when I got Jack’s 15th email about driving out to his place and buying him that beer I owed him, I figured what the hell. Ain’t no harm in donating a night of my time to a worthy cause. I mean, hell, the man’s gone to war for me. He carries a glock and everything.

Now I’ve read blogs and I know what I had in mind. But apparently there are some less than truthful folks out there. Unlike me, who is honest 110% of the time. Fuck you, you can’t prove shit. So here I am on the drive thinking I know what's ahead of me. Thinking about all the tiddies I’m going to play with at the “church” Trashman and Jack like to meet at for “prayer sessions.” Big Jay was ready to get the party started.

After I managed to locate Whitetrashia Lane I finally found the rickety “cabin” where Jack lived. The appearance might have been a little rough around the edges, but Jack made up for it with a shitload of those miniature crockpots of potpourri all around the house.

“What the fuck is that smell?”

“Summer Berries,” he told me.

“They didn’t carry Some Are Nuts?”

Jack wasn’t on his game at the moment and my attempt to emasculate him went unappreciated. Alex the dog was sitting in the living room, one ear vertically challenged, watching me from beside the TV. “Holyshit, what are you watching? Is that Thelma & Louise?”

“Yeah, well, you know…”

I was quickly starting to fill in the missing pieces of Jack’s identity. Suddenly the lengthy stretches of celibacy made sense.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I could feel my manhood slipping away into the abyss of Jackdom.

Jack insisted on driving since I’d already been on the road for so many hours, but the last thing I wanted was to be seen in public in the crack hoopty. Folks around there thought Jack was a dealer and he damn sure looked the part. Motherfucker was gonna tarnish my image, but I reminded myself that this man obviously was in some bad need of the Big Jay Mojo and the least I could do was share a secret or two.

It took us about three hours to get to Trash’s place. Turns out Mr. Undercover Narc has a bit of drinking problem. Son of a bitch was sipping Green Tea all the way there and kept having to stop and take a piss. I could already tell this was going to be a fun filled night. At one point he was clawing at his pork chop sideburns when something got caught under his fingernail. I don’t know what the fuck it was but he played with it for about a minute before he flicked it out the window. I swear I heard it scream.

We pulled into Trash’s drive and when that screen door slung open and slammed against the wall my fingers dug into the armrest of Jack’s hoopty and I screamed some shit the likes of which I have never heard come out of my mouth. In fact, I can't even go on right now. I need to go bathe in a tub of rubbing alcohol and penicillin before I can describe what happened next.