Thursday, May 5, 2011

Story: Got It?

Got It?
By Ben Langhinrichs

It was a dark and stormy night.  No, really, lightning and thunder raging like God was bowling nothing but gutter balls.  Hailstones the size of golf balls with elephantitis kept banging into the windows, bouncing off and killing pigeons.  Have I told you about the pigeons?  A thousand stories in the naked city and every story covered in pigeon shit.  But not my story, no my story really happened... to a friend of mine.

As I said, dark, stormy, hail, dead pigeons, get the picture?  My friend Mick, if you can call a guy who sleeps with your wife a friend, sleeps with her on your honeymoon no less, then boasts about it in your favorite pub so you can't go in with head held high for a week, but have to slink in just to get a beer.  Anyway, Mick was coming over to "hang out", which usually meant smoke some dope, hit on Sheila, drink my beer, take a crap in the toilet and not even flush.  What kind of friend doesn't flush?

So, friend, dope, hitting on wife, drinking, crapping, no flushing, got it? Right. Mick had a plan, or what would pass for a plan in someone with an IQ higher than... well, higher than Mick's.  His plan was that if I snuck down...  Well, let's hear it in his words.


"Yo!  What’s up?"

"The sun's up.  Get it?  You asked what's up, and I said 'The sun's up'.  Get it?"

Okay, never mind Mick's words.  He's a stupid dumbass, anyway and tells terrible jokes. So, Mick's plan is that I get up early, not just early like after Sheila goes to work, but early like the fucking early pigeon who gets the worm, right?

So, low IQ, sun's up, dumbass, sun's not up, fucking pigeons with worms, got it?  Anyway, I'm to go down to the liquor store early and wait for the newspapers.  I'm not sure why it has to be so early, come to think of it, 'cause who's buying booze at 8 o-fucking-clock in the morning. Then, I'll cut out the 10% off coupons for the liquor store in, like, twenty-five papers.  Now, I'm not so smart, and Mick sucks a donkey's left hind tit at math, but Sheila says twenty-five coupons for 10% each should come to more than... well, more than enough so that the liquor store would have to give us money when we bought booze. Now, how fucking sweet is that?

So, newspapers, coupons, hind tit, free booze, got it?  That's why I'm here freezing my fucking ass off in the stormy, hail-y, pigeon shit covered dark, waiting.  for newspapers. Also, why Mick and Sheila are back in the apartment, doing jack shit.

Now, wait a fucking minute.  Mick and Sheila are... fuck!  I gotta go.
Ah, shit, the light from the door just lit up the night like... like a light went on.  Some guy's standing there…

"What are you doing out there in the rain?  Come in, my good man."

I don't know what this "good man" shit is, but the guy's inviting me into a liquor store, so I can't really say no just because my friend is poking my wife.

So, freezing ass, fucking minute, light on, good man, liquor store, got it?  Turns out he thinks I'm there for a job interview!  Why the hell would I want a job when I can sit on my ass all day watching porno while Sheila works? I think quick and whack him with a bottle of Bacardi that's handy.  I'm sitting, looking at the blood seeping out of his ear, when he opens his eyes and stares at me.  Totally creeps me out.  Then he says, "My long lost Uncle Roger.  I didn't recognize you, but now that I do, I want you to have half of all I own!"  He starts handing me cash and shit.  Meanwhile, blood is dripping all over and I tell him to watch where he's bleeding.

I figure I better get the hell out of Dodge before this guy finds out my name is Fred and my parents split after having me.  I grab the cash and a couple of bottles of hooch, and head back to kill that fucking Mick.

I storm into the apartment all angry, and they yell, "Surprise!" It turns out, they've been planning a surprise birthday party for me, and even though Mick is still buckling his pants up, and even though my birthday isn't for another couple of months, you can't get mad at a guy who's throwing you a surprise party. So, I pull out the bottles and we have a party.

So, interview, porno, Bacardi, blood, cash, surprise party, got it?

Originally published in Dog-Ear Tales before that magazine crumbled and died.

No comments:

Post a Comment