In my neighborhood #25

In my neighborhood #25
By Rev. J. Sleestaxx

So it is early Monday morn. I figure it is early enough to get the paper while still in my robe. Robe and slippers, I go outside and there next to the paper is a heap of human parts. Not all bloody, but just a pile of a person. You know this sight when you see your parents passed out drunk on the living room floor enough times.
“Shit!” I think, “Damn! Somebody tied one on and got lost on their way home. I think I will leave them to bake in the sun. When they wake up and their head is pounding and their face is on fire from the noon day sunburn they will learn to not get so fucked up. I get the paper and as an after thought I decide to turn them over so they can get as much sun as possible because Vitamin Q is good for a hang over. As the live corpse rolls over onto its back I see that it is female. I brush back the hair and I see it is Paula Abdul.
I drop the paper and coffee cup and lift her so that I can bring her into the house. Even though she never made queen status she still deserves some mortal respect.
I bring her in and lay her on the couch, cover her with a blanket and fix myself a new cup of coffee and turn on the television and search for some morning cartoons.
I make sure to keep the volume down so the noise does not disturb Paula.
I find and old episode of “Spiderman”.
Then an old episode of “Autobots”, the undisputed godfather of the transformers, came on.
Half way through an episode of the PC whimp-i-fied GI Joe, Paula starts screaming.
I drop my coffee and yelp, “Shit!”
She sits bolt upright and looks around. “Hey where am I?”
“You are at my house” I said in a very calm voice, and I get up to get a towel.
“John? Right?” She says as if lost education is ebbing on her memory tide.
“Yes.” I replied.
“The last thing I remember was getting a call in the middle of the night and it was Janet and she was telling me I was fat and stupid. She said that I danced like a cow all stomping and hoofing around.” She said pulling the blanket I had laid on her up to her chin.
“Janet?” I asked more for affirmation then information.
“Yeah Janet Jackson.” She said as she let go of a violent shiver. “She has had it in for me since I tried to start a singing career while I was her choreographer.”
“Really?” I sounded like I did not believe her even though I tried to be more believable.
And Paula began her story. “Yeah I was helping her when she was starting and I gave her some of her best moves. When she found that I was working in a studio developing a record. She got real mad and tried to file an injunction on the record, but there were no real legal grounds even though she tried to portray me as an industrial spy. Then she got Michael involved.”
“Michael Jackson?” I said wondering how long the high lasts when you get toasted on scripts.
“Yeah and he called some heavy weights and they called in the corporate ninjas and they crushed my record sales by diverting orders and killing radio programmers who would not play ball.”
“When all was said and done it appeared as though no-one was interested in my music.”
“The record companies would not touch me. And I was black balled by the Jackson Clan.”
“I found a bottle of Oxycotton in my nightstand one night while I was depressed. I have never done drugs or drank before, but it seemed like a good way to make it all numb and go away. Next thing you know I am all fucked up on Idol. Yeah that back fired on them. That gig was a bone thrown to me by the Jackson Clan. They thought it, the show, would make one or two seasons and flop out. Little did they know it would balloon to such a huge success. I get clean and then some ninja slips me some pills and I fall off the wagon.”
“Wow, Paula that is an amazing story and almost believable, but as you know I am equipped with a very powerful bullshit detector.” I said standing up.
“No it is true.” She said pleading, “And Janet heard of my secret project to record another album and she has started the attacks all over again.” She said pulling her legs up into a ball.
“You know Paula if you want to get fucked up and wander the neighborhood then just get fucked up and start walking, but you do not have to make up stories of ninjas and career killers and Jackson conspiracies.” I said looking down at this frail, old, fucked up woman.
“No John it is true.” She says sitting up.
Just then the front door opens with a splintering crash. And Half Dollar piles in with two ninjas.
“Ninjas!” Paula screams
“Half Dollar!” I yell laughing hysterically.
I began my fight prayer, “Dear god make me strong to vanquish your enemies. Make them taste their blood like their sins and help them find their way to your grace and loving light.” And a column of fire rains from the sky through my ceiling and vaporizes the ninjas.
Half Dollar looks back surprised and shaken from the display of god’s wrath.
He charges raising an axe handle. I step up and into him just under his arm which removes the threat of the axe handle. I head butt him, he drops the axe handle and he grapples me.
We struggle in the foray and stumble around. Paula is standing and screaming.
Half Dollars breath is hideous. My god what had this fucker been eating? It was a cross between peanuts and morning breath
We bounce off the walls and into the nearby hall towards the half bath, decorated in romantic.
The room is small and the two of us take up most of the cubic footage.
I get the doorway to my back and clap my hands on his Volkswagen door ears.
He yelps and lets go, I step back and spin him. I plant a foot on his ass and shove.
He hits the wall bounces back and I kick again he lurches forward trips on a Persian throw rug and falls forward.
His hands are still on his ears and he falls into the toilet hitting his head. He goes limp.
‘Man what the fuck?’
‘Another dead star in my house.’
‘Shit! Fuck! Shit!’
“Oh no this is not happening.” I say out loud
“Paula is screaming.”
“No way am I going to deal with this shit again.” I say out loud to myself.
I start to drag Half Dollar’s body out the back door.
“What are you doing to do with him?” Paula asks.
“I am going to bury him in the back yard.” I grunt as I drag this 140 pound fake thug.
“But won’t he be missed?” Paula asks as the whole thing starts to sink in.
“No he is an irrelevant, dime-a-dozen rap thug that no-one loves or likes. Hell I just did the entire white teenage listening demographic a favor. Now they have one last choice to spend their money on.”
“I do not know if I can be a part of this.” Paula says shaking her head and shrinking back.
“What? Are you kidding? I never asked you to be a part of this.” Not believing the whussiness of this near icon.
“Shit tomorrow you will not remember today and no one will believe you anyways.” I said more mean than I meant to.
“That’s not fair.” Paula pouted.
“Its true enough though isn’t it?” I directed with the intensity of a persecutor about to stick the charge.
“Yes.” She looks down and fattens her lower lip like all girls do.
“Alright then the shovel is in the shed and the bag of lye is kept in a plastic bucket under the ladders.” I grunted as I slid the skinny little fake poser out the door.
“What do you have lye for?” she stops on the way to the shed.
“Ahh,” I paused. “I do not know, making soap and bio-diesel?”
“Really? That is cool and she shuffles to the shed.”
I spend a good portion of Monday afternoon digging. Paula disappeared around the first hour.
Half Dollar is buried in the back yard and now I am fixing the front door.
Johnny Cash would be proud of me but I will never tell him or anyone.
If this bullshit keeps up I am going to have to move. Regardless of the market.

Like A Monkey With A Handgun

By Rev. J. Sleestaxx
Release date: By 3 December, 2007..

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1 comment:

Malflic said...

It all starts with one little bottle. The next you know you're hoofing it up with an animated cat and then 10 years latter playing the stoned ditz on a TV show.