OK. Given all of the "drama" I've had in my life over the past few days, it is obvious that I need a break. I've decided that the best course of action at this point is to load up all of the drugs I can find and go on a road trip before Jane and Buckethead force me to come back to work or demand explanations for my activities over the past week. Kinda clear the decks mentally.... Almost everybody who goes to the mats gets beaten, one way or another, but not all of us gets broken… But I digress. Anyway, I thought you might like my booking photo.
Perhaps you are wondering how I was able to get our of jail without paying the $100,000 bond or coughing up a kidney or something. It was so easy that it’s almost not worth mentioning. My first attempt was a brutally ignorant escape attempt and that’s what led me to being placed on lockdown. I traded a carton of Pal Mal's for an old cop uniform my cellmate used when he stripped at La Bare. I put it on and tried to walk out. Unfortunately, someone noticed that I was wearing beach baggies and flip-flops. What a dumb-ass I can be sometimes.
The next time, I did it right. I claimed to be severely bleeding from my rectum, and when they took me down to sick bay, I snuck into a Janitor’s Closet and was befriended by a Rastafarian named Jibbie, who hid me among a group of Jamaican nationals until I was finally rolled out of the jail in a Janitors Cart. All this for less then a quarter pound of the finest Ganja. In an interesting twist of fate, I ate so much Jerk Chicken before leaving town, that I am now actually bleeding from the rectum….
My first night on the road, I stopped at a small seedy hotel in Lake Charles Louisiana that was owned by a small Asian man named When or Yen of some shit like that. After obtaining a room at a hideously high price for someone on the lam, the night clerk agreed to accept twenty American dollars for the company of his daughter for the rest of the night (although all I was trying to get was a room). He described her as a “young and beautiful student – not a bar girl” who spoke excellent English and would certainly have no objection to being awakened at three in the morning and hauled over to the hotel by taxi in a hellish rainstorm, just in order to “make me happy – long time.”
“Look,” I said. “You are dealing with a very tired person. The only thing I need to make me happy is a long sleep in a big bed with nobody bothering me. I have nothing against meeting your daughter; I’m sure she’s a wonderful person and all – but why don’t I just give you twenty dollars and never mind about waking her up tonight. If she’s free around noon tomorrow, maybe we can have lunch at the Hi-De-Ho.”
The man winced. Nobody’s “daughter” goes near the Hi-De-Ho. It is one of the scurviest and most infamous shitholes in all of Lake Charles – even worse than the infamous “Lucy’s” in Saigon – and the moment I said the name and saw the man’s face, I knew I’d said both the right and the wrong thing at the same time. He was grievously insulted, but at least we understood each other. So he had one of his assistant pimps carry my bag up to my room. I asked he bellman if he would get me a bucket of ice. Somewhere in the bowels of my scant luggage I had a film-cannister full of extremely powerful Cambodian Red Pot, along with a quart of Jack Daniel’s, a handful of Ritalin tablets, and the prospect of a few iced drinks along with a pipeload of paralytic hallucinogens seemed just about right for that moment……followed by fifteen or sixteen hours of stuporous sleep.
I blew a large hole in the hotel floor with my .40 Sig the next morning – a hideous accident caused by a mixture of gunpowder and LSD. The hotel guests in the room below me left at once. The slug tore through the hardwood floor, the sub-flooring and made hash of the acoustical ceiling tile in their room just below me. They told the manager that it sounded like a bomb was being dropped on them. When the Manager came to my room to investigate the ruckus, I answered the door in a cheap bathrobe that was about 2 sizes too small, with a Pal Mal between my teeth, a bottle of cheap Tequila in my hand, and my gun tucked into the robe. I asked where the fucking candy machine was.
The next time, I did it right. I claimed to be severely bleeding from my rectum, and when they took me down to sick bay, I snuck into a Janitor’s Closet and was befriended by a Rastafarian named Jibbie, who hid me among a group of Jamaican nationals until I was finally rolled out of the jail in a Janitors Cart. All this for less then a quarter pound of the finest Ganja. In an interesting twist of fate, I ate so much Jerk Chicken before leaving town, that I am now actually bleeding from the rectum….
My first night on the road, I stopped at a small seedy hotel in Lake Charles Louisiana that was owned by a small Asian man named When or Yen of some shit like that. After obtaining a room at a hideously high price for someone on the lam, the night clerk agreed to accept twenty American dollars for the company of his daughter for the rest of the night (although all I was trying to get was a room). He described her as a “young and beautiful student – not a bar girl” who spoke excellent English and would certainly have no objection to being awakened at three in the morning and hauled over to the hotel by taxi in a hellish rainstorm, just in order to “make me happy – long time.”
“Look,” I said. “You are dealing with a very tired person. The only thing I need to make me happy is a long sleep in a big bed with nobody bothering me. I have nothing against meeting your daughter; I’m sure she’s a wonderful person and all – but why don’t I just give you twenty dollars and never mind about waking her up tonight. If she’s free around noon tomorrow, maybe we can have lunch at the Hi-De-Ho.”
The man winced. Nobody’s “daughter” goes near the Hi-De-Ho. It is one of the scurviest and most infamous shitholes in all of Lake Charles – even worse than the infamous “Lucy’s” in Saigon – and the moment I said the name and saw the man’s face, I knew I’d said both the right and the wrong thing at the same time. He was grievously insulted, but at least we understood each other. So he had one of his assistant pimps carry my bag up to my room. I asked he bellman if he would get me a bucket of ice. Somewhere in the bowels of my scant luggage I had a film-cannister full of extremely powerful Cambodian Red Pot, along with a quart of Jack Daniel’s, a handful of Ritalin tablets, and the prospect of a few iced drinks along with a pipeload of paralytic hallucinogens seemed just about right for that moment……followed by fifteen or sixteen hours of stuporous sleep.
I blew a large hole in the hotel floor with my .40 Sig the next morning – a hideous accident caused by a mixture of gunpowder and LSD. The hotel guests in the room below me left at once. The slug tore through the hardwood floor, the sub-flooring and made hash of the acoustical ceiling tile in their room just below me. They told the manager that it sounded like a bomb was being dropped on them. When the Manager came to my room to investigate the ruckus, I answered the door in a cheap bathrobe that was about 2 sizes too small, with a Pal Mal between my teeth, a bottle of cheap Tequila in my hand, and my gun tucked into the robe. I asked where the fucking candy machine was.
....maybe this road trip isn't as healing as I thought it would be. And to top it all off, I just realized that Propecia the Crack Whore stole my credit cards. Now I'm really fucked.....
-Captain Sharky
No comments:
Post a Comment