So I had an interesting day.
After receiving a half-dozen death threats for my "Kill Terri Schiavo" doormat (one of which, written on toilet paper, was attached to my door -- with a hunting knife), I left my apartment this morning with a 40 oz of my favorite, Price Chopper Malt Liquor. But by the time I reached the bus line I was feeling a little woozy from the warm brew, so I cut in front of an old lady in the bus line and pushed a kid aside so I could sit in the last remaining handicapped seat. Then, mebbe it was the 40 oz I was knocking back, but all of a sudden I started belching -- and couldn't stop. The bus driver even turned around to ask me if I was okay. I almost threw up, and actually had to hand him the 40 while I leaned forward to prevent the dry-heave from becoming actual heave.
So finally I was able to suppress the natural urge to puke, but then I see the bus driver's parked my 40 in his cupholder or whatever. When I reach forward to grab it and he pushes me, and in my drunken haze, I fall back and down, taking with me a lady in her 60's or so wearing a fur thing around her shoulders. Only a) being drunk I actually thought it was something alive but that died when I landed on it, so b) I start freaking out; then when I realize she's all upset because I landed on her fur thing, I start stomping it like it's not quite dead yet, and as I do I'm yelling "Rat! Giant rat on the bus!" She swats at my face and nearly hits me, but I lean back, bumping into the bus driver, which sends the front end of the bus into a parked police car. As I'm trying to keep my balance, I grab at the fur-lady, but instead manage to tear at her blouse, or at least the part that was (mercifully) covering what was left of her breasts, which were pointed at the floor, if ya know what I mean.
So the bus driver jumps up at grabs me and tries throwing a punch at me but between being drunk (and rapidly sobering up) and half-ready to throw up from seeing the fur-lady's fun-bags alone, I fall down again -- just as the bus driver connects with a fat uppercut to fur-lady's schnoz. She drops like a brick, her blueish hair flying, her breast-like things flapping, and her dead fur thing swirling down the aisle of the bus.
So as I survey what's going on, the bus driver screams "Get up you asshole!" in my direction, and since I don't take kindly to being condescended to by bus drivers who steal my brew, I spin around and kick him square in the balls. He sank like the fur-lady's boobs and was squeaking something at me in Spanish as he grabbed the family jewels. Then I turned back and looked out the windshield of the bus to see two police officers with their guns pointed at the bus, so I figured I'd better blend in and looked over at the seat I'd been sitting in, but some little blind kid had grabbed it while I was on the floor, so I took the only other seat available -- the driver's seat -- and re-started the bus, stomped on the gas and got it moving. By the time the bus was back on the route, we'd only been hit by two of the cop's bullets.
Next thing I know, people are screaming for me to stop the bus, so I slam on the brakes, which causes everyone to shoot forward in a pile. People are yelling, cursing me and being impolite, so I figure I'd better get off the bus toot sweet, especially before the bus driver gets up and his jewels feel better, so I hit the open door button and bound down the stairs faster than a priest renews his subscription to "Boys Life." Suddenly I hear sirens and see flashing lights and I figure an ambulance is a-comin', so I run towards the lights, figuring I'll tell them some bullshit story and hightail it outta there -- but it's the cops, including one of the ones who shot at me.
Next thing I know, I'm spread eagled across the hood of Joey Bag O'Donut's patrol car, ass akimbo, and they're telling me that they would shoot me if there weren't so many witnesses. I make a mental note that I plan on suing the City for the poor attitudes of law enforcement. So anyway, next thing I know, one of the officers limps over and starts pointing a finger in my face and telling me they're going to lock me up for a long time. And he uses foul language. So I turn and give him a kick to his knee, which drops him like a sack o' potatoes, only with foul language. And the other guy yanks on my arm and asks me if I like that. I say "Not really, Pig, that actually hurts -- a lot."
Finally, a couple hours later, I wind up in a police precinct -- they still haven't told me which one -- and I was sharing a holding cell with Link, a performance artist who happens to specialize in using peanut butter in creative ways. He gave me a publicity picture which I've linked to below. Anyway, Link spent most of our time together on the toilet, and I don't think he was actually using the toilet, but common decency prohibits me from going into more detail. Suffice to say that he was making some weird noises, mostly the kinds of noises squirrels make right before they find their soulmates for the winter.
Link's Publicity Pic
Anyway, by the time I was released on my own recognizance, it was about 4:30 in the afternoon and I hadn't eaten and had to piss like a racehorse, so I walked a bit until I came upon a Starbucks. Knowing they sometimes sell food and snacks and have bathrooms, I stepped in and ordered a peanut butter brittle swizzle brownie, in honor of my newest friend Link. Then I went into the john and peed for what felt like a half hour. I come out and walk over to the fixin's counter, just like at Wendy's, only there's no ketchup.
As I am reaching to grab a napkin and some stirrers (they're great for entertaining blind kids), I accidentally knock over a cup of coffee that was on the counter, and -- what a coincidence -- who was standing there with coffee all over her but the fur-lady with the magically droopy boobs. I say "Howdy!" I was glad to see a familiar face, but she turned all red (except for her hair, which was still blue). So as I begin to help dry her with the napkins, I start patting her chest area dry as she starts yelling at me. So I say "Hey, I'm just trying to be helpful, no need to be so nasty, saggy!" And she responds with this horrific gasp, and then called me a hooligan, which really irritated me, because I hate soccer. So I say "Oh yeah, I saw your saggy boobs, blue-hair, they're saggy, saggy, saggy, saggy, saggy saggy!" To make sure she got my point I started skipping around the fixin's area of the Starbucks yelling "Saggy!" and all the customers are paying attention and laughing, so I hop on over to fur-lady and reach out to grab on of the fun-bags when I feel a bump on my head and I awake back in the same holding cell with Link, who was kneeling over me sporting a peanut-butter mustache and a q-tip sticking out of his ear.
The last thing I remember is hearing "Hey, Boogie, you need mouth-to-mouth?" before the cops came and processed me again. So they let me out, again, on my own recognizance, and as I was walking to the exit some big hairy cop says to me "Don't come back again, idiot" and I said "Have no fear, Dickweed, it smells like your shorts in here anyway." Apparently that was the wrong answer, because he swung something that looked like a billy-club (or a plunger) in my direction and that was all she wrote. I remember being dragged and then I passed out again.
So here I am, back, cellin' with Link, a tub of peanut butter and -- somehow -- a fur wrap that seems to be glued to my ass. I'm going to have some prison-made whiskey a little later and have Link rip the fur-thing off. He says peanut butter will soothe the area once he does it, so he told me to bend over the bunk once I'm good and drunk.
Somehow I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.
If you have $2,500 for bail and a place for me to crash, find me at holding cell #14, prisoner #154788. I'll be the one with a tail, peanut butter on my ass and reading a dog-eared copy of Big Juggs.
Oh, by the way, Happy April Fool's Day!
Image Courtesy http://drunkenstepfather.blogspot.com/