Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Rufus and Me

Have you ever heard the saying that when you wish upon a star your dreams come true? Well I have. And I always did believe it. But you know, the one time that a dream of mine did came true, this shooting star flew by me so fast, I didn't even have time to make a wish. Funny how things work like that.

You see one night I was having a few cocktails with my fiance Ronnie, you know down at the Miller Time Pub. Well Ronnie was really in one of his moods because he doesn't like it when I sing along to the jukebox. But if he doesn't want to hear me singing then he shouldn't have put so much Boyz2Men in that damned jukebox.

So wouldn't you know that son of a bitch walked over to the other side of the bar and starts hittin on this ho-bitch-skank-ass-ho named Jamie Anne. So I walk over to him and say "Just what the hell do you think your doing with this tramp, Ronnie James Diotardo?"

So without even enough class to look away from the fast cash ticket she was scratching away at, that strung out bitch said to me "Where's that clapping sound coming from? your cunt?"

So I pull my pepper spray out of my purse and say "Bring it Bitch."

Well she reaches into this carton of Parliaments she carries with her and pulls out this weird contraption built out of a band aid box that apparantly was a working gun.

"Look, I was the craftiest broad in over 4 county lockup's honey, so don't fuck with me."Jamie Anne said to me.

Well that was enough to throw me over the edge. So I stormed out the back door to have a cigarette and pop a Klonopin to calm my nerves.Wouldn't you know it, my pill case was empty.

"Ronnie you son of a bitch...I could just kill you sometimes" that greedy bastard stole my entire stash of Klonopin and here I was, nerves racing like a rocket.

Just then this flash came across the sky. It was the most glorious shooting star I'd ever seen, followed by a loud crash. Then from the field behind the parking lot I could hear a high pitch voice, like a little boy, calling out for help.

I ran to the field and saw the most wonderful thing I ever did see in my whole life laying right there in the tall grass. It was a giant Klonopin, almost four feet tall and three feet wide. And it had arms and legs, and a face - perhaps the most sweetest face I ever did see. And his feet were broken off at the heels.

"Well Hi there" It said to me. "The names Rufus. Sure is Dandy to meetcha"

"You can talk!!" I said in return."What are you?"

"I'm a Klonopin. Aint you ever seen a Klonopin before?"

"Well I aint exactly seen a giant talking Klonopin that shot out of the sky before."

"Hee-Hee-Hee,Gee you're funny. Mind helping me up. It seems my feet have broken off at the nubs."

"Are you're feet made out of Klonopin too?"

"Why sure they are. I'm 100% pure Klonopin. The driven snow aint got shit on me."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was sent here to tell people to just mellow out. Everything's gonna be cool. No need to sweat the small stuff, no need to sweat the big stuff either.So just mellow on out now."

"Maggie baby what the hell you doing in that field?" I could hear Ronnie yell. I quickly grabbed both of Rufus's Klonopin feet and shoved them into my purse.

"Ronnie you owe me an apology GodDamnit!!"

Ronnie jumped into his fiero and stormed off without a word, and I knew this was my chance for Rufus and me to make a safe escape.

We went back to my house and I decided it be best that I don't tell Ronnie about Rufus, seeing as how he'd just eat his head and all. So I set Rufus up with a bed underneath my sewing machine. I figured Ronnie wouldn't look there. At first I was concearned that Rufus wouldn't be comfortable, but it turns out when your 100% Klonopin, you can sleep just about anywhere.

Since I demanded an apology from Ronnie, I knew he'd be away on a bender for at least 8 days. So over the next few days Rufus and me had just a grand ol' time. And after weighing his feet, I realized that I had come into 3 pounds of pure Klonopin. But most special of all was the bond that Rufus and me were sharing.

"Maggie?"

"C'mon now Honey, you know I like it when you call me Mama."

"Oh yeah,...Mama?"

"Yes baby."

"What did you do with my feet?"

"Well don't you worry about your feet baby, Mama's just making some new booties for 'em that's all."

"But I've been sittin' at the sewing machine for 6 days now, and I aint seen you power it up once. Seem's little peculiar that's all. Unless you got another sewing machine. Ahh, you know what? Fuck it. No worries. I aint worried. I'm mella fuckin' yella. A little tired maybe, but thats cool too."

As Rufus drifted into his 8th nap of the afternoon, I had drifted into the worlds greatest guilt trip. I was starting to realize that I was no better than Ronnie for stealing my baby's Klonopin. And after washing down my last ginormous fist sized chunk of Klonopin with my special Klonopin based Tang I invented, I decided it was time to fess up. Well first I needed a nap, but then I would fess up.

I walked over to Rufus who sleeping under the sewing machine and give him a little push to wake him. He began talking in his sleep.

"Oh you want to run huh? Run all you want bitch but I'm taking you down."He said before suddenly waking.

"Baby what were you dreaming about?" I asked

"Same thing I always dream about. I was chasing cocaine. It was an old job of mine back in the late '80s...hey what's wrong Mama?"

"Well, it's just that...I ate your feet. I'm real sorry."

"Wow.No shit huh. You ate my feet? Fuck it, no worries."

A wave of sweet relief ran through my body when Rufus forgave my poor behaviour. However, the feeling was quickly followed by panic when I realized I was once again without Klonopin. I had an idea. I didn't like it, but I had to do what I had to do.

"You know what you need baby? A HAIRCUT!!"

"No, that's cool. I just feel like chillin tonight."

But before he knew it, I through a towel around him and began scraping away the top of his head with a boxcutter. And sure I felt a little greedy, shaving the top of his head completely flat, but he did look handsome. Just like my brother Lonnie. You know, the one in the Air Force. And even though Rufus screamed in terror the whole time, I figure it was a win-win.

"Baby, look how handsome Mama made you look." I said as I gathered up my new stash. "Now Mama's gotta go make some fresh Tang." I said as I walked out of the room.

As I was washing down a fresh new chunko'Klonopin I heard screaming coming out of the other room. I ran into see what was going on and there was Ronnie. Sure enough, he was chomping away at Rufus's head, just like I knew he would. That no class son of a bitch.

"Ronnie get the hell away from my Klonopin."I yelled.

With a mouth full of yellow powder he told me to quit my yappin'.Thats when I grabbed his shotgun.

"I mean it Ronnie, now you leave Rufus alone."

'Watcha gonna do? You gonna shoot me?"

"Hey, chill out everybody" Rufus protested " No reason to get worked up. Everybody just cool on out now."

"Goddamn I gotta eat some more of that thing." Ronnie said.

Well that did it. I was gonna blow that mother's head off. I pointed the shotgun right at Ronnie's head.

"I warned you Ronnie. See you in hell you son of a bitch!!"

I pulled the trigger and a loud blast came out of the barrell as the shotgun bucked into my shoulder. I missed Ronnie completely and hit Rufus square in the center of what was left of his head. A giant cloud of yellow powder splattered back onto my face, as the fragile remains of his body fell onto the floor and shattered into dust.

Ronnie jumped for joy like he just hit the lotto as I fell to my knees and wept with a pain I aint never felt before.

When the dust settled I told Ronnie not to bother getting my engagement ring off of layaway and we went our seperate ways. I don't know whatever happened to him and I don't care.

As for me, I moved to Alaska to get a fresh start. But not a day goes by that I don't think about my sweet little Rufus. In fact the happiest days of my life were when it was just Rufus and Me.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

So I Think I'm Gonna Start Doing Steroids

By Elliott "Brock" Ruzetti

So I think I'm gonna start doing steroids. Now I know you're probably thinking thats a bad idea right? It's common knowledge that steroids can be detrimental to ones health. Well I'm gonna start doing A LOT of steroids, so I won't be gambling my health away for nothing, so don't worry about it.And when I say A LOT of steroids, I mean a real shit load of steroids. Like enough to kill a horse. And not your average horse either, I'm talking about killing a fuckin' Clydsdale. I think it's a great idea. The best I've had in a while actually.

So now you're probably thinking to yourself, 'hey Elliott, why do you even want to use steroids? You don't work out. You're not into sports. In fact you don't even really lead a very active lifestyle'.Well that's not true at all. I don't ever use the elevator at work. I huff it all the way to the 3rd floor everyday (except on the way in, but thats because I'm usually carrying a coffee and I'm not one for stains)

And besides that, it's a very simple reason; power. It's like this you see, I was at work today and as I was walking to the crapper I passed the copy machine and I threw a fake jab at it. Then I thought to myself, if I really took a good jab at the copy machine, I mean really tighten my shoulders and lean my body weight into it, I could probably fuck that copy machine up. I'd probably loosen a few components inside of it, maybe knock the side panel right out of its chasis. But if I were on steroids!! I could just smash the copy machine with one light jab (of course I wouldn't throw a light jab, - not my style) and cause the entire thing to buckle like a re-enforced card house that was assembled in an overseas manufacturing facility.

And I wouldn't stop there. No sir. If I had the power that I really would like to have I could walk down the stairwell that leads to the vending machine and I could rip out the entire steel hand rail and swing it around. Let people know how bad ass I am. Then everyone would call me Brock, like I want them to (I haven't really asked anyone to start calling me Brock yet-I'm a little self conscience, and I'm not sure how the people in the office would take it). But if I were to rip out the steel hand rail like it was nothing, well then they'd all be like ' Fuckin A' Brock is a powerhouse. He should be a crime fighter or a bouncer.'

Of course I haven't told my wife about any of this so keep all this on the DL. She's probably not going to be cool with the roid rage that I'll inevitably go through, but she'll get used to it. I figure it'll be like anything else. You start a new endeavor and your family just has to deal with an adjustment period. It's just that the adjustment period for this endeavor might involve smashing the kitchen floor with the toaster oven until either the chord comes off or it falls completely through the hole in between the kitchen and the drop ceiling in the basement that I'll be creating with the toaster oven itself. Either way it'll be worth it when I'm so powerful that I can punch my way through a public mailbox, say if she were to drop off a netflix rental but then changes her mind and wants to keep it another night.

The more I think about it the better the idea sounds. I really should get started with this. The only thing is I don't really know where to get any steroids, so I'm gonna try some old tricks. Like when I was in high school and I wanted to get some beer, I used to hang out outside of liquor stores and ask people if they'd buy for me. I figure that will probaly work if I hang out at gyms. The thing is though is that most gyms require a membership and a contract and all that shit, and I'm not really into working out, so just like high school I'm just gonna hang out in the parking lot until I score a good 'roid hook-up.

Yes sir now that I've really thought this thing through, theres no doubt in mind this is a great idea. In fact, I can't think of a single reason not to start doing steroids.

Catch ya on the flipside,

Brock

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

You’re going to like everything, I guarantee it.


George Junior: "What's up with Dad lately? He keeps guaranteeing everything. It's getting kind of annoying."

Mrs. Zimmer: "Georgie, you know after the holidays your father gets stressed. There's a lot of financial expectations for his company and it's just the way he is."

Katie: "Yeah mom. He guaranteed I would get an 'A' in Geometry. I told him I had a 'C' going into finals. I just don't think I'll get an A!"

In walks George Zimmer, CEO of Men's Wearhouse. He begins to cook up some eggs.

George Z.: "Good Morning everyone. I figure I'd cook up some eggs. Scrambled ok?"

Mrs. Zimmer: "Thanks sweetie. Yeah, that's fine!"

He whips them up faster than anything and pours everyone a glass of orange juice.

George Z: "Here you go everyone. Scrambled Eggs. You're going to love the way they taste, I guarantee it."

Mrs. Zimmer:"I'm sure we will. Oh George! They're wonderful."

George Z:"That's right! Well, I'm off to work. I'll be home for dinner, I guarantee it."


6:05 rolls around. The kids are home from school and are at the table for dinner. Chicken Cordon Bleu.

George Junior: "Dad's late! Wonder what's going on?"

The front door thrusts open. George Zimmer is bolting for the dinner table.

"Am I late?" he asks.

George Junior, "Yes, you are. I thought you guaranteed you'd be home on time!"

Katie: "Yeah, and I got a B in Geometry. You lied to us!"

Mrs. Zimmer: "You kids behave! Your father tries his best. George, maybe you shouldn't make so many guarantees, especially to the children."

George Zimmer's face gets red as a lobster.

"You people don't understand! If I don't guarantee something then what's the point? Huh? People lollygag all the time like 'OHHH, I'LL GET THERE WHENEVER. Or, MAYBE I'LL GO TO THE WEDDING. OR, MAYBE I'LL LOSE SOME WEIGHT BUT JUST NOT RIGHT NOW.' WELL, THE WORLD IS A PLACE WHERE YOU NEED TO GUARANTEE IT. AND I'VE FAILED AS A HUSBAND, A FATHER, AND AS AN EMPLOYEE!"


"Honey, you need to calm down!"

"No, you need to calm down. You see this suit I am wearing? I looked in the mirror today and I don't like the way I look! I can't even guarantee my own suits anymore! What's happening? I have guaranteed everything since 1973 when I opened my first store. You remember honey, the night in the graveyard?"

"George, don't talk about that in front of the kids?"

Katie: "What night?"

George Zimmer wells up with tears. "It was the night I made a deal with the devil. He said for 35 years everything your guarantees will come true. But you know what today is? It's 35 years to the day!"

Mrs. Zimmer: "Oh my god, NO!!"

George Zimmer: "Yes. Yes, it is!"

The kids begin to cry and there suddenly are loud knocks at the door.

George tells his wife and kids to hide in the closet. He opens the door. There is a line down the street of businessmen with suits and receipts in their hand yelling and causing a riot.

George goes and gets his shotgun. He looks in the mirror and realizes it's the end. He speaks to the mirrored image of himself. "Dear devil, just give me one more guarantee. Just One!"

For a fraction of a second, the devil appears in the mirror and gives a sarcastic nod.

"Thank you!"

George runs downstairs and opens the door. "Ok all you fuckers! Your all going to die, I guarantee it!"

He unloads shell after shell into the businessmen. Gunshots roar through the night..

Police show up and get into a gun battle with George. He's no match and takes a SWAT team's sniper shot right through the chest. As he falls to the ground gasping for air, his mind begins to fade. He lies on the ground seeing hundreds of suits stained in blood…He calls out, "Devil? How about a freebie for that Red Suit you got on?"

Magically, the blood from all the suits disappears. Any holes or imperfections fade into the night. Anyone wearing a suit has it transformed. Hems appear, jackets lengthen, 3 button suits go to 2. The colors change to make a perfect color palette to match the customer. It is truly like he died and went to heaven. As he closes his eyes to die in peace, he hears a voice.

"Dad, you guaranteed I'd get to my ball game on time. We only have 10 minutes to get there!"

George opens his eyes. It was all a dream! But it's not over….He made a guarantee. 10 minutes. That's impossible. No, it's impossible for some, but not George Zimmer. He thinks to himself, "Let's win one for the Zimmer."

"Son, let's take the corporate jet. We'll land on the ball field. You fly, I got a suit to hem on the way."

"Dad, there's no way! I don't know how to fly!"

George Zimmer picks up a shiny red suit and a sewing kit.

"Yes you do, I guarantee it."