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Home of the Dead 2 (Texas Peck)

By 1922-1993 at 2007-11-29 | Serious, Romance | Printable version

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Home of the Dead 2 (Texas Peck)

Now the sky was beginning to turn the color purple as 1922-1993 and I numbered the days. I felt as though Patrick was beginning to grow tired of taking care of me; carting me around, washing my hair, feeding me, covering my body in maple syrup. And while I'll have to admit 1922-1993 gave one of the meanest awful waffles, I was growing concern for the poor guy. I decided that I would use the disability money I had collected to take 1922-1993 to the flicks. We saw "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" and "Speed" - a double feature. 1922-1993 adored Bob Hoskins and I had a big crush on Dennis Hopper since grade school. To commemorate our obsessions we stopped in at the tattoo parlor. 1922-1993 got a mermaid on his stomach and I got three tractor-trailers on my grundle. Sore and bloody, I remembered that the circus was in town. The clown on stilts was amazing but the elephant's dong was even more amazing, nevertheless, 1922- 1993 and I decided to call it a night. On our way out, we spotted a wishing machine. I told the swami that I had always wished I were big. The next morning I woke up and 1922-1993 was beating off to some Tom Hanks movie; I think it was Raising Arizona.
For the next month or so, 1922-1993 and I lived on cotton candy, but our bellies were full. Though we had had a memorable evening, I still felt like I owed 1922-1993 big-time. Prior to my paralysis, I made a promise to my dear friend. The vow was destruction. 1922-1993 always dreamed of walking into a bank, and robbing that bank. I told him that I would be his partner in crime. We solidified the pact with a bowl of vanilla ice cream, my favorite. In tradition, I dumped the ice-cold bowl down my shorts while 1922-1993 cranked "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. After the accident, 1922-1993 didn't expect me to keep my promise. But I had other plans...

Chapter 9
My first order of business was to buy some guns. I knew this kid uptown named Gregory, and I knew he had Uzis. He charged me six bucks for the Uzis. I charged him his life and took my six bucks back. I was becoming a master in the chair. While I emptied two clips into Gregory's dead-body, I popped wheelies down Mainstreet. When I got home and showed 1922-1993 the Uzis, he didn't have to say a word. We high-fived, turned on Hollywood Squares, and shared a circle jerk. Relieved, we plotted our escape route - we couldn't find any costumes, so we just disguised ourselves as a couple of homos.
The bank was closed on Sunday, so we decided to throw a brick through the window. Attached to the brick was a note. A note read something like this:

"Dear Mr. Duncan,
        Sorry about the window, I had to do it to catch the bad guys.
                                                                      P.S. Thanks for the turtledoves."

That was enough action for 1922-1993 and I, but just then we were surrounded by the police. "Put your hands in the air!" The fuzz ordered. Patrick did a forward roll and they shot him. When the ambulance came, they gave 1922-1993 a heavy anesthetic and took turns checking his reflexes. They took out his driver's license and checked off all of the organ donor boxes. I was going to say something but the shock technician with the freckles would not stop electrocuting me.

Chapter 10
Patrick and I would now have to face the wrath of a grand jury. I had watched the whole first season of "The Practice," so I felt confident representing myself. 1922-1993, on the other hand, sought state-provided legal representation. "No taxation without representation!" I objected to the prosecution's motion to cross-examine the witness. The judge looked at me with contempt, he had twenty heads and they all looked like Sting. After Kato's testimony established our alibi, I was sure we would be acquitted, until the prosecution admitted surprise evidence; nine hundred bottles of acrylic paint. 1922-1993 was able to flush most of it down the toilet before the fuzz knocked down our door. We stashed the remainder away and I thought we were in the clear. I never dreamed that they would look under the bed. I must admit I felt like a real renegade when they accused me of painting.
Prison was smokin' for 1922-1993 and I, but we ran that shit. Patrick had always been passive, but in the pen he was feared. I mean, he had this dude, Serj, washing his socks. Now I'm not saying prison wasn't easy, but it wasn't greezy. My book was coming along, as in it was really beginning to come into its own. The only thing it needed now was a rapstar so minorities would buy it. So far, the story was about buried treasure. Everyone was after the buried treasure, they would go as far as deception to get it! When the book was complete, I called it "The Knitty Gritty Pretty Kitty." 1922-1993 really burst my bubble when he told me they already made it into a movie called "Above the Rim." With that in mind 1922-1993 and I had a scheme that would bring us into the inner circle. Cigarettes and batteries were a good way to gain men to fuck, but Patrick had a better idea in his mind - eggnog. We found this Rastafarian kid who gave a mean hand job. Now smuggling the nog (which was primarily composed of sawdust, germs, spaghetti, pee-pees, cockees, etc., penis, vagina, etc.) was not an easy task. Mostly prisoners would just beat us up and take our beverage; but once this guy paid us with his fruit cup (his ballsack). Business was down, so 1922-1993 and I decided to hire a Nazi. He was a Pagan, so he wore a motorcycle helmet all the time and no shirt. As our operation flourished, our three-man outfit began to grow. I mean the Rastafarian kid was like 50 feet tall. He ate the Nazi, but we didn't need him anymore anyway. We had our names carved in stone on all the faces of the people who we carved names on them. We were king of the jungle, and nothing, or no lion could throw us into a stampede with the help of three hyenas; one of them being retarded.
After four years, we were on such good terms with the warden, who was Winston from Ghostbusters, that he agreed to grant parole on good behavior - under one condition...we would have to cooperate in a dragnet to nail a rapist on statutory rape charges. The plan was to incriminate this alleged rapist by dressing 1922-1993 as jailbait. After the shopping mall we were livid. 1922-1993 looked like that pig-tailed red-head on the Wendy's logo and I had a huge boner. To test our luck we ventured into the Red Hook Section of Brooklyn, New York. We found the disguise to be a success. I watched helplessly from my wheelchair as 1922-1993 was gangbanged by a squad of Puerto Ricans. The set-up went off without a hitch. 1922-1993 posed doggy-style on the driveway while I took pictures from an Astrovan across the street. After nine rolls of film, the rapist took the bait. Those Black Panthers gave Bob Saget the beating of his life, I'll tell you that much. The deal was sealed and with that, 1922-1993 and I were as free as ice.
  
Chapter 11
Once we tasted the smells of the outside world, it was time for me and 1922-1993 to paint the town red. I was rockin' my stonewashed dungarees and white t-shirt, a real classic. I topped it off with a football helmet, I think it was the Oilers. 1922-1993 refused to lose the Pippie Long-Stocking get-up. I shrugged my shoulders and we headed for Richie Mick's Auto-Barge. Now we were pretty broke, but we needed wheels. We made a deal with Mr. Mick: we would take any car we wanted, not pay for it, and never bring it back. But I think Richie was unaware of the deal, as 1922-1993 had already been stabbing him for a good five minutes. The 8-yard Dump Truck was fierce, but it was a 5-speed and neither of us could drive stick (and I was paralyzed). Determined 1922-1993 held down the clutch and let gravity do the talking. We managed to pick up enough speed to roll onto the freeway and after running a few red lights, we began to pick up some real speed. The freeway sloped and sloped and1922-1993 and I shared a high-five; except I was paralyzed so he just smacked me in the head. As we reached 70mph, 1922-1993 made a confession. Michael J. Fox was his favorite actor and he always wanted to reenact the scene from Teen Wolf where his idol does back flips on a box truck. I had not had this much fun in years. I pretended I was driving by revving the motor on my wheelchair. I looked over at 1922-1993. His newfound pig-tails bounced playfully every time we caused a car accident, his freckles danced over his rosy cheeks. I was in love, and me and 1922-1993 were on the outside.

Chapter 12
Patrick was beginning to become like a mother figure to me; he would cook dinner, clean house, he owned a vibrator. But the thing that nurtured me the most were our fishing trips to the Hudson. We never actually caught a fish, unless you count this one time 1922-1993 hit a seagull with a rock. After we went fishing we would go to the museum. 1922-1993 really liked all the contemporary stuff, but I could never understand it. I was perfectly happy looking at dinosaur bones. One time, this one dude in a turtleneck was reading his poetry outside the museum. It went something like this:


"crumpled paper laden sidewalks
crisp post autumn air
      breeze rearranges wrinkled whites
                                knit maroon sweaters
brown boots khaki pants or sandals
           chunky dark frames
                                 short
receding hairline
             no
                green sweater over
                                    white button-up
                  protruding
                             galleries
                                       contemporary
                          latte       espresso
                                              foam
reds browns
         orange                                         washed out
hot throat
                          steam doubled-cup
canvas and styrofoam mediums
plastic sip top cream colored walls
        
purples
                   cool enough to drink cautiously
        thirteen dollars
                   soothing motion
                            lulling stupor
         flip phone interruption
                                  wrong number
                                   good timing"

As 1922-1993 joined the crowd in a round of applause, I shouted "faggot" as loud as I could (for a cripple). A sea of angry glasses turned to me and glared, through the glasses. I tried to make a break for it, but my battery powered motor was no match. They stole my wheelchair and left me for dead. I looked up at 1922-1993, who looked torn. I tried to reach out my hand but I was paralyzed. A tear left my eye as I witnessed 1922-1993 run off with the poets. It would be years till Patrick and I met again...

Chapter 13
I laid on the sidewalk for about three weeks until a good Samaritan came and picked me up. Her name was Mrs. Doom. She helped me to the bus station where I sat for the next month or so. She would visit me periodically, bringing me blankets and buttered rolls, touching my groin.

"Your groin is cold!" she would say.

    "Whoah!" I would say.

She called me Unc, I called her my girlfriend. By January, I realized that I was never really paralyzed and that I had one too many layers of clothing on. I took off my jean jacket and put it into a plastic bag. "You can walk!" my girlfriend shrieked. We celebrated with a drink. She drank Bailey's, and I drank Bailey's with crushed up pretzels in it. We must've drank the week entire. We drank and drank and we played truth or dare. She asked me if I had ever been in love. That's when it hit me, the memories came rushing and I suddenly felt paralyzed again. 1922-1993 was gone from my life. At that moment I felt completely meaningless. But I forgot about that once Mrs. Doom started to give me the best blowjob ever.
The next chapter of my life I cannot clearly recall, bits and pieces come back to me as I live. I found myself exiting the hospital. I saw some workers breaking in front of the hospital. They were black so I raised my clenched fist and whispered "Free Huey" in their ears. But they weren't really black, they were Mexican. A young man came out of the hospital, and he wanted to know how to get to the caryard. On the way to the impound lot, I stopped and got a haircut. The boy voiced his disapproval of the police. "I hate the police," said the boy.
"Let me tell you something about the bible," I said. "Send out my sheep among the goats, and you will burn in hell.'" We got to the tow truck place and I rolled a cigarette.
I wandered the streets for years. I saw muggings, I saw nice cars and politicians. I even registered to vote. When I got to the voting booth, I put in 75 cents and voted for Ronald Reagan. The voting machine dropped me a can of pepsi for my troubles. I'm talking about the silver, with a blue and red yin yang (2d). What I needed next was a job. But I didn't kid myself, I knew I was totally hopeless without 1922-1993...


Chapter 14
I had to find 1922-1993, but it would be tough. In order to find him fast, I would need to be smart. I went back to school to get an education. When I got to class, 1922-1993 was my science teacher. He was going by the name "Ms. Teach," and he was still outrageously hot in his Wendy's gear. He taught me concepts I hated, such as evolution; the worst concept I have ever heard. I raised my hand and for the first time 1922-1993 realized who I was. Taken aback, he called on me. I spoke my mind with the following limerick, "I was once a slime, but now I am a prodigy. I am revolution. I am evolution. I am dirt." 1922-1993 wrote my name on the board with a check next to it for that. In an act of revenge, I ran to the principal's office and claimed that Ms. Teach had plans to suck my sperm in order to become infamous. The police arrived within minutes and arrested 1922-1993; they quickly discovered his false identity. He was really in trouble now. It was then that I realized there was nothing more I could do for 1922-1993, I had given him every chance in the world. He dug his own grave, now he would have to lie in it.

I Hate Math
                                           suck your tits
                                                  suck your ass
                                                                             suck them both until you pass

                                                  pass the test
                                                       teacher's chest
                                                                            teacher's test is such a mess

                                                     numbers here
                                                      numbers there
                                                                               freaking numbers everywhere



Chapter 15
I testified against 1922-1993 in court, I was also his attorney. I struck a deal with the DA's office - my client would plead guilty to lewd conduct and confess to a triple homicide. In exchange, they would arrange for Different Strokes to be put back on primetime television where it belonged. 1922-1993 was pretty peeved about the whole life in prison thing, but he got over it. I took a job as janitor at the maximum-security prison where 1922-1993 served his time. For us, friendship would never die.

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