Saturday, August 1, 2009

Button Down Douche

Every once in a while I do some off-the-wall shit just to see people's reaction. You know, like start up a conversation with a complete stranger on the intricacies of ass-to-mouth or take my pet ferret to Old Country Buffet and feed it spoonfuls of corn. Folks really love that one.

But every now and again my own twisted sense of humor gets turned on its ear and the person I target becomes quite aggressive. For example:

Yesterday I was sitting around the house, picking lint out of my belly button and wondering aloud about the current state of the union -- my dogs are great listeners -- when suddenly an idea struck me with the force of a lit fart: I need some money. But how to get it? Donate blood? I hate needles, so that was out of the question. Donate sperm? While jerking off into a plastic cup had its advantages -- less cleanup for starters -- I couldn't do that because my ball batter is so potent that any woman it was given to would immediately become impregnated with a 30-year-old pirate. So what was I to do? How was I going to get my hands on some green?

So I was standing in front of Walmart with my Batman mug, getting paid like a pregnant black woman, when up walked some dickhead with a crew-cut and dark shades.

"What's going on here?" asked the dick with glasses.

"I'm trying to get some cheddar. Not the cheese though." For effect I pulled a single from my mug and waved it under his nose.

"Do you have a permit?" asked Dick.

"Uh, I have a driving permit. My doctor says I'm OK to operate a motor vehicle if I continue to take my medicine." A woman walked by with two kids in tow.

"You know she puts out," I whispered to Dick. He glanced at the woman, and I thought I detected a hint of gay emanating off him.

"Sir, if you don't have a permit I'll have to ask you to leave. And is that a ferret?" He looked down at my ferret, which I had tethered to a shopping cart.

"Why yes it is," I responded. "And who died and made you king Dick?" A guy walked by with a mullet and I instinctively gave him a high five.

"Uh, no one died and made me king sir, but if you don't have a permit and refuse to desist with this illegal activity I'll be forced to arrest you."

It was then that I looked down and noticed his gun and handcuffs.

"Fuck you copper," I screamed as I darted inside Walmart. "You'll never take me alive!"

As I ran past the door greeter -- a woman so old she might have known Moses -- I realized I forgot the damn ferret, so I exited through the entrance, scooped him up and made a mad dash toward the parking lot.

"Fuck you pig!" I bellowed as I ran past him. "And your whole piggy family!"

Apparently officer Dick wasn't amused, because it was at the precise moment when I was about to slide across the hood of a parked Cavalier Dukes of Hazzard style that he took out his baton and flung it at my head.

Luckily I was wearing the ferret and it took the brunt of the blow, but I still stumbled into a light pole, lost my balance and went sprawling across the pavement.

"Are you done?" asked officer Dick as he walked over to my prone body.

"Yes," I responded. "I'm done."

"Good, now will you please put your pants on and remove yourself from this location. I'd arrest you but I'm fairly certain you're mentally challenged."

"Your mother's mentally challenged," I said under my breath as I got to my feet.

"What was that?" asked Dick.

"Nothing," I said back. "Where's my ferret?"

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