FatKidsLie

I’m not exactly sure of the family structure of this group. I believe that it was two sisters who were living with a cousin of their’s. There was even stories of a third cousin flown in from Nebraska. I don’t really know… Because I wasn’t allowed to associate with them. For more than the obvious reasons.

All together there were at least 30 kids with a spread of 25 years from youngest to oldest. The government eventually stepped in and took the kids. They in fact had a special court order that any hospital in the area had to call them when one of them was born. The kids are now spread all across Staten Island. They’re all retarteds and useless to society.

It’s not like they ALL don’t try. One tried to join the army but failed the entrance exam. Another works at the coffee shop across the street from me. And by “works” I mean that sometimes she blows the Albanian drug dealers in the back room for free meth. But at least that’s something, yaknow? I’ll give points for working within your means.

I remember their house… It was up the block from me. Just remember that I live in a semi-suburban area of New York City… Not Detroit or Alabama or nuthin..

The front door was missing a hinge. When they’d open it it’d swing in all sorts of weird directions. Like a palsy patient. Only it’s a door. Not some poor schmuck.

They had actual cardboard in the windows. There was a PILE of tires in the yard. They even had a piece of plywood crookedly and precariously nailed to cover a hole in the wall.

Eventually the house burned down. Nobody was in there. Or at least, nobody of any significance. I mean, they MIGHT have had a kid or two in cages. You know.. the ones that are too deformed and weird and psycho to live amongst society. Like the creatures from any cannibal horror move where there’s hillbillies and inbreeding and stuff…

I’m pretty sure they were there. At night? I could swear I heard howling ….

When I was a kid I lived in this old Victorian house. It was part of a set. My neighbor’s house was the exact same layout, which didn’t really happen over a century ago. Not like today’s home-manufacturing industry which is all about track houses and Mc Mansions where all houses look like they’re stamped out like in the Homer Price stories…. each with a picture of Whistler’s Mother….

At one point the two houses were own by a family. This was so long ago that it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the property line cut down the driveway.

My neighbor at the time was an old shutin. I remember visiting her house once and she had chicken wishbones strung up across her kitchen. She also had jars of various …. things in there. I swear she was Grimm’s Fairytales kind of witch. The kind that would put kids into the oven. And not just the jew kids.

Well one day I see some smoke coming out of the back yard and I walk down there…. I must’ve been like 12? I dunno. I was old enough to fight someone if I had a baseball bat or machete or whatever. But anyway I walked down there and there was this redheaded kid from up the block in there with some of his friends. They were smoking pot in my garage, and had knocked out the window to get in.

Now I know you’re thinking that 8 year old boys don’t smoke pot. Well, if they’re the 8th of 15 kids who are all half brothers and each other’s cousins… well…. yeah.

You see the father was in a poly-relationship with these two women… who were sisters…. Yeah… if you were in that family you’d be smoking pot at 8 too.

But I wasn’t too mad that they were smoking up. I didn’t want them in my garage. So I chased them out and they told me that the crazy lady next door rented them the garage. I told my mom and she and my dad had a conversation with her and it turned out that she did in fact rent them our garage. Because she claimed that it was her’s.

Yeah. Weird.

So the next day the red headed kid was back. My mom scared him away. And then he came back later that day with some of his brothers. And my mom chased them away….

I don’t think she went to the parents’ house. Because these weren’t the kind of people that you can reason with. These are the kind of people that had all their kids taken away and then had a court order that they get their tubes tied….

So the next day my dad hears some ruckus coming from the back yard and gets his hatchet and goes back there to see flames coming out of the garage. He puts the fire out and then picks the kids up by the neck (yes the kid was dumb and inbred enough to stand around) and asks him to explain…

Well the kid thought that it’d be a good idea to light fireworks in the garage. Not that it was ANYWHERE near July 4th…. I believe it was in November.

So up the block my dad went. Past the hippies with no shoes; Past the black Vietnam vet who sat on his porch with his shotgun; Past the Albanian whorehouse until he got to the hick-shack. Where he kicked the door in and threatened to perform a citizen’s castration.

After that? Nobody messed with my garage.

"That lady did some voodoo on your hat!

—Some crazy lady that my sister overheard on Main St. here in my hometown.

The hat?

… Based on the descriptions given.

A friend of mine works at a retail store where they sell video games. They keep the games in glass cases, and then add a sort of security lock to the little bar that the games are attached to, so that you can’t just grab a game, you have to ask for it. It’s called “Loss Prevention” and is a big part of corporate retail strategies. (The more you know….)

So some dude comes in, jimmies open the case and grabs armfuls of video games. Like when he goes to sell them at the flea market or off of a card-table in the projects anyone’s gonna doubt that they’re stolen? Or care?

Well the store security catches him and chases him into a corner. Where he proceeds to take his pants down, take a dump and smear it all over the video games, and then hold out his hands to sort of ward off the security guards.

Which worked.

Because he got away.

But not with the games.

Which had to be marked as a loss. By one of the minimum wage earning kids.

At least they didn’t just restock them…

But here’s the thing that bugs me… I can’t poop on demand like that. My BM’s are so regular that God uses them to plan sun-up and sun-down. You can synchronize Gregorian, Hebrew and Chinese calendars to my poops. But anyway, I’m thinking that this guy planned that as a backup plan. That’s what I’d do. Either that or fill a Supersoaker with piss. and leave it to ferment for a couple of days.

But that’s just me.

To the “Family Dollar” store on Main street:

I’m sorry for stealing half a bag of off-brand Mexican Cheeze-Kurls last Friday when my sister and I were shopping for school supplies that only your bargain-basement prices can put into my unemployable price-range. It is not in my nature to steal, or commit any crimes, especially when I know that the 99c jumbo bag’s sale would have pushed your margins into the black. I do not offer any excuses for my behaviour other than an explanation.

There was this old woman. Who was wearing every article of clothing that she owned. And has probably been wearing them non-stop since she had her be-mulleted grandson tip over one of those “clothe the homeless” boxes that seem to be at every Home Depot and Christmastree Shop location in my home town. There was an aura about this woman that prevented myself and all but the most seasoned and gnarly sanitation workers from being being within four yards from her centre of mass.

This woman, in short, stunk.

Like rancid piss, death and Jagermeister.

She smelled worse than the overflowed septic systems I used to clean out when I was in high school. Worse than the mattress after a Rosie O’Donel/Oprah Winfrey/John Goodman 3-way sex party.

My sister and I made every attempt within human reason to avoid being overwhelmed by her death-blossom bouquet, however after several minutes not one square foot of the store remained viable and uncontaminated. Without any words, the decision was made to cut our shopping trip short, get on line, purchase the items in our cart and return at some future date, hoping that this was an incident rather than a common occurrence. Unfortunately the odoriferous woman got in line immediately before us. And I could cue myself up behind her.

In direct line of fire from her farts.

Which actually melted a pair of glasses.

My sister and I then walked into the snack aisle and debated our plan of action. At this point I must say that it is wholly my fault and responsibility for the theft of the half-bag of fake-cheese “flavoured” Styrofoam puff balls. She had nothing to do with it. Whatsoever. I left the store and she chased me out to force me to pay.

She should not bear any of the of the legal repercussions. She’s wracked with guilt about it as it is. She thought that the police that were chasing around the projects that your store is located in were actually after her. She’s a woman, so the logic of cost/risk/benefit relations escapes her and does not realise that the police would not even bother with that level of petty crime. Since we’re white, I mean.

In closing, please accept this as an apology as well as my redemption since it has taken me over twice as long to write this than the community service sentence would have taken. If I even went to trial.

Since I’d resist arrest. ‘Cause I ain’t goin’ back to jail. I’m too pretty in there. And prison-rape is not fun.