Why I Won't Be in to Work Today
So, there we were, flying down I-495 with half a state trooper (the jack booted half) flapping on the hood, snagged on the hood ornament. To say everything had gone wrong that day would be understating things just a smidge. Then again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
It all started when we went to that Junior Bush rally up in Manchester. You may have seen me. I was the one with three dozen pierces, the mohawk hairdo, spider web tattoo across the right side of my face, wearing army fatigues and holding the "Lick Bush in '00" sign. I had these vague fantasies of pulling a DeNiro on the old Bushster, but Ed yanked on my sleeve, and pointed out the black helos heading our way.
Well, crap. Another day wasted, I figured, as the three of us hopped back into the Galtmobile, and decided to head back home. 'Course, we had to stop by the New Hampshire snooze 'n booze to pick up some driving spirits, and the stupid commies at the register told me that my Visa was expired.
Well, if they didn't like that kind of plastic, I figured they'd like another kind of plastic, like a 9mm Glock. Yeah, that got his attention all right. I mean, I thought this was butt-slapping funny, but to tell the truth, it's about the time that the whole day started orbiting the crapper. Ed and Bill set up a defensive perimeter around me, and we shuffled out to the parking lot, pausing long enough to give dancing lessons to some old pood crawling out of an impossibly huge Cadillac. We didn't dawdle, because we could already feel the meth wearing off, and there were at least three hundred miles to put under the Galtmobile's bumper.
So, I got back behind the wheel and tore on out of there, scaring the crap out of some guy with a chihuahua. By the time I was back on the highway, I'd gotten at least seven good hits of turkey into my system, and I was feelin' like going out and catching us some of those pansy PRM residents.
Then we got into this big argument about whether we should stick to route 3, or take the back roads so we could do a little sidewalk bowling, but Bill overruled us. He needed some fresh 15 year old meat at the route 3 rest stop.
Hate it when he's got to go and get the urge when the rest of us are up for some real fun.
Yeah, and the trouble was that the 15 year old meat he picked up was actually a 25 year old undercover Mass statie.
Bill never was noted for his taste in kids.
That's when the chase started. Before long, we had four staties on our tails. We thought it'd be a pretty clean chase down to the Connecticut border, but the fools set up a road block for us at the I-495 interchange.
Idiot. Standing in the middle of the road like that. Took him out with one hit, which is how we happened to be driving around with his lower half stuck to the front of our car.
Like I said, this hasn't been the best of days. I mean, there we were, flying down 495, Ed waving his "Whip it Out" sign in one window, and Bill giving all the losers we passed the old "pressed ham" routine. Around the time we were coming up on Marlborough, those godless ZOG representatives behind us got a little antsy and started flingin' some slugs our way. Caught Bill in the left cheek, which set him to screaming like a stuck pig, and me and Ed laughing like it was just the funniest thing since sliced trooper ala hood.
So, Bill's holdin' his butt, whinin' "Hey guys, it ain't funny. This really hurts!" and Ed's lettin' go of a coupla bursts from his Mac-10 out the window. I'm diggin' around under the seat, lookin' for my Uzi, and instead find the bottle of Everclear I had stashed there. What the heck? Took a coupla hits off it right before a stray came through the rear windshield and nailed the bottle. So, Bill's still screaming about his butt, and screamin' about his face, and Ed's still laughin' like a hyena, and I've got this Everclear all over me.
It was about here that I began to lose my concentration, so I turned to Ed to tell him and Bill to shut up, and wouldn'tcha know, the cigarette falls out of my mouth and catches the Everclear on fire. Great. Now I got the family jewels nuking on high, and Ed's still laughing and Bill's hollerin' for me to stop the car, and I'm tryin' to put the flames out by beating them with whatever I had in my hand, which at that moment was my Glock, and you know, I realized that beating on my flamin' nutz with a Glock just wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done.
That's when things just got to be a bit overwhelming to me. I mean, Bill was screamin', and Ed was laughin', but there was this other guy screamin', too, and it took me a while to realize that it was me. I was goin' crazy, and for starters, there was just too much noise to deal with. Well, I could understand Bill's screamin' and everything, but I was in pain, and I just didn't like Ed laughin' at me like that, so I figured if he didn't shape up, we'd share some pain.
So, I told him to shut up, and all he does is laugh at me, so I kneecapped the SOB. That got him to screamin', too, but at least it was, you know, kinda congruent with the overall emotion in the car. It actually made me feel a lot better. 'Course, there was still the small matter of all those cops chasing us to deal with.
I know what happened next is kinda stupid, but I've gotta say that driving a car over a hundred with three people screaming and bleedin', one of them bein' the driver, and having your crotch on fire all at the same time you're trying to see around the lower half of a state trooper on your hood, well it just ain't as easy as it sounds, that's all.
I was hopin' to blow the toll booth at I-90 and take the pike on out to Sturbridge. It wasn't rush hour, so I figured traffic would be light. But then all of a sudden, there's this big traffic jam right in front of me. Long story short, they were doin' some construction on the highway, and some bozo in the ZOG got this great idea to pull a "Vanishing Point" on us. So, there were all these cars stopped right in front of a line of bulldozers, spread out across the highway.
'Course, driving on the shoulder is legal in Massachusetts, so I hit the edge of the road and figured I'd just drive around the roadblock, and maybe pick up another trooper in the process. That's when Ed slugged me, and well, I just lost control of the car. We went down into the center island, and flipped a few times before comin' to a rest on the roof.
So, the three of us is hangin' there screamin', and we're all bleedin' and burnin' and stuff, and none of us can get out of our seatbelts... Have I mentioned just how stupid those stupid seatbelt laws are?
Yeah, well while we were workin' at gettin' out, some of the staties must have parked and come over to the car, 'cause before I know it, I'm lookin' out the window at a veritable stampede of jackboots. One of them bends down like to talk to me or somethin', and I stop screamin' so's I can talk to him.
I wanted to say something really cool, but with my crotch on fire and all the people screamin' and just feelin' like the whole day's gone wrong, all I could think of was to shout, "Hey, where's the cheerleaders?"
'Cept I only got half of that out before I got the barrels of about five guns stuck in my mouth.
They yanked us from the car, and put my nut fire out, but I'm not sayin' how they did it, 'cause it's really kinda gross, and they took us down to the station and slapped us around for a while before turnin' a fire hose on us to clean us up a bit.
They told me I could have a phone call, which was a darn good thing, 'cause I was jonesin' for a pizza real bad, but the jerks ate it when it showed up.
So, here I am in this jail cell with this big bald guy lookin' at me in ways that make me feel like a 15 year old at a rest stop. They ain't lettin' me make any more phone calls, but they said I could write this note.
Anyway, I'm sorry, but I guess I ain't gonna be able to do that next job for you. It looks like I'm gonna be a little tied up.
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