So I was cracking. Again. Example. December 8, 2012. The Day we remember the shooting death of John Lennon. Here’s what happened:
I crossed Hwy 200, soft walked my way over some rebar-laden debris, walked 75 meters up the dirt road, made a right turn under the half finished archway to my half finished hotel, and there they were. They had found me. Again. Two women, whom I immediately assumed witnessed their boy Jesus(pronounced Geez iss) do something extraordinary, were standing in front of my metal gate, waiting patiently for whatever it is they wait patiently for. They were way overdressed as usual.
“Hi there. It looks like you are getting back from surfing. How were the waves?
“Well my name is Mary, and this is my assistant Mary, and we’re…”
“Yeah I know who you are!”
“Oh. OK. Well we were in the area and thought that you might be inter…”
“Great timing laides. I’ve been hitting a bit of a rough patch and am sort of in the market for a crutch. Watch your step, the tiles can get slick as snot.”
So we walked upstairs. I showed the bible bimbos their white plastic Corona seats around a red plastic Coca Cola table, and offered them up a couple Cold Tecate Lights. They both declined. I excused myself for a moment telling them i needed to shower off. With a slight head wink, I motioned for the younger one to join me. She declined, but I could tell that she allowed the thought to cross her mind.
I spent a good twenty minutes in the outdoor bathroom area because I needed some time to devise my scheme. I came out of the bathroom wrapped in only a towel. I apologized for the delay nonetheless.
I gave them the notion that I was now ready to witness what they had been witnessing, or have witnessed, or are currently witnessing, but at the last moment, asked politely if they wouldn’t mind if I cooked myself some Old Fashioned Quaker Oatmeal. I told them I was bonking. I soaked the oats for five minutes before turning the stove on to low heat. I slowly brought it to a boil. I added a banana(during the cooking process), raisins(after the cooking process), and a couple squirts of half and half. At the same time, I boiled up water for some instant coffee. When that was all ready, I walked outside on the tiled patio area overlooking the Pacific Ocean. My towel was still wrapped around my waist. Prior to walking outside for our sit down, I put on my extra dark Bono style polarized sunglasses, as well as a low lying cowboy hat. I was now good and ready to chip away at these two whistle blowers.
The young hot one, with her cunning Australian accent began with some small talk about heaven and hell. I just sat there eating and nodding. At one point I think I blurted out something like, “That’s not entirely true!” I could tell the older Mary felt as though they were losing this battle. She kept frantically thumbing through her cartoon literature.
A late season thunderstorm slowly began to make its way onto the patio. I finished my oatmeal, and raised my left ass cheek off the plastic chair just enough to release some gas worth noting. Pretty solid bit of noise. I looked for a reaction. They pretended not to hear it. Amateurs. Next move. I reached under the table and put my hand on the upper part of the young Mary’s thigh and pulled out a marijuana cigarette that I’ve had stashed behind my right ear since July 2011. I offered young Mary the first toke. She looked at the older Mary, looked at me, and then looked back at Mother Mary. She was torn. I kept my hand firmly on the inner portion of her young thigh. Young Mary was about to make a decision that was going to profoundly change her future. And maybe mine.
In her sweet little Aussie voice, she politely declined all my sick offers, removed my hand from her thigh, and moved her plastic Corona Chair closer to Old Mary, signifying her decision to remain with The Lord. Old Mary had this Proud Mary grin Churning. I gave her my most wicked snare. She made The Devil sign with her pointer fingers on each side of her head. I was like, “That’s all you got Boo?”
And then it just happened. I don’t know what came over me. It certainly wasn’t in any one of my game plans. All I know is that I stood up, heard my inner lion roar, removed my towel, slapped my Johannesberg down on the red Coca Cola table, and said, “Say hello to my little friend!”
Both Mary’s had a massive little lamb whose fleece was as white as The Ghost of Oaxaca. Old Mary grabbed Young Mary by the bicep and they both scurried away. I’m not 100% sure, but I think one of them must have slipped on the wet tiles in the staircase area. When all that dust settled, I knew I was getting close to my own bottom, and in need of some serious counseling. Despite that realization, I slept like a baby that night. Baby Jesus that is.