The continued adventures of the meth mouthed brothers skeeter, boner, and Shappy.
Me and Boner and Shappy been up three days smoking our new batch of meth--this White Trash turned out prettty damn good. Our eyes are bulging out of our head's so much that Shappy actually had one pop out. We had a hell of time getting it back in. He bled a lot, too. Passed out at some point. I guess that's a good sign. Like I told Boner, "You sleep off a hang-over, so why the hell not bleeding too much?"
Yea, this White Trash is great... well, except for smelling like Boner's shit. That's 'cause we thought we were going to sell some to this kid down at the 7-11 on fourth street, Gerald The Battery Boy, a a twelve year old who steals car batteries to support his habit -- that's one industrious kid, and I am keeping my eye on him because he could prove to be a potential rivalry who I will have to run out of the trailer park, like I did his older sister, when she tried to bring in her own crank from those high-falutin Woodcocks on the southside of the park -- all those southsiders think that they're better than us just because they're on that side of Merrywinkle Unicorn Lane. I say, hell no, we all got the meth-mouths and live in a trailer park.
At least in public... inside, I know them southsiders are just so smart and all Game Show sophisticated -- how the hell am I supposed to compete with that? Sometimes when I am around them, I wish my parents had all educated me by putting on Wheel Of Fortune and them 'hard' game shows that require guessing at the size of different words-- who the hell can tell one size of word from the other, I say... but then, I wasn't raised watching 100,000 question, was I mom? This is one of the reason the social worker used to say I was using meth as an eight year old. Hell, sometimes on meth I feel like I could get everything perfect on the Price Is Right (which requires years and years of price checking, and then getting called ... which is why all the older price checkers at Kmart go there on vacations, which they can afford every ten or so years, depending on saving habits!!
Sometimes I remember that social worker coming in and looking at the tv and asking my mom and dad why they never put on something educational, like Hollywood Squares? They were both a little embarrassed to be raising us on Jerry that day. This was the only time I ever saw my daddy squirm, and it made an impact on me... sure, it hurt. Dad just waited until the social worker was gone and then told us she was 'putting on airs,' that we could go to her house right at that very moment and find her watching Jerry because 'nobody, in their hearts, can resist that show.' At the time I believe him.
I seem to have gotten off the topic again. Meth could possibly be adding to this, like Booger thinks, but I doubt it. He is filled with strange notions ever since being forced to watch Ophra, back last year when he was in jail and ended up some intellectual black guys bitch. I wish the hell he would take that guys picture down from the living room wall... keeps giving me an uncomfortable feeling way up in my but.
NOw, I guess I was about to explain why our new batch of White Trash meth smells like Booger's shit -- which is generally known around these parts to be surprisingly different than the smell of his ass.
Well, getting from our territory to the 7-11 is mighty tricky, of course. Any time we go out of our territory, we put ourselves in extreme danger of getting attacked by rival meth gangs, not to mention the Waterloo, Indiana Police Department, which are whily little enforcemeters. they won't actually come in the trailer park anymore. They claim it's cause of the smell and that they just don't plain give a shit about the people who live here. The mayor I guess gave them some edict saying he didn't give a shit about the trailer park and should we get to fighting, like we always do on in the late afternoon when everyone gets to drinking, the cops should just let us kill each other off. Like they do with the gangs in the big cities.
That is what they are saying on the level of the press, at least. When I read that story in the Waterloo Gazette and Hog Futures Report, I looked between the goddamn lines and I knew the truth -- they are too afraid of me and boner and shappy to come into Rabby's Trailer Park Emporium. Yeah, they know better than to mess with my business... but then they wouldn't keep throwing my ass in jail... well, never mind. That fear does for some reason leaves them when we are out of the trailer park, though . . . Why I just don't know? Probably has to do with UFOS' or the CIA... or perhaps them Southsiders are dropping a dime on us whenever we head through their territory? This is a mystery man will never know, like who invented water? Someone had to invent it, just like they did coke. So why isn't coke coming through the tap? The water lobby. Ain't no other reason I can think of. Hell, the acid stuff in them pops would help with bathing and dishwashing. These are the kind of brilliant thoughts you can come up with on Meth, which is why I tell parents not to send their kids to school without it!!!
Whatever it is, they try and bust any meth-mouths who happen to venture out of Shappy's Trailer Park Emporium.. And when you got the meth mouth, there ain't no hiding it from the cops. No matter how many times you tell 'em you just got out of treatment and are working a program now, they will search ya. Hell, most of them know our names by now.
So I figured I'd just use some of the education I got in the big house. Got Boner to stick a bunch of little bags of meth up his but. Keistering is we call it when we're in jail. Hell, when I was in Marion, I kept a contraband turkey up in my hershey hole for three days while it thawed enough for me to cook it up on my hot plate.
We figured we could go down to the alley back of the 7-11, and just let them cops search us. That way, they'd think we were clean and leave us alone. Of course two pigs came up to us the second we left the trailer park and threw us against their cars and searched us. One of em says, "Even these three aren't stupid enough to leave with meth. They can learn. Hmp."
Bastard. I told him that I read tv guide just for the articles, but he didn't seem to believe me.
After they left, the customers began slinking up. Once we had their cash, Boner would grunt and strain until he farted out a bag or two.
The idea, as you can tell, was perfect.
There was a problem though... the Woodcocks were across the street in their usual spot, trying to horn in on our business. Them Woodcocks are an inbred tribe from the hotey-totey, stuck up south-side of the trailer park. They think they're all fancy 'cause they got cousins to marry and such, which keeps all the cars in the same family. We sure as hell wish we had cousins, but after that lab we were running during the Anual SKeeter Reunion And Pig Fucking blew all up... shot the house like twenty feet into the air and killed all our relatives, including our most favorite slutty cousins and a pig I had had my eye on for years... Luckily, us three were out chasing some buffalo who were tapping our conversations that day, so we were fine. That might be why everything boiled over, too. You can bet we got jesus to forgive us for that. Say what you want about boner and skeeter and .... , we still live for the lord, sort of. At least we get forgiven for everything. Learned that in prison, too.
Them Woodcocks send their eight and nine year olds out to do the delivery. Marge the Momma told me she does it that way for two reasons-- said when the kids were in jail was about the only time they got to schooling, and of course being minors they usually got off with nothing little sentences that the Woodcocks prided themselves in being able to handle standing on their heads.
Anways... so people had a choice between our bags, which Boner was wet farting out and they were kind of dripping brown stuff during the hand off, or the Woodcocks nice clean bags.
You can imagine what happened. Perverts from adult bookstores for miles found out thhat we were selling meth that smelled like asshole and they were lined up around the block. Them Woodcocks were fuming like a vat grai acohol filled with decongestants.
We were so happy with the results that we had Boner keister the money on the way home, only he didn't have no more bags and the money got all shitty . I guess it kind of looked like a brown dye pack had went off on the money, like from a robbery, and when we tried to spend it on a bunch of cough syryup and decongestants and such, the Guy at the Jewels called the cops on us.
The cops could tell it wasn't a dye pack, but they didn't want to come close to the money. Told us were going to go out back and burn every bit of it, or we were going to jail for doing perverted shit with money. I tried to tell him that we did not put the money up our anuses for satisfaction. Duder was having none of it. Got all pissed off and was waving his baton around as he screamed, "Hey, when I put money up my ass for fun, I burn it afterwards, because I live in a goddamn society."
The world is such a messed up place. Sometimes i think we are the only sane people in an insane world, man. I mean, if people would just let us be, the world would be perfect. Well, except for meth-mouth, lack of cousins, and the Boner-butt smell of this meth.