Saturday, May 26, 2007

Mr. Carl

After my Mom caught me growing pot in her greenhouse, my father told me it was time for me to move out or join the army. After going from couch to couch for two months, I ended up wearing out my welcome everywhere and took up residence in my Chevy Nova in the parking lot of a church. After a couple days Mr. Carl comes knocking on my window and offers me a place to stay, to help me get back on my feet. Honestly, this is one of the few people I really regret screwing over. This guy just kept forgiving and forgiving. Whether it was me selling half of his LP collection, or inviting my friends over and hotboxing his bathroom, or making tons of prank calls to foreign countries, the man did exactly what Jesus would do. That is until he came home to find my hand in his daughter's trousers. At that point he freaked and chased me around the house with a tire iron smashing three lamps, a statue of the Virgin Mary and putting a couple good sized holes in the wall. As I grabbed for my car keys, he smashed that iron into the back of my hand. I still can't cross any of my fingers due to nerve damage. At first I thought that was pretty fucked up, but now that I think about it, Jesus probably would have done the same.


s.k.namanny said...

Mr. Carl has scriptures to justify the nerve damage. But I talked to his daughter, and she doesn't hate you.


pssst said...

I hate you.