A Late Summer Night's Pipe Dream

Yaargh, I realize it's been quite some time since me last post, and for that I offer my greatest and most heartfelt apologies. But as much as I would have liked to maintain a consistent dialogue with ye via the World Wide Web, ole Quint's immune system had other plans for him. In all actuality, it comes as no surprise that I was laid up for so long. The real surprise is that I bounced back so quickly!

Let me tell you, landlubbers, tetanus is a nasty son of a bitch! I'm sure that the constant barrage of booze and drugs that I have routinely introduced to my innards ever since the tender age of 6 hasn't contributed towards my well-being, either, but I'd rather have a short, mess of a life than a long, sober, bore of one. Ah well, but that's just me.

I last left ye with the promise that I'd be running for President of the good ole US of A. Well, fear not, gentle lads and lasses, for ole Quint has been making good on that promise, despite being hard pressed to survive his many ailments. Why, just this past week I recruited a few friendly neighbors of mine to help in the pamphlet distribution.

On a particularly rough night, when sleep eluded me for longer than I would have liked, I decided to have myself a stroll down the railroad tracks. Lo and behold, there was a rather large cardboard box erected about a hundred feet to the left of the boxcar that houses me. Sitting on the makeshift patio, warming their hands on the hot flames of an impressively constructed trashcan fire, was an old scrapper and his lovely asian mistress.

Forced to duck and shield my face from the onslaught of rocks that they felt the need to pummel me with for no particular reason, I charged them like a bull on hallucinagens at a Mao Tse-tung garage sale. After throttling them good and right for attacking me in the first place, I sat them down on a tree stump, wiped the specks of blood from their lips, and introduced myself as the next President of the United States. They were quite noticeably humbled.

After the initial shock and awe subsided and their faces adopted expressions of doubt, I decided that it would be wise of me to introduce to them the logistics of my plan for acquiring the master bedroom at the White House. As I had only set about scribbling my ideas onto paper the previous evening, immediately after polishing off a particularly ticklish bottle of Nightrain with a mute prostitute named Eggla, and considering that it had only taken me five minutes to arrange my thoughts via crayon onto an empty sugar packet, I was open to any suggestions my new friends might have.

First, I figured it would be best to get my name out there. Whoever heard of someone voting for a candidate they never heard of? Certainly not me! So, I figured the best way to do this would be a tour throughout every major suburb of the United States.

My new friend, the scrapper, asked me in a rather sarcastic tone how I planned on getting around the country, being that I owned no means of transporation. I promptly backslapped him across the cheek for being so bold, and then told him that my plan is to start locally, seek representation, and then branch out elsewhere...obviously! He apologized for his rude inquisition, and then, as reparation for his brashness, offered me the opportunity to bed his mistress, which I duly accepted.

After cementing a bond with the two of them - one of physical abuse with the scrapper, and another of sexual abuse with his mistress - I decided that I would begin my ascent towards the presidency the very next morning...