Hello again, dear friends. I feel that I am obligated to inform you that today is a day of change for ole Quint McGuinley. The time has come for me to move on from the abandoned railcar that has been my home for the greater part of a year now; my main reason being that the city will soon be shrouded in a blanket of humidity that I anticipate will cause the atmosphere inside the steel car to rise to oven-like temperatures.
Sure ole Quint wakes up with the sun and spends most of his days wandering around barefoot in air-conditioned supermarkets to avoid the ravages of such a climate, but that's not the point! The point is that I am a complex human being who requires frequent lifestyle changes in order to feel secure. That might not make sense to a lot of you, but I am not here to explain myself. I am here to chronicle the insanity that is my existence; not babysit simpletons!
Forgive me for that outburst. I just did fifty squat-thrusts in 20 seconds and a bead of perspiration found its way to my left eyeball. Argggh!! I could punch a hole through a man's pectorals when that happens!!
Before I go off on a tangent, I just want to let you know that the decision is final. I already drafted a blood contract with Dingy Joe that entitles him to 100% of my railcar property on the 15th of April, which is this Friday...tomorrow. What I neglected to inform him is that I also made an agreement with Strychnine Sally to move in on the 16th.
The way I see it, they'll fight like savages over the rights to my railcar and probably slaughter, or at the very least severely maim each other in the process, allowing me to slip away with no worries and no reparations to be made. And right around the time winter rolls around again the police should be removing the yellow restrictive tape from the perimeter of my railcar, providing me easy entry to my former quarters and a warm refuge from the frigid air.
And before you launch an attack on my personal integrity for hatching such a cruel design, please permit me a second to explain my position. Dingy Joe has yet to receive his comeuppance for accosting my belt. Sure, I bare-knuckle boxed the fella, but he could have at least told me he had the AIDS! The way I see it, that's TWO strikes against him! This is only ONE revenge scheme!
If Dingy survives Strychnine Sally's brutal onslaught, then I will forgive all previous wrongs...provided of course that he returns my belt in the same condition it was in when I last saw it. If he cannot, then God help him.
As for Sally, the only thing she ever did for me was give me a nasty case of the clap! That filthy harlot would do the same to me if only she thought of it first; and if she owned her own railcar, of course. To hell with the whole lot of 'em!
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to return to packing my rucksack and leaving a healthy dump under the makeshift bed of grass. What kind of realtor would I be if I didn't leave a welcome gift for my tenant?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment