Hank Harley is Pissed!

I got me a new cane the other day, solid hickory and nice and gnarled and knotted like I wanted. The son of a bitch is hard as nails too, the heft in my hand feels good. Now I’m armed everywhere I go, which is important in the crazy times we live in. Let me tell you about an example from just this week, right after I got Ol’ Hickory.

I was walkin’ down the street, minding my own business and watching folks go about their day, when a couple of them Mormons comes a walkin’ along and wants to talkto me. They was just kids, maybe 19 years old and not real streetwise becuase of their sheltered upbringing.

Well of course I felt threatened by them (I have to say that for legal reasons) right away. They was young and walking right up to  me and I was scared (yeah right). They were hassling me and I was afraid for my safety(uh huh).  Anyway, they come walking up on me and start to ask me about my religious beliefs.

“My belief on religion is that I’m against it. Religion just makes folks kill each other and behave like damned idiots tryin’ to get in to other folks business.  So mark me down for “Against it” in your little poll there and then piss up a rope.”

“Sir we would like to talk to you for just a minute about the Latter DAy Saints Church and the things we can help you with.”

“I tell you what.” I said “You let me whack you in the shin with this here cane, and I’ll listen for one minute.” Of course I had been settin’ em up ever since I saw em, wobbling on my cane and looking fragile. I ain’t that old and I ain’t that frail. Me and Ol’ Hickory are not ready to lay dow yet, not ever near it. The fool agreed.

He stuck out his leg as if I was going to give him a little tap on the shin andthen we could get to our talking about where my suld was going to spend eternity. If it’s heaven then it’ll probably be almost as good as the look on that kid’s face when I whacked him in the shin.

I needed a nicelong wind up, but drawing the cane all the way back deliberately might give too much away, so I shook real good like I was havin’ a Parkinson’s fit and my hand just shook the cane farther and farther back. I damn near got a full golf swing, and the best part was that the shaking distracted them so much that the girl was actually offering to help when I turned my body and whipped that cane across his shin. There was a wet cracking sound like a green branch cracking and he yelped like he’d been burnt with an iron.

The kid grabbed his legt and hopped around for a second, yelling and crying and feeling sorry for himself while I just laughed my ass off. “You dumbshit” I said “Didn’t think I was gonna whollop you that good did ya?”

“No sir, I didn’t”

“Hurts like hell don’t it?” I asked.

“It hurts quite a lot sir, but I think the fires of hell are worse.” he said.

Now I was ready to really ruin his day. I hate the god damned Mormons and their bullshit. If Scooter ain’t with me to sick on em I find some other way to let em know how welcome they are the be in our neighborhoodspreading their cult around to everybody.

“Speaking of the fires of hell, why don’t you go burn in em” I said and turned to walk away. “And get some ice on that leg, it’s gonna swell up pretty good. Boy I bet that stings.”

“Sir you owe us a few moments of your time, we had a deal.” he pleaded wth me, still holdng up one leg and leaning against a little tree

“I only done that deal so I could get a good clean whack at your shin” I told him “I ain’t as quick as I used to be or I would have just walked right up to you and whooped you with this here cane instead of having to use my wits. I’ll take age and treachery over youthful exuberance any time.  Thanks for standin’ still like a god damned idiot while I wound up and busted your shin with a hunk of Hickory wood, that made it a lot easier for me.”

He just looked aghast, couldn’t even bring himself to speak. I think he depserately wanted to curse me but he couldn’t do it because his partner was standing right there. I’m sure he couldn’t have spoken a word of kindness toward me right then, no doubt about that. I walked away chuckling out loud to myself because I knew how pissed off it would make him.

I hate Mormons

My nephew Steven came for a visit yesterday. I figured this was the only place I can talk about it because the son of a bitch is 8 years old and he still can’t read. His momma says he’s a “special needs” child…

I’ll tell you about his god damned special needs! That little bastard has a special need for me to go upside his head with a sock full of rocks is what he needs. I think that might keep the shoes off my couch pretty good. Seems to me like I live in a whole world of “special needs” folks. And I’m talking about you too, don’t think I ain’t. At least Steven has himself a good time in life and don’t mope around bitching like half the “smart” folks I know.

I got this crazy Puerto-Rican woman lives next door to me see? She comes out into the hallway when me and Steven are on our way to go get us some lunch and starts whoopin’ and hollerin’ about how the son of a bitch is so damned cute. I hate when women folk get like that.

“Oh yeah, he’s a heckuva kid” I says, figuring she’ll get close enough to him to get herself in trouble. Sure enough she walks right up to him and she gets what I call the “Steven Special” in short order.

You see the little bastard has to wear special shoes because his feet are messed up. The soles on them things are about as hard as a rock and he just loves to kick and stomp with em. The “Steven Special” is his patented move. He’s like Rowdy Roddy Piper only he weighs 52 pounds and he’s retarded.

He starts her off with a good hard stomp on the foot with one of them shoes and she ain’t wearing nothin’ but socks so she starts hollering and cursing in Puerto-Rican louder than hell. While she’s hopping around on one foot he kicks her in the opposite shin. Once you’re watching for the shoes he switches it up for the second half of the Steven Special which is an uppercut to the groin. Boy hits hard for a “special needs kid”. Then he bellows out “I love you Santa Claus!” and runs like hell. Do you know how hard it is to stand up after you’ve had your foot smashed like a mashed potato, been kicked in the shin with concrete shoes, and then taken an uppercut to the groin?

Apparently it’s impossible because I’ve taken Steven to the park an awful lot over the last year or two, and there hasn’t been a single man that has managed to stay on his feet after a Steven Special. We’re probably talking 30 people since he started wearing them shoes, and not one of them has managed to remain standing. I think I’m gonna get the kid a career as a debt collector for the mafia when he’s older. Folks would pay up in a hurry if they knew a giant retard was coming to kick their ass and then run around yelling about Santa Claus.

Anyways she hit the floor about the same time I did, except I was only on the floor cause I was laughing so hard. With most people I act like I didn’t know he was gonna do that and apologize, but that Puerto-Rican bitch knows I hate her and I didn’t give a damn if she knew that I let her walk right into the ambush. Maybe that bitch won’t run up and hassle every kid she sees from now on huh?

After a few seconds one of our neighbors comes out to see what the noise is all about, and he just looks as confused as a man can get. She’s laying there tied up in a knot trying to hold on to her foot and her crotch at the same time and cursing like hell in Puerto-Rican, I’m laying not five feet away holding my gut and laughing so hard that tears are rolling down my cheeks already, and Steven is running up and down the hallway shouting “I love you Santa Claus!” and looking all cross-eyed and shit with those huge thick glasses. To top it all off he’s looking up at a G.I. Joe man that he’s holding above his head and it don’t look nothing like Santa Claus and he’s running all sideways like he does, which is why he needs them damn concrete shoes.

Our neighbor Tom Williams just stood there lookin’ confused for a bit and then went back inside shaking his head like he was trying to forget what he saw. Then I noticed that Mrs. Guttierez was crawling back inside and reaching for her cane next to the door and I figured it might be time for us two amigos to get the hell out of there.

All I needed to say was “Who wants to go to White Castle?” and Steven was on his way out the door and headed for the car, making that high pitched squeal that always makes me want to throw the little bastard in the river. I love taking him to the White Castle, and just as long as I time it right that can be a hell of a good time.

You see one of the things that’s messed up about the kid is his innards. If he eats the wrong food it don’t take but two hours and the poor little bastard is guaranteed to shit his pants. And I’m not talking about a couple of little turds neither. That White Castle messes him up something fierce. It looks like a whole Thanksgiving worth of brown gravy has been poured down the back of his pants and into them big old shoes. Of course it don’t bother him none, he just jumps around hollering “Poopy Shoes! Poooooopy Shoes!” and running away from anybody who tries to catch him to take them shoes off him.

Since his mom was due to pick him up in about 45 minutes I figured we had time to hit the drive thru, wolf down a few burgers and get rid of the evidence before his ma showed up to get him. That’s the key to comedy really. Timing. That and a charming little nephew that gets the green apple splatters any time he gets ahold of a White Castle cheeseburger.

That’s how my day went, can’t say I give a damn about yours.

I woke up this morning about 4:30 like I always do and would you believe some dumb son of a bitch kid is messing around in the shed behind my building? I got all my tools in there! These god damned kids these days ain’t got no respect for other people’s property. Well I called the police like a good citizen ought to do, and I get this.

“I’m sorry sir but all of our officers are very busy right now, we can have someone out there in 30 to 40 minutes.”

30 to 40 minutes?!?! It’s 4:30 in the morning on Tuesday and all your officers are busy? Pull that son of a bitch with the radar gun off the Thompson street bridge and tell him to come over here and bust a real criminal. Hell, he’s only 10 minutes away even if he don’t use the sirens. So I tell the 911 bitch exactly that and she says no! I’m a taxpayer lady, get me a cop over here!

Well she didn’t like my attitude much and hung up on me, so I had to expedite the process a bit. I waited a couple minutes and gave em a ring back at the old 911 unit. Luckily the same bitch answered the phone.

“Yeah I called about that son of a bitch kid bustin’ in to my shed a few minutes ago.”

“Yes sir, we’ll have someone on the way as soon as we can”

“Oh don’t hurry on my account no more” I says to her.

“Is the kid gone now?” she asked.

“Oh hell no, I snuck back there and busted him in the head with my post hole digger, he’s out cold. I’m pretty sure he ain’t going nowhere now. If he starts to get up I’ll give him another good whack and make sure he sticks around for y’all to show up and fetch him back to the police station.”

She seemed a little surprised, and so was I when a cop showed up about 5 minutes later, and wouldn’t you know it was that son of a bitch from the Thompson street bridge that was running the speed trap. He managed to catch the kid red handed trying to swipe my chainsaw but he got real pissy with me about the whole deal.

“The 911 dispatcher said you hit him with a post hole digger.” he says to me.

“That bitch lies like a rug” I said. “She told me there was nobody free to come catch him for 40 minutes. Lied to both of us I guess, we ought to get her fired.”

As it turns out they have a tape deal on those 911 calls and you can get in all kinds of trouble for telling the police that you hit a kid with a post hole digger in order to get em to hurry up and catch the little son of a bitch. I go to court on Friday to talk to a judge about learning about the proper use of the 911 system.