Road to Badger Boy: Part 10

SHUT IT OFF; Boobs over breakfast, boobs durrin’ ma’ smoke break, boobs on ma’ shoulder whilt readin’ Koontz, boobs boobs boobs boobs (kinda’ soundin’ likea’ Monty Python skit). Ifs ya’ ever thought dat a man could ever gets tired o’ seein’ whoopee-watermelons all day long well YA’ BETTER BELIVE IT. I won’t even gets inta’ ma’ cooter overwhelm. Cooter? I don’t even know her.

Wells go figure, it turns out dat’ I’ms actually pretty good at ma’ job. Wit sum creative twists frum ma’ “Whack ‘em Cats” callin’ I had a fairly good “Whack ‘em Beaver” spiel goin’ (yeah, I knows it’s a cheap joke, deal wit it).

“Gather ‘round, gather ‘round! Enter da’ Beaver Trap an see parts of a’ woman’s anatomy dat gynecologists have only read about! You sir, you! No bad day ever started wit sum boobs in yer face.” Sweet cripes and candy apples, I’ll need a shower after dis.

Thins really started ta’ go down hill fer me after talkin’ ta’ Skinny an’ tellin’ him bout sum of the carnie games I used ta work. He tooks a real interest inda’ goldfish game wheres ya take a ping-pong ball an’ toss it at a’ cluster o’ goldfish bowls an’s if ya’ get it inta’ the bowl ya’ gets a goldfish ina’ little plastic baggie (NO, you don’t knows where this is goin’ an if ya do yer a sick individual).

Sos da’ next night whatta’ I sees, I sees dat Skinny has advertised game night at da’ Beaver Trap. First game up, da Ping-Pong Catch where “Safire” repeatedly shoots ping-pong balls frum her well trained cooter canal inta’ the gapin’ mouths o’ customers who, if da’ slimy projectile is caught wit der mouth only, gets a free lap dance. Next was da’ Titty Ring Toss followed by a version of da’ Skee-Ball game dat was too disturbing to describe.

Nows I knows and accepted dat’ there’s a lot o’ people who’ll do disgustin’ and degradin’ thin’s fer money, but the defilement o’ da’ carnie game is jus’ too much! I grabbed ma’ stuff an’ ma’ last check an’ walked off. I hit da’ highway wit my thumb out ta’ hitch a ride knowin’ the further I gots from that abomination da’ better I’d feel. Wells the upswing frum all o’ dis is dat’ I haven’t seen da’ inside of an emergency ward in a while.

The Gut Wrenches Quiz

Ta’ take da’ Gut Wrenches all yas have ta’ do is read the statements below an’ if you’ve ever heard the comment in relation to yerself that’s one point. Add up da’ points an’ see where ya’ rate on The Gill O’ Meter©®TM.

1. Girlfriend/Boyfriend or spouse: “We need to talk.”

2. Doctor (snapping on rubber glove): “You’re going to feel a little pressure.”

3. Boss: “I need to see you in my office.”

4. Mother or Father: “I want to talk to you about what I found in you room today.”

5. During “intimate” time with significant other: “Are you done yet?”

6. Cop who just pulled you over: “I’m going to have to ask you to exit your vehicle.”

7. Supermarket Clerk or Restaurant Waiter: “I’m sorry but your credit card’s been declined.”

8. Barber or hair stylist: “Oops.”

9. Priest during confession: “You’re kidding, right?”

10. Your cellmate “Betty”: “You’re going to feel a little pressure.”

Nows tabulate yer points fer The Gill O’ Meter©®TM.

0 – Superb, but yer probably a shut-in or way more fortunate than 99% of civilization… you jerk.

1-2 – Excellent, yer livin’ the good life, but you don’t know REAL pain!

3-4 – Average, ya’ probably got knots in yer stomach jus’ frum readin’ the quiz.

5-6 – Poor, buts I bet ya’ got sum really good stories.

7-8 – Piss Poor, yer probably very bitter an’s drinks a lot a’ scotch.

9-10 – Gil The Carnie, now don’ go doin’ any thin’ drastic. Jus’ take a breath an’ remember this is jus’ a quiz. Good, now fix yerself a drink an’ crack open dat Stephen King book ya’ been puttin’ off. Ya’ll feel better in a couple hours.

Road to Badger Boy: Part 9

MONEY FER NOTHIN’ AND DA’ CHICKS ARE FREE; Bein’ a 20 year carnie veteran has opened ma’ eyes ta’ a few fundamental truths; Wombats make lousy house pets, Super Glue an’ duct tape can fix any thin, never tease a man who has a girls name, an’ workin’ a job ya’ don’ enjoy is like a long bike ride on a hard seat wit a butt fulla’ hemorrhoids.

I spent ma’ first day in Detroit poundin’ da’ streets fer a source o’ income an’ came up crap every time. I’s tried ma’ hand at hot dog push cart sellin’, handin’ out flyers, insurance salesman, dog groomer, school counselor, buts each job had the inherent danger o’ getting’ hit by stuff throwns by crabby adolescence. Sos in a fit o’ desperation I built a “Whack ‘em Cats” booth outta a refrigerator box an sum beer cans all drawn up wit a sharpie ta’ look like da’ cats. I set up shop jus inside a small park ans began ma’ beckoning siren carnie callin’. Buts before business could really pick up I was rapidly ejected frum da’ park by the long arm ofda’ law. Sum thin’ bout bein’ licensed an’ scarin’ joggers by leapin’ frum the bushes whilt screamin’ bout “whackin cats”.

Thrown out again, I was right downs in da’ dumps then a skinny Aqua-Velva stinkin’ rube saunters up ta’ me in a suit thata’ blind ya’ if ya’ look directly at it. Skinny says dat he saw ma’ carnie performance an’ wanted ta’ offer me a job.

(Audience participation time. Nows knowin’ ma’ track record fer havin’ sum thin that looks like a good deal on da’ surface; will I end up in da’ hospital, jail, chained up in sum guys basement or sexually assaulted by yet another large animal?)

Sos Skinny leads me ta’ a little scummier parts o’ town den’ stops at a theater an’ points proudly at da’ marquee. “The Beaver Trap”, great more beavers. Ma’ last runs in wit beavers led ta’ reconstructive surgery on ma’ tender bits. Skinny den’ explains that his establishment was not in fact a pet store buts a strip club an’ ma’ job would be ta’ use my carnie caller talents ta’ drive in more customers.

I don’ts understand strip club patrons at all. I means it’s like bein’ really hungry an’ payin’ twenty bucks at a restaurant only ta’ have da’ waiters pass da’ plates of food in front o’ yer face. An’ if ya’ pay another twenty they’ll put da’ food on yer table, but if ya’ go fer a taste ya’ gets kicked out. Nows workin’ in a strip club is morally repugnant even fer a carnie, buts the thought o’ eatin’ outta Sonic Burger dumpster again was even more morally repugnant. Sos I reluctantly tooks da’ job knowin’ full well dat’ by the end o’ da’ week I’ll probably be forced inta’ women’s clothes ta’ give lap dances ta’ drunk skinheads. *sigh*

Road to Badger Boy: Part 8

Catchin’ da’ Bus; Where was I… drunk tank, new eye patch, sum thin ‘bout trout… ohs yeah. Sos da’ State o’ New York, after a week o’ rottin’ in a drunk tank bein’ analyzed by several head shrinks declares ma’ little Greyhound freak fest an isolated incident ans’ I was released (thoughs I suspect ma’ laps in heath insurance helped dat’ descision).

Wit no bus ticket or money an’s a brain fulla’ crappy movie trivia I figures I’d pulla’ De Niro frum Cape Fear an strap maself ta’ the undercarriage of a Greyhound. Ta save time I’lls just summarizes.

Attempt 1: Action - Fergot ta’ bring sum thin’ ta’ tie me ta’ da’ bus. Consequence - Lost grip just outta’ da’ parkin’ an’ gots ran over. Hospitalization - 2 weeks.

Attempt 2: Action - Armed wit rope securely tied maself. Consequence - Tied maself ta’ the drive tran that spins A LOT which created a kinda’ Carnie taffy. Hospitalization - 6 days.

Attempt 3: Action - Roped maself closer ta’ da’ front of the bus. Consequence - Tied maself ta’ a really hot part o’ da’ engine ans’ it took four paramedics an two quarts o’ Vasoline ta’ peal ma’ BBQed ass loose. Hospitalization - 9 days.

Attempt 4: Action - Ran outta’ rope sos I used da’ only thin available, bungee cords. Consequence - Every bump caused me ta’ ricochet violently frum speedin’ pavement ta’ steel bus belly like a demented SuperBall®. Hospitalization - can’t remember.

Bys the time o’ “Attempt 5” I noticed dat I was outta’ New York State an’ well inta Michigan ans’ had da’ pleasure o’ stayin’ in every hospital between. Wit at least sum miles on da’ road I figured da’ best course o’ action ista’ avoid buses an’ Robert De Niro flicks at all costs (except Goodfellas). Nows I had ta’ jus’ get ma’ hands on sum hard cold cash, heck even sum limp room temperature cash would do.