"Holy Shit! What the hell happened to you, Scoop?"
"Shut the fuck up and get the hell in here before anyone sees you!" I stepped in and he stuck his head out the door and checked out the area, even looking up into the sky like I had been tailed by a black helicopter.
Scoop lived on the top floor of a ratty old Victorian in the area around the intersection of A and Cervantes. There were four TVs mounted on the wall playing on different channels, three computers against the wall on a old foldout table, one fridge with nothing but beer, one fridge I didn't want to look in, and just fucking enormous amounts of books..newspapers...magazines...videos...and DVDs.
It smelled like an opium den that catered to a primarily alcoholic clientele.
"I swear, Luther. You look exactly like Irish Billy Collins did the night Panama Lewis took the stuffing out of Luis Santana's gloves and Santana just beat the shit out of him...
...I was at that fight at the Garden! Second fucking row! It was on the undercard of the Roberto Duran-Davey Moore fight! I had a shitload of dough riding on Santana. This Tony Soprano like guy I was working with gave me the tip. Wow! Fucking A! Exactly!"
"Thanks for your concern, shitbreath!"
Realizing that I was babbling on Dexedrine Spansules and a triple Starbucks Americano, I apologized without meaning it.
"Sorry, Luther. I am. Now please tell me, what happened?"
"Well, I saw the Commissar downtown this morning and I had a copy of Mary Trump's new book and I asked him if wanted to read it and give me a politician's view of it for my review."
"What in the hell did you do that for? I bet that went over like a Schlitz beer fart in a rattlesnake handling church! When I told you that was a good idea I was joking, dipshit."
"Goat, he went absolutely apeshit. He started ranting and raving about the Pensacola News Journal and that it was a fucking commie rag and that it was giving bullshit numbers on the Pandemic! And how all reporters were nothing but pond scum! For some reason, he kept saying 'pond scum, pond scum' over and over. I don't even know what that's suppose to mean. His face was as red as a Hot Tamale😡 and spit was flying everywhere. He wasn't wearing a mask either!"😷
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OBVIOUSLY, FOR SOME REASON THE COMMISSAR THINKS THAT'S GOOD NEWS!😈
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THE COLD HEARTED BASTARD THAT HE IS, WE ALREADY KNOW HOW HE FEELS ABOUT FORMER CIRCUS PERFORMERS! SAD!
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN? THE COMMISSAR BOWS TO THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRUMP AND HIS BOY BITCH DeSANTIS ON ALL ISSUES, NO MATTER HOW INSANE! REMEMBER THAT JUST YESTERDAY, TRUMP'S DOCTORS WERE AMAZED THAT HE HAD NOT GONE FULL RETARD...YET. DeSANTIS HAS YET TO BE SCREENED.
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SO IF YOU LITTLE BASTARDS CAN GO TO WALMART TO BUY YOUR CHEAP PLASTIC JAPANESE MADE SHIT, YOU CAN SURE AS HELL CAN GO TO SCHOOL!
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OR WE CAN SEND YOU TO ONE OF UNCLE DONALD'S SPECIAL SCHOOLS, IF THAT'S MORE TO YOUR LIKING!
"So I got the hell away from that maniac before he either killed me or he had a stroke. I stopped off at the Circle K to grab some heaters and this big son of a bitch...
...jumped out of a car and beat me severely around the head and shoulders with that fucking Mary Trump book! Told me I was lucky he didn't shove it up my ass! He had this weird ass shirt on bragging that he was a male rapist for Jesus or something! I was lucky not to get ass raped! No one in that shithole convenience store did a thing to stop him."
He collapsed on his moth ridden couch with a pitiful moan. "Hand me that bottle of Vicodin and a bottle of beer, will ya? I'm gonna take about ten of those sons of bitches."
As I walked to the fridge wondering if Luther would OD on ten Vicodin considering even his Keith Richards like lifestyle, I heard Scoop moan something about the Commissar and a box of dildos!
"Dildos? Why are you hauling out that old story?" I handled him a brew and Costco sized jumbo bottle of Vikes.
"Because after it happened, I sent a copy of the video to Jon Oliver...
...and Raw Story trying for it to go viral. It would have been a fun story to have my name attached to. Since then he's really had the high hard one for me. I should have just left it alone."
"And the snarky remarks didn't help my cause."
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"If he would have just thrown the fucking box in the trash instead of getting up on the balcony and ranting and raving like Mussolini...
...to the local and giggling press and drawing attention to the Industrial Strength Dildo box that would have ended it. When he paraded that box around in front of the giggling PNJ reporters he cemented it into Internet and political history!"
"Don't get to fucking carried away there, Scooper." I was working on my fifth beer trying to bring my buzz down to a manageable level. "It wasn't like it was a package of Anthrax, for Christ's sake! And Pensacola sure as fuck isn't Washington, D. C. So I doubt the major networks were alerted with breaking news."
"Then months after the fact, Andy Marlette published this in the PNJ after the Commissar posted a video of himself drinking water out of some amoeba infested swamp!"
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"And just like that, I was back on the Commissar's shit list! Fuck! And I really thought we had straightened things out between us until today."
"Yea, Luther, I know. You two were practically fucking Siamese twins you were so close." I stood up to leave.
"Oh, by the way, Hot Karl is looking for you."
Scoop's upper body shot straight up from the couch like he had a garage door spring loaded up in his ass.
"Hot fucking Karl! Why? What's it about? What's he want? Did he say anything to you? Is he pissed?"
"Maybe he found out how when he was getting his ass kicked at the...
...last weekend's Great Trump Boat Rally where you just stood by and watched when you were working undercover."
"Who would have told him? It was solid bleach drinkers at that fucking thing! No one recognized me."
I shrugged. "Maybe the Commissar dropped a dime."
Mahalo
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