BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST
CHAPTER TEN
I could here two voices coming from our kitchen as I entered the front door on my way home from school. It was my older brother and one of his cronies that I could not stand, a real bull-shitter and blow hard... and a real vicious gossip, very effete in that way especially for someone who was so "masculine". I had actually seen him on several occasions back in the woods comparing "egos" with other overly-masculine roosters before, but of course... it was different. Sure it was, its always "different" for hypocrites. Only other poor, unfortunate victims of his taunts and rumours were f--s and d---s. One day this unscrupulous jaybird would get married only to "serial-cheat" on his wife (even with his close "friend" Stevie's fiancee days before they wed), until she threw him out, and he finally "came out"... well half way out. I would discover later on that this two faced, dirt bag was actually the creator and instigator of the most hurtful and damaging rumours that clouded the sky over Faux-ville (including several about me), which he would "mention in passing" to the worst of the bunch... Darian, Hale, Ida and Mrs Masterhorn, fully knowing that he just sold another cover story to the national enquirer. He was nothing but a flounder faced louse, a real, nasty bottom feeder.
Back to our scandal...
I could smell something burning in our stove and could see what looked like four leaf clovers spread out on cookie sheets in our oven, as its door was slightly open. The shamrocks turned out to be wild strawberry leaves that they had picked up in the grassy knolls of the power lines, not to far from the secret vicinity of a small patch of low quality cannabis that McGilly had been cultivating and hiding way up in the far hills, deep within the vast forest in a small, sunny clearing.
"Strawberry leaves?" I half laughed. McGilly then opened his huge maw and shot back how strawberry leaves heightened the effects of his home grown "smoke" when it was cut into it. I roared laughing to which they gave me a shove and told me to get lost. I walked out of the kitchen singing "Strawberry Weeds Forever", thinking what a pair of dip shits that they both really were... just another typical day, in the Nabe that is.
McGilly turned out to be no Betty Crocker and his home baked goods business never took off. He didn't collect the "big bucks" he claimed he would and his baked harvest ended up getting smoked alone by him behind the VFW.
This alcoholic, obese, old bastard (who in his successful career as a vile gossip, spread damaging, untrue rumours about so many, including myself... but I'm not holding a grudge), now lives in the back of a dilapidated gas station off Route 66 way out West, wedged between several very "active" truck stops where there seem to be only lonely men ... a good place for him.
No hard feelings... Really.
CHAPTER TEN
I could here two voices coming from our kitchen as I entered the front door on my way home from school. It was my older brother and one of his cronies that I could not stand, a real bull-shitter and blow hard... and a real vicious gossip, very effete in that way especially for someone who was so "masculine". I had actually seen him on several occasions back in the woods comparing "egos" with other overly-masculine roosters before, but of course... it was different. Sure it was, its always "different" for hypocrites. Only other poor, unfortunate victims of his taunts and rumours were f--s and d---s. One day this unscrupulous jaybird would get married only to "serial-cheat" on his wife (even with his close "friend" Stevie's fiancee days before they wed), until she threw him out, and he finally "came out"... well half way out. I would discover later on that this two faced, dirt bag was actually the creator and instigator of the most hurtful and damaging rumours that clouded the sky over Faux-ville (including several about me), which he would "mention in passing" to the worst of the bunch... Darian, Hale, Ida and Mrs Masterhorn, fully knowing that he just sold another cover story to the national enquirer. He was nothing but a flounder faced louse, a real, nasty bottom feeder.
Back to our scandal...
I could smell something burning in our stove and could see what looked like four leaf clovers spread out on cookie sheets in our oven, as its door was slightly open. The shamrocks turned out to be wild strawberry leaves that they had picked up in the grassy knolls of the power lines, not to far from the secret vicinity of a small patch of low quality cannabis that McGilly had been cultivating and hiding way up in the far hills, deep within the vast forest in a small, sunny clearing.
"Strawberry leaves?" I half laughed. McGilly then opened his huge maw and shot back how strawberry leaves heightened the effects of his home grown "smoke" when it was cut into it. I roared laughing to which they gave me a shove and told me to get lost. I walked out of the kitchen singing "Strawberry Weeds Forever", thinking what a pair of dip shits that they both really were... just another typical day, in the Nabe that is.
McGilly turned out to be no Betty Crocker and his home baked goods business never took off. He didn't collect the "big bucks" he claimed he would and his baked harvest ended up getting smoked alone by him behind the VFW.
This alcoholic, obese, old bastard (who in his successful career as a vile gossip, spread damaging, untrue rumours about so many, including myself... but I'm not holding a grudge), now lives in the back of a dilapidated gas station off Route 66 way out West, wedged between several very "active" truck stops where there seem to be only lonely men ... a good place for him.
No hard feelings... Really.
