Saturday, October 04, 2008

"Truckin'" Plays In The Background


It's been a while, folks. You know why? It's damn near impossible to get the image of Jimmy, pinching and rubbing his nipples in the "big-boy" pants while recounting the latest events of his life.


Me and Z went out to the Pinto ( didja know if you are a bit lysdexic 'Pinto' can be 'Pinot'), and Z got our emergency "Jimmy pants" from the trunk and wordlessly handed them over. Once, safely loaded, and I do mean LOADED, in the Funky Green Love Machine, Jimmy began to regal us with his new found royalty.

It began as such, Jimmy rubbing his nipples and grinding his ass on the seat like Axl Rose with hemorroids. "I took the sacremental Candyflip", Jimmy intoned, holding forth a silver packet. Zanna squealed "Candy!" and made a grab.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Thank the Force it was dropped out the window before she got it. Jimmy can't hang on to shit.

Enough of that, here is the story Jimmy told to us:

After he partaked of the Sacrament, Jimmy was awaiting his vision while restlessly tending his BBQ. As he reached for the charcoal, a tiny hand gripped his. Stunned, he looked down to witness a tiny, winged elf who was reaching for the same charcoal. Introductions were made, and this is how Jimmy became King of the Prairie Elves. Turns out the Prairie Elves are a Skunk-Worshipping Cult. Every year, at the heighth of the summer solstice (the real one, not that satanic thing the Wikkans do) the Prairie Elves make a pilgrimage from the plains to Moose Taint, acquiring (read 'stealing') charcoal briquets as they go. They gather, they fast, they build a huge effigy of a skunk out of said charcoal, complete with a stripe made from the undies of the resolute down its back. Then they burn it and dance all night to the flames of the stolen.

And when Jimmy did the naked macarana.....they kinged him.

When he said those words and crawled into the trunk of the Pinto to sleep, it was all good. Then, the trunk flew open, the pants flew off, and Jimmy, much like the god Nike, shot like a bolt of lightning into the woods. Winter is coming, lil' J, winter is coming.

Z and I will be on the hood of the Pinto, drinking 40's every night laughing , after dominating the corndog biz, until further notice.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

We were invited, why are you throwing US out?


Z and I are back in Moosetaint county, slinging corndogs to the throngs of tourists at the 7th Annual Slosh-a-Palooza Beer Festival and Expecting Mother Doilie Blow out (down at the exhibition barn). The beer is rockin' and the new moms are crocheting their prego hearts out. Oh, I always say CROTCH-etting in my head. Good times, and good business. Drunks and hormone-crazed fuck-trophy carriers go apeshit at our stand. Z had a brainstorm and dumped pickle juice into the cotton candy machine. I swear it's like crack to the ladies.


Then we get a call from the bar, some incoherent shrieking about Jimmy and nudity. I gotsta check this out!


Arriving in a blue cloud of Pinto smoke and ICP rapping about juggalos Z and I look at each other. We can hear Jimmy ranting from the parking lot. Z exclaims "I knew I shoulda worn my fighting heels, not this damn open-toed set!"


What the fuck? Focus! We hauled-ass inside and there was Jimmy. He's Axle-dancing on the bar, throwing chunks of turkey-bologna at 3 baying hounds, swinging a mop at anyone who gets close to him. Butt nekkid. That can't be hygienic. His eyes are all pupils, and yelling something about Prairie Elves, the Sacrament and skunks. He spots Zanna, and immediately gets off the table. She has a calming effect in the melting mind of the fried. It's all those years of making our fryer her bitch, methinks.


He raises the mop like a mighty saber of the righteous (god, that tree did a number on his junk) and grandly proclaims "I am the Voice of Reason, bring a round of mead to my friends, and all shall become clear as you hear my story, good folk"


Yeah, they threw us the fuck out.



Friday, August 15, 2008

The Prodigal Corndog


We know. It's been a while. But you can smell, that right? Do you smell that? That's right...as T would say...thats the stench of whiskey and broken dreams.

You might be wondering..where have you been? Well, let's just say when you reach for the stars sometimes they'll burn you. Let's just say...what doesn't kill you, will at least take you to court and makes you wish it would kill you because it's alot cheaper to be dead than using your good funeral clothes for court. What I did right there is called foreshadowing.

Okay, so here is the deal. We were pretty successful with the corndog stand and we bought a restaurant. We called it the Corn Hole. It was going along pretty well except there was only the two of us and let me tell you....I cannot be the only one in the kitchen prepping the food by myself all the time while T is managing all the day-to-day shit like keeping a full body hairnet on Helga - and she's just a patron. He was able to muster up the finesse, though. That man can tell you to go to hell and make you look forward to the trip.

Anyhow, business had been really good. On the suck end of it, is the only time we got to spend together anymore was in the restaurant. So anyway, one night we're laying in bed and I just said, "hon...we've GOT to get a sous chef. We can't do this kitchen shit by ourselves anymore" And so T says, "what a coincidence because Jimmy told me that a bunch of sous came in from the Dakotas".

And that made me strangely uneasy because if you knew T like I knew T, he needs to think about these things first. Weigh the options...do the math.....because six dozen of one is like two in the bush or something, I don't know. He's the smart one in the family. But I digress.

So the next day I'm in the kitchen pouring the old oil into T's special "bio-fuel recycling receptacle". Then I hear the kitchen door open and in walks T with dark haired mexican looking dude. He's kind of big with long black hair. T introduces him to me as our new sous chef. I'm PSYCHED. But that lasts only momentarily.

I ask dude what his experience is. I figured he worked at LaQuinta or some shit and had some kitchen experience. I wasn't expecting much because I don't have any respect for the Dakotas or their food.

First of all....he's not Mexican. He's Indian. Feather, not dot. T didn't fully understand what I meant by soux chef...so he brought me a SIOUX chef. You've got to love the guy though. He never questioned me for one minute when he thought I requested an Indian man to help us in the kitchen. Turns out this dude is a direct decendent of Tatanka Iyotaka, more commonly known as Chief Sitting Bull. And his name was Red Bull. And he used to work at Red Robin and had a brief stint at the Waffle House.

Turns out Red Bull had a mad buffalo chicken wing recipe that he modified from Red Robin. We thought we'd take full advantage of his skill and start advertising, "RED BULL GIVES YOU WINGS".


You'd think living in a small county like Moose Taint, that Red Bull The Energy Drink wouldn't get wind of these play on words and whatnot. But like T says...when the wind blows just right...you can hear shit from miles away.

Long story short: We got sued by Red Bull the Energy Drink. Red Bull the Sioux counter-sued (or is that counter-siouxed?) Red bull the Energy Drink for stealing his name to begin with. He won. They dropped the suit on us because technically, we made no reference to the energy drink. We just happened to have a decendent of Sitting Bull with a kick ass buffalo wing recipe. There is no law against that. I mean, technically, buffalos don't even have wings. This shit could have gone on forever.

All this drama and bullshit just made T and I realize this restaurant shit is not for us. I remember sitting in the courtroom and he leaned over and whispered, "Remember when we used to lay on the pinto and drink 40's?".

So we're taking the corndog stand out of storage and I've got a couple of 40's in the fridge. Freakshow Joe is still looking for a way to make a quick buck (and still has moments of fecal incontinence after the goring incident). Jimmy still lives in the woods. Helga still has a crush on T...and rumor has it that the BinLadin brothers are still harboring a grudge against us.

Excellent.