One would think, after the incredible circumstances I find myself in every Thursday night drinking and carousing with all sorts of unsavory characters, that I’d just chill for once and maybe, just maybe, make into work on a Friday morning. However, God as my witness, if Salacious Curvaceous, AKA Sally Curves wasn’t meeting at my favorite Tequila Joint on the Upper West Side last night, I’d be sitting somber and sober in my stupid cube today.
Unfortunately, it was five shots for the price of one night at “The Spot” and since Sally Curves can drink her bulbous booty off, naturally I thought it’d make sense to hook up on the cheap. After downing enough to build a pyramid of shot glasses just short of the ceiling, Sally said she’d be ready for round two after a short visit to the big girls room. Eying Lanky Swanky, one of the joints snootier patrons while awaiting Sally’s return, my cell rang and believe it or not, it was my dog Doobie calling. Knowing it could be nothing but trouble, like a fool, I answered.
Come outside, I need your help getting a message to the Department of Homeland Security. I didn’t know what to think, because as you may recall, Doobie was radicalized and was placed on the D.H.S’s shit list for hooking up with ISIS. Why would Doobie want to make contact with the authorities, I wondered. Curious, I left out the back door as instructed and saw Doobie Smoking Cuban cigar with a patch over his right eye.
Not having seen him in awhile, Doobie looked tough and hardened. After explaining how he’d lost his eye during a fire fight with ISIS fighters in Aleppo, he went on to tell me that the upper West Side of Manhattan will be attacked this weekend by forces the world’s intelligence agencies have yet to detect. Why are you telling me this I wanted to know. Doobie said, he’s tired of being on the run. After a violent falling out with all the world’s terror crews, he wanted to come in from the cold, but needed to do something to show he’d changed his ways. So what’s up I ask. “Leprechauns” he says.
Even in my inebriated state, I wasn’t buying this nonsense, especially since Doobie is such a liar. Anticipating my disbelief, Doobie flipped me the heaviest gold coin I’d ever seen. By today’s cost per once, I was holding about 25k in the palm of my hand. “Interested?” he asked. I was. We hailed a cab, telling our stuttering Somali driver to follow the rainbow downtown. When we arrived at a brownstone on the lower East Side, I was stunned to see three tiny little guys, all dressed in green with glowing red eyes, scurrying down into a basement apartment. WTF?
You ain’t seen nothing yet Doobie says as he warms me, “No matter what happens, don’t look them directly in the eyes.” “They’re really tricky” he said. Apparently, the Leprechaun community was convinced the price of gold would increase ten fold if the world was hurled into global chaos. What better way to create panic in the streets than headlines reading Radicalized Leprechauns Rape and Behead New Yorkers by the Thousands. Using ISIS-like tactics, everybody would suspect ISIS was behind the terror. Well, that what my dog Doobie said.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask. “Simple” Doobie says, We go in, jack-em for the pot-o-gold, rat-em out to the Feds for a deal to take the heat off me and chill in Miami this spring like the kings of bling. Won’t they resist? I ask. “Slack, they’re tiny, we just bitch slap the bastards and grab the pot.” Okay I say, but you do the slapping and I’ll do the grabbing. “No problem” Doobie says as we stealthily entered a door left slightly ajar.
After descending several unexpected flights of stairs to a sub-basement level, we came to a large heavily reinforced door being guarded by the three tiny little guys in green with red glowing eyes. Without the slightest hesitation, Doodie rounded the corner and started beating the living shit out of the startled trio. “Yo Doobie, don’t you think we should find out who has the key before your slap them senseless?” “Sorry” he says, “I kinda like this part the most.” From behind and avoiding eye contact, Doobie snatched the smallest by the collar and shook him so violently, a key fell from his hand. Flinging them aside like rag dolls, we opened the door and witnessed a Mother Load of Gold.
“Grab all you can carry” Doobie says, “We’ll need a little for evidence and a lot for us” No problem” I say while filling every pocket with coins and wondering how we’re gonna get the heavy pot-o-gold up stairs. Just then, a loud piercing alarm went off and the sound of thousands of little feet could be heard coming our way. “Forget the pot, take what you got and lets get the hell outta here”. Doobie says, while reminding me, not to look them directly in the eyes on the way out.”
That was easier for Doobie than I, because Doobie only had one eye. Somehow one of the little bastards caught my gaze and said the magic words “They’re Magically Delicious.” before disappearing in a puff of greenish smoke. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and nauseous. I stumbled upstairs and staggered out into the streets with Doobie nowhere to be seen. The cab we’d instructed to wait with the meter running until our return was gone and it was beginning to snow.
“God damn it”, I scolded myself. Here I was, with another evening of tall tales and not a shred of proof to back me up. Briefly, I had a ray of hope when I remembered the gold I’d stuffed in my pockets. Nobody would ever doubt me again once they saw all the gold coins I had. Unfortunately, when I reached into my pockets, they were all filled with nothing but Lucky Charms. And even though they were tasty, they upset my stomach something awful. C-ya Monday, I got I got a monster tummy ache with a mean hangover to match.
BTW, don’t forget to checkout the latest episode of Rocky Jordan in “Passport for Vivi” 1949 just below. And as always, if you enjoy it, share it.