So I go to get paid for medical tests, you know to pay the rent this month, and boy do they got it goin' on. I had no idea that this would entail me being nekkid, in the dark, and not allowed to sleep for 48 fuckin' hours. Well it did, and they had me do these tests where I had to put one size nut, as in nuts and bolts nuts, in one jar and another size in a different jar. Made me wonder exactly what they felt my ability level was.
Made me remember a story where I once worked at a home for "Disabled Adults," read retarded here, called Hazy Acres and there was a factory down the street that made fasteners. Now when a shift ended they would sweep up everything that hit the floor and the "Disabled Adults" would sort 'em out and fro them in different 55-gallon drums. 9/16th nuts here, cotter pins there, 2 inch bolts in this, you get it... Now remember these keeps 'em quiet, and those boys and girls riled up, is hell. A four foot 280 lb. Lady Tard is as strong as a Silver Back Gorilla. I once saw this gal named "Prissy," no shit her name was Prissy, throw this giant fucker I worked with through a wall. Prissy was anything but prissy, she could be sweet, don't get me wrong, but most the time she was tearin' phone books in half. She had a cigar box that she carried around with her that no one could touch and this is where the story starts. I call it "The Booger Box Event."
I worked at Hazy Acres as a stop gap outta prison. I was waiting for my reinstatement in the Oddfellows Local so I could legally clown again, and I needed a job. Most folks don't wanna do a job that consists of takin' care of folks who are too much for their families to handle, that's where cons come in. I had wards who were homicidal, schizo, just insane and my personal favorite, retarded. Now don't get all pissed off, one or two more drinks and I won't be able to read, so I'm no better than these folks, it's just that it was so goddamn crazy workin' there.
We were allowed to stay at Hazy Acres, they gave us room and board as part of the pay, kind of incentive to stay, cause the turn over rate was pretty high. My bunkmate was this giant fucker named Wilson. Wilson had been at Reidsville the same time I had, but I didn't know him there. In prison the Clowns stay together, the Mexicans stay together and the Brothers stay together and you don't mix. Mainly, regardless of what they say, we didn't wanna fight each other. Why fuck up an already fucked up situation? It may be different in a city prison, but at the work farm, you were too tired to fuck, much less fight. So Wilson ends up being my first bunk mate outta the joint. We shared a 12x12 room that normally would go to two patients, or one violent one, for about 6 months... until the Booger Box Event.
Wilson ended up in Reidsville after his old lady ran off with their preacher, Lemmuel Pettibone. To hear Wilson tell it this woman was the most beautiful piece of ass to ever wipe front to back. She had left, and he went oft the deep end, and went and smoked some PCP. Now being a giant and feelin' invincible, as Angel Dust is wont to do to a plow hand, Wilson tore up downtown Ailey, Georgia. Ailey is not a big town, nor is it a progressive little burg, and a massive, African, PCP monster tearin' up Boyd's Bargains on The Square is not gonna go over well. After turnin' over two of the three Police cars that comprise the Greater Ailey Police Fleet, Wilson was brought down by four tranquillizer darts they save for big gators they have to re-locate. They didn't shoot him dead cause The Preacher Pettibone begged 'em not to, as Adultery was all the sinnin' he was willing have on his head, and he couldn't handle involvement in a murder as well. In a way it was the Pastor Lemmuel's Dick that had torn up the Five and Dime. Too bad it didn't get eight years on a prison work farm.
As the months went on, and I heard the story over and over, his wife's age got younger and younger. Wilson gave me more details. One day I saw him in the Library of the Hospital having something laminated. I asked what was so important as he needed to protect it with plastic. Huge ole Wilson yelped, wouldn't let me see it and ran off down the hall. Later when I went to shower, after one of my little darlings had thrown up Salsbury Steak all over me, Wilson was in the bath already.
I don't know if you've ever seen a giant naked.
Wilson was 6'10" and weighed around 540. He was also dark as shit. I mean the motherfucker was huge and pitch black, and here he is naked, hunched over in the corner, abusing hisself. Goodgodalmighty I didn't need this. The fucker looks like a stretch of asphalt with a hard on the size of an axe handle, and he's holdin' his plasticized trophy.
It's the girl off the Little Debbie box!
He's beatin' off to the Little Debbie girl fer kerrist sake's!
"Hey Laffo, you wanna use this when I'm done?” he pants.
"No, Wilson, I think I'm fine," I reply.
"Well I gots to get this poison outta me, or I'll go crazy."
Go crazy!? Go crazy!? You are polishing the banister to a painting of a child off a snack cake box! This shit's as crazy as it needs to be! So finish up sir, and then do it again, just to make sure all that insanity's outta you, cause your as big as a fuckin' Killer goddamn Whale and there's not a thing any of us could if you decided to lose your mind, outside of shooting you with a bazooka, and I'm fresh outta those!
I got dressed, WITHOUT showering at this point, and went back to the nuts and bolts room. Prissy was there with her Booger Box. Now she was wearin' her "Mustache Rides ¢5" sweatshirt and diggin' fer gold in that little pair of holes in the front of her face they call a nose, and she looked to be in a dark and foul mood this evening. After getting a rope of snot outta her face the size and thickness of a pencil, she opened the cigar box and wiped it inside. The interior of the Booger Box was covered with a decade's worth of mucus stalactites and stalagmites of different hues. You had your spring yellows, when Prissy had trouble with the Georgia pollen, the fall oranges and browns from when the patients were made to rake pecan leaves off the Hospital's campus, and the hearty greens from one of 15 annual colds contracted in that germ hole every year. That was one busy little box. Anyhoo, she had just made the last deposit into the First National Bank of Nose Putty, when a freshly masturbated Wilson comes in. I guess he felt so "SANE" with all his Semen Demons gone, that he was repulsed with Prissy's activities. He grabbed the box from her and said..."No!"
There was no sound, other than the normal roar of a mental home, as Prissy reached out and grabbed Wilson's gigantic huevos. She lifted him up off the floor and slung him, by his scrotum, through 3 studs, through the drywall, into the hallway and into a concrete block wall. Wilson just laid there like 500 pounds of pudding.
Hazy Acres, as part of the settlement, and continuing care Wilson would need for the rest of his days, allowed him to stay on as a patient. I bet he won't ever touch that cigar box again.
Hell, the poor fucker, can't.
I'm gonna take him a box of Oatmeal Creme Pies next week.
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