On Christmas Eve I set out to the homestead to spend Christmas with raddidge and her family. I really needed to clean my windshield but due to the cold the gas stations had emptied out their complimentary liquid for their complimentary squeegees. This made my trip up north an interesting one.
By the time I reached the city limits, the mountains were already being hidden by clouds. Around mile marker 165 snow started falling and kept on falling by the time I made it to the homestead. raddidge had warned me about the roads, especially her street which is a dirt road, and I was afraid of getting stuck without anyone to help me since I'm fat, weak and useless.
The windshield kept getting dangerously streaky and I couldn't see shit. Fortunately the spraying, melted snow from the tires of passing cars made things better in time but it required patience and anxiety on my part. The rest of the drive was uneventful until I reached raddidge's house.
There is a long, dirt driveway leading up to her place. Apparently the falling snow had drifted and made it tough for little city cars like mine. Halfway up I got stuck in the snow. I opened the window and Spot jumped into my lap and sniffed the air while keeping enough common sense to stay in the car rather than get her wee little paws all cold and damp. raddidge and her brothers came out, helped me dig out and eventually my car made it to a parking place. That's where I learned my front tire was flat.
Now it had been soft the past couple of weeks but nothing that gave me any concern. Funny thing is that the tire was my spare and I never got around to having the original tire repaired or replaced which meant if I hadn't of been so close to the homestead I would've been fucked. Well I learned something as her younger brother fixed my tire. Tires don't use inner tubes. Apparently with steel belted tires it's more than enough to just have the tire. When did this happen?
Fixing a tire seems simple enough. Yank out the offending object, use a rasp on the hole then shove in a piece of stiff rubber and it's good!
Did I mention the truck was haunted? More on that later.
Our first stop was a strip club that had a gimmick. Lesbian watersports. Chicks would lay on their backs, spread 'em and piss at each other. Apparently these shows are huge in Europe and only starting to catch on in the Republic. The guys explained that this began when a chick was returning to the dressing room when she spotted a hot redhead. Overcome with lust she leapt at the redhead and started pissing herself from all the excitement. All I recall is that one of those strippers was named Juliette and she was never found again after the first incident. Lesbian watersports were held in the hopes of bringing back the mythical Juliette.
Things at the shows had escalated to ridiculous proportions with chicks on catwalks spending a penny on the stage, a-la Flashdance, and spattering the clients. Fortunately I was able to stay dry. It was like a big ammonia-stinking Gallagher show.
Since no one was left in the truck on this delivery, the guys and me getting sidelined watching the naked broads, the ghost decided to manifest himself. He's a crotchety, rumpled old man who looks like the Sandwich Chef from some Jack Chick cartoon. Go google "sandwich chef" to see for yourself. Death doesn't cure everything and the ghost remained as nearsighted as ever. Seconds after we left the joint, the engine started and tires squealed on the pavement. I clung to the back of the truck like a garbage man. We crashed through fences, crowded parks, smashing picnics and scattering people to the four winds.
I was afraid of being blamed for the chaos but the ghost was a well-known manifestation and various bystanders attested that I wasn't driving but hanging off the back.
Last stop was a piano bar run by Steve Martin. We got there early and had to wait for the place to open and get our laundry. During the downtime I kept seeing the legendary Juliette at the periphery of my vision. She'd vanish into shadows when I'd turn my full attention at her. When the doors opened, the place was nearly empty if it wasn't for the baby grand and the bright yellow "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS" tape over the walls and piano.
