The stench of wretched funkass and rotting hot dogs drifted into the cabin and I swiftly shut the back window. After I patted myself on the back, I laid on the gas and hauled the colossal dump truck towards an abandoned bean factory in Glendale. At the beginning of the journey, I cranked up Madonna’s 2002 hit single Die Another Day — which is the most profound song of that decade—and I played it on repeat AND at max volume. Sigmund Freud. Analyze this. Analyze this. Somewhere along the way, I saw a Weinershnitzel off the interstate and stopped inside. I ordered a Chicago-style hot dog with a Fruit Loop shake and I sat down in a booth. It was probably 104 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Two hours later, I left the joint and hopped back in the dump truck and on to the interstate where it was rush hour traffic. This was bad news. The hot dog and dairy was blowing up my guts like an exploding cybertruck near a Vegas hotel. So I looked around the cabin for a receptacle to shit in but all I found was a Skoal can and a tricorne. I needed better options. But as traffic slowly plodded along, I began bargaining with god to change my fortunes as I was about to unload into my $200 leather leopard pants. I had only moments to spare. Finally, as the column of cars inched forward, an opening for the next exit appeared and I barreled off towards it. God almighty, my sphincter was feeling it. Yet there was no viable toilet in sight until I passed a solitary post office eight miles down. Without hesitation, I placed the truck and park and rushed inside with my buttcheeks squeezed tight. I asked the disgruntled postal worker where the bathroom was but he said they offered no public toilets. So I socked him in the face and leapt over the counter and found the lone employee bathroom. But it was locked so I kicked open the door and found a startled elderly man with thick rimmed glasses staring back at me. Without a moment to spare, I grabbed him by the lapels and threw him out and barricaded the door. Then I wiggled my way out of a pair of sweaty leather pants and planted my ass on the lukewarm toilet seat. I took a shit. It was a top five best shit for sure. I could have sat on that toilet for hours but I knew time of the essence. Without washing my hands, wiping my ass, or flushing the toilet, I wiggled my pants back on and opened the door. Unfortunately on the other side, I found myself staring down the barrel of a Desert Eagle that was held by a very pissed off and recently assaulted postal worker. Tears streamed down his face as he lamented all his life’s decisions and he told me that I picked a bad day to break his nose. So with no other option, I apologized and begged for my life. Thankfully, his boss stepped forward to talk him down and the employee turned his weapon on him and fired. Good thing too, because I used that opportunity to punch him in the face — again — and sprint towards the back exit. And as I had my foot out the door, I heard him curse at me as more shots rang out. Police were swiftly on the scene. When I ran towards the front parking lot, my dump truck was missing. So I grabbed a cop and yelled in his face and demanded to know what they did with my vehicle. He told me they had it hauled off because it was illegally parked and if I wanted it released, I’d have to go to impound. And then he told me that I needed to fuck off because this was an active shooter and potential hostage negotiation situation. So I stole a police cruiser and tore ass towards the impound. This triggered a high speed pursuit by Glendale PD. When I saw the impound, I rammed the cruiser through the gates and crashed it into a row of Crown Vics. But by the grace of Satan, I survived the crash and grabbed a shotgun from the wreckage and fired three shots into the air. Where’s my goddamn dump truck! I shouted across the lot. By then, Glendale PD caught up with me and when they had me surrounded, they drew their tasers and ordered me to drop the shotgun. There was also a sniper on the rooftop. But I was too pissed off about the $50 fine to get my dump truck back that I didn’t give a shit. So I taunted them. You don’t have the guts to kill me! I said. And they instantaneously unleashed their tasers and I collapsed and convulsed on the ground. And after I was apprehended, they booked me at Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department and I was interrogated. I ain’t sayin SHIT until I have my lawyer, I told detectives. So they gave me a phone and I called the only attorney I knew. Alan Dershowitz. He asked me what the charges were and I told him aggravated assault, endangering the public, theft and destruction of police property, unlawful discharge of a firearm, resisting arrest, and illegal parking. Then he asked me what state I was in. It was Arizona. He chuckled and gave me an estimate for his services which was roughly $50,000. An hour. I agreed and hung up the phone and twenty minutes later I was released from custody with charges dropped. So I called Dershowitz and asked how he got me out so soon. He said something about him and Sheriff Apaio grabbing pizza in the Caribbean but I didn’t want to probe any further. He said he would also change me for the full hour. So after getting my dump truck out of impound, I drove to the closest bar and got rip roaring drunk and scoured my brain for ways to quickly get $50,000. However I blacked out and woke up the next morning covered in blood and didn’t scratch on me. I also had a bolo knife. Thankfully there was 50 grand in hard US currency lying right next to me, so the problem clearly took care of itself. By that point, I had forgotten why I was driving around in a dump truck, so I cut on my vehicle and headed to the hotel to sleep off my hangover.
When I got there, I took the bolo knife and various other evidences of wrongdoing and tossed them out the back window and into the bed. And that’s when I saw him. I had completely forgotten that I kidnapped Asmodeus.
TO BE CONTINUED…