Randy Returns II: Returning Again: Part I: Returning Harder

*Sorry. Forgot* *that this was an ongoing saga.*

“You know, I lost a testicle too in a savage kidnapping plot,” Dale said to me while we were setting up C-4 explosives.

“Did you get it back?” I asked.

Dale and I were putting up booby traps around his cabin outside of Norco. We knew Honda was going to strike again so we wanted to establish home field advantage.

Nicky (my alleged father) was sitting around the campfire staring down the barrel of his .44.

“No no dad,” I said as I took the gun out of his hands.

All three of us sat around the campfire under the Norco moonlight. The air reeked of cow shit.

“What a god forsaken place,” I said.

Dale took in a deep breath of shit stained air.

“I was born here. I grew up here. I lost my virginity here. I got married here. I got divorced here. Got married again. Got divorced again. Lost everything I had. And never gained it back. I’ll probably die here,” Dale said.

“Probably so,” I replied.

Nicky spoke up. “You know, I’m just glad that you boys are out here to protect me. When the FBI shot up that strip joint, I remember that I completely blew out my pants. Shit got everywhere. When they arrested me, they made me sit in my shitty underwear. Then I cried.”

“Don’t worry about it dad,” I said. “Dale and I have faced Honda before. We know what to expect.”

“By the way,” Dale chimed in. “Who the fuck is Honda and why are we in this mess?”

We all looked at each other and shrugged.

“It’s important to not think too much on this,” I said. “The important thing is that we are family, except for Dale, and that we are all going to help each other out this train wreck we find ourselves in.”

We nodded and started to enjoy the campfire.

Finally I asked Nicky, “So what do you remember about mom?”

He smiled and said, “what a lovely woman. Legs, ass, tits. The whole package. Eyes as blue as the sky. But a warm heart. She knew how to brighten up my day.”

I looked back at the fire and thought that doesn’t describe mom at all.

Finally Dick called.

“Aye lad, I’ve been tailin’ Anthrax all dee. I’m watching her outside a trap hoose n Pasadena,” Dick said. “I donnae think you’ll like who she’s with mate.”

“Randy,” I said.

“Aye”

That bitch, I thought. I knew she was going to double cross me and I fell into her trap. Instead of a battle, we were now facing a war on two fronts.

“Then you might get your M2s, M4s, AKs, AR-15s, 44s, 94, and 22s,” I told Dick. “We’re headed for a Mexican standoff.”

A shart in the dark

“Your dick don’t work,” the doctor said.

“Thank you doctor,” I replied.

Dale and I were found outside of Palm Springs buck naked. We were bound together and gagged. It took awhile for the police to realize we were victims and not nudists.

We were taken to the hospital where I was treated for massive scrotal damage. Dale was alright.

“Aye, don’t worry lad. We’ll get your wee workin again. You watch,” Dick (my Scottish roommate) said.

“Never mind that. I need you to find Honda. It isn’t over between us,” I instructed Dick.

“Aye”

Dick quickly left the hospital room to begin work. Dale spoke up.

“I’m just glad that we all made it out alive,” he said.

“No one asked you anything,” I said.

Anthrax also came to visit. After Dale and Dick exited, she came to my bedside.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Honda,” she inquired.

“She seems to possess extraordinary strength. I don’t think she’s human anymore, Anthrax. I think she’s a cyborg. Who the fuck would do that to her? Randy’s a dumbass, there’s no way he could’ve done something like that,” I told her.

“I think I know who.”

“Who? That stupid ass crime syndicate? Honda said that they didn’t want her anymore. That’s why she’s riding around with those dorks like she’s Peter fuckin Fonda,” I replied.

“It’s not Randy. It’s not the syndicate,” Anthrax said.

“Alright. This is getting too complicated and contrived. But if you or Dick find Honda, tell her I’m coming after her,” I said.

“I’ll find her. But please, before you do anything, I need to know if there’s at least an ounce of humanity in her. If there is, I know that I can save her. Please James.”

I agreed.

As Anthrax began to leave, I grabbed her by the hand.

“I learned from a James Bond movie that before one seeks vengeance, they must first dig two graves,” I said.

“But I’m not seeking vengeance,” Anthrax replied.

“Oh yeah, I am. I mean….please be careful.”

Anthrax gave a faint smile then departed. I laid in the hospital bed bored and feeling awkward for not feeling like I have to compulsively masturbate.

“Your mother is on the phone,” a nurse told me.

I reluctantly took the call.

“Ohh my poor Tony,” mom said. “I heard that you were in the hospital!”

“This is James, ma. Who the hell is Tony?”

“What do you mean? I don’t have dementia,” she said. “How’s my sweetheart doing?”

“I’m alright. Is something wrong? I’ve been to the hospital hundreds of times and you’ve never called.”

“I’m just checking up on my favorite son. What are you, a moron?”

“I’m your only son Ma,” I said. “Anyway, are you sure Nicky is not my father?”

“Did you not read your birth certificate?”

“You put down Lou Diamond Phillips. Is there anything you can tell me about my father?”

“He was a tall glass of water. He could send shivers up and down my body with one touch. He was smooth, suave, with a voice of gold like Sinatra in a younger day. You don’t remind me of him at all,” Ma replied.

That definitely didn’t sound like Nicky.

Looking Down the Barrel

So I was watching porn on my work computer when I heard the sounds of death blasting from my co-worker’s phone.

I said, “Dale, what are you watching?”

He said, “It’s a documentary about the Battle of Tannenberg during World War I. It was a nightmarish time in global affairs. Men were senselessly butchered for the sake of gaining a few yards on the battlefield. How callous were such leaders? To permit the deaths of so, so many people? Is human life that meaningless to those in power? How could god permit such suffering? Have we been forsaken?”

“We’ll keep it down over there,” I replied.

So I went back to minding my own business when I heard Dale loading his Colt Cobra.

I said, “Dale, so help me god, if you don’t quiet down I will grab that gun and use it myself.”

“Sorry,” he replied “I’m just a little suicidal from my multiple bankruptcy filings and sexual assault charges.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I said

Finally when there was a little peace and quiet, Dale comes around the corner pointing his gun at me and crying profusely.

“I’m sorry Jim”, he says. “Everyone has abandoned me. My wife left. And my kids won’t talk to me.”

“So what do you want from me, Dale?” I replied. “My wallet? The keys to my car?”

“I want someone to listen to me for once in my life! I had a very lonely childhood. My parents never listened to me, I had no friends. I suffered from dyslexia and all my teachers thought I was stupid. Just absolutely stupid! I’m not a bad person. I’m just misunderstood and have been my entire life. Just for once, I want someone to understand me! That’s all I’ve ever wanted!”

Out of frustration, Dale fired his Colt directly into my computer. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, not knowing what would happen next. As I looked into Dale’s eyes in terror, I knew that he didn’t have the heart to shoot me. He was just a broken man and out of options.

Finally, he laid the gun down and sat down then buried his head in his hands. We both sat in silence for a few moments.

“Well,” I said. “How about I just give you my wallet.”

You know what’s sad?

I haven’t laughed at anything in weeks.

I mean, I DO laugh. It’s not like people tell me jokes and I just stare at them with my cold, dead eyes like a sociopath. But I’m just being nice. I’m not really laughing.

Ya know?

It’s unfortunate because I’ve always wanted to try stand up comedy. But I don’t know what’s funny anymore. All I’d do is go up on stage picking my nose and scratching my ass saying “you know, I was taking a shit the other day and was thinking: ‘do fish sleep?’”.

I just don’t have a sense of humor anymore.

But then I’d hear about my co-worker getting temporarily paralyzed due to constipation from heroin addiction and I go “lol! That sucks man.”

Is that how bad things have gotten?

I vaguely remember hearing about World War 1 soldiers taking up a morbid sense of humor to help them cope with the death all around them. But this isn’t a war zone. Mangled bodies and tear gas doesn’t surround me.

It’s boredom. Long, perpetual boredom. And the deep existential vacuum, deep in my soul, that has sucked up all joy and laughter that occupies the precious moments between birth and death.

That, and Cum Town.