Stop shi€£ing all over the place!

I’m gonna apologize ahead of time for this one.

“Weaver’s my name. Dick Weaver,” the tall burly Scotsman told me. “I was a whaler fer 13 year. Been a private eye fer 15.”

The man was covered in hair from head to toe. He wore only plaid. And denim.

His jeans were tight.

I put out an add for a roommate to help with rent. Dick was the only one who responded.

Dick sat down, pulled a cracker out of his toboggan, then started munching.

“Listen here young lad, let’s set some ground rules. Me bein a private dick, I do ne wanchya snoopin around me business. If I catch ya, I’ll kill ya. If I see ya sippin on me Irn-bru, I’ll kill ya. If I catch ya eatin me powsowdie, I’ll eat yur cock for breakfast,” he told me.

“Fair enough,” I said.

After I showed him his bedroom, he grunted for a bit and then slammed the door. I went to bed.

The next morning, Dick was hanging up clandestinely taken pictures of naked women on the wall.

“You said you were a private eye, right?” I asked.

“Aye”

“Is this a special case you’re working on?” I inquired.

“What business is that of yurs? Eh boy? Ask again an I’ll crack open ye noggin!” Dick angerly retorted.

“I was just asking. Jesus!”

That night, I was lying in bed when I heard some stomping around then considerable hootin’ n hollerin’ outside. It was none of my business. Hours later, Dick came stumbling into my room drunk as all get-out.

“Aye boy, I got to bein pissed at the pub an met a nice ol hen behin tha bar. Aye brought er here but she got to slippin digits n me hole. Aye it was a’right first but then I shat me britches,” he said.

“So you were smashing ass and then you shit the bed?”

“Aye. I cannae sleep because the sheets are covered in shite.”

“Well climb on in.”

Dick got under the covers. We shared a shot of whisky and a few tales of his time at sea before falling fast asleep.

The next morning, I awoke to find Dick wide awake and his hair-swirled chest in full view. I was fully clothed.“Top of the mornin’ to ya,” he said.

He climbed out of bed and his buttcheeks were beaten blood red.

“Aye boy,” Dick said. “I s’pose I should be congratulatin ya. You rammed me a new one!”

THE END

Dale’s gonna be okay

So Dale took me hostage at gunpoint in the breakroom. The boss walked in and saw me in a chokehold with a Smith & Wesson to my head and called the police. The cops subsequently called in a hostage negotiator.

I was in no mood to put up with this shit.

“Just shoot me already, Dale. Let’s get this over with,” I said.

The cops had the building surrounded with their weapons drawn and ready to shoot. The negotiator came out over his loud speaker:

“Dale, my name is Philip, we’re all here to help you. Tell us, what can we do for you?”

“Listen you mother fuckers!,” Dale said. “I just want to talk to my wife and kids again, a little respect, and a plane ticket to Columbia!”

“Okay okay. We can get you the plane ticket, but we need you to drop your weapon,” the negotiator replied.

“No! If I don’t get what I want I will blow this dipshit’s brains out! Tell him, James!” Dale declared.

“He will!” I said. “But don’t worry about it. I’m ready to die.”

Then a sniper round went through Dale’s leg, severing a major artery, and spraying blood everywhere. Dale screamed in agonizing pain, begging for death.

I was okay

But facing my own mortality made me ask some difficult questions: should I pay my mother’s nursing home expenses or should I pay my gambling debts?

I visited Dale in the hospital and he appeared to be in better spirits.

“Great news Jim,” he said. “It appears my violent tendencies lately have been due to a bad interaction with my medications! So now I’m on Xanax!”

“Oh that’s good to hear! What about your wife and kids?” I asked.

“Oh don’t worry about that. I’m sure my wife will lift that restraining order eventually.”

“What about your assault charges?,” I asked.

“Welp, I took a plea deal so now it’s 14,000 hours of community service and I have to register as a sex offender. But no jail time 😎”

So I decided to not press charges against Dale for threatening my life and putting others in danger.

After all, everyone has bad days.

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.”

A Few Tips to Move Past Writer’s Block

People come up to me all the time and ask: “Jim, how did you get so good at writing?”

Which people? Mostly ESL. But still, the question needs answering.

My father would always tell me “Never trust a Spaniard”. Additionally he’d say “Damnit James, you’re 18 years old, it’s time you learned to read.”

So when I enrolled at Northwestern (State Community College) I went up to my professor and said “teach me to read.” So he invited me to his house, gave me a few beers, put on a porno and removed my pants. Afterwords, he took out a book. It was Hemingway’s “To Have and Have Not”. I instantly fell in love with literature and I’ve been reading and writing ever since.

“But what do you do about writer’s block?”

Easy. For most writers, the solution is usually a bottle of scotch. But a couple of quaaludes don’t hurt either.

“Are there any writing exercises that you can do?”

Hmm. Good question.

I can’t think of any. Usually the only exercise I do is get in my car, go to the local truck stop, and ask if any truckers need “company”.

But every individual is different, and you have to go out into the world and find what gets your creative juices flowing.

“Are there any writers you turn to to find inspiration?”

Like I said, everyone’s different. You can find inspiration almost anywhere. Bathroom graffiti, for example. Call up some of the numbers, see where it goes. But whatever you do, never call a number from the bathroom stall at your local library . That’s definitely an undercover cop.

“Are some people just born to be writers?”

Ya know, probably.

I spent years in the Navy being a seaman. I was just no good at being a seaman. I’d often be reprimanded for various things like lurking in the showers, taking payments for special “favors”, etc. It was all bullshit. I just wasn’t suited for military life.

But don’t let that stop you from following your dreams. Some people may “judge” you, saying “that goes against the nature order of things”. Maybe your ex-wife might say “James, I hope someday you find someone that will satisfy you and will be happy together. I am leaving you.”

But never give up. Keep trying.

Never lose hope.