Thursday, October 23, 2014

Hanging with the Goon

Dis here's my cousin playin' tha banjo. I added this apopos of nuttin'.

Read parts one and two of the Goon's tall tale.

So ya'll, I was telling everone bout how we caught a Sasquatch in my Uncle's pleasure hole, and how I wanted it to like us, so I was advising Slack to go get us some pancakes, which he did. He got on his four-wheller an drove half-an hour to Denny's, and when he got back, he had a whole sack of pancakes. We put syrup an butter all over 'em, and then we dangled them above the bigfoot an started hollerin' at 'em that it was time fer breakfast, an he better eat up, since dis Denny's pancakes cost bout all tha money Slack's been savin' up fer that Fleshlight thingy you can put yer wiener in. That bigfoot jumps bout four feet in tha air, an he grab them pancakes wit one hand, an all that shit goes all over him, syrup an buttered cakes, but he don't seem to mind picking up pancakes from da dirrty earth, though I would, knowing what Uncle Thom's done on dat mud. "Well, whaddya know," I say to Slack, "Looks like I was right bout him needing some pancakes." "What else he need, genius?" says Slack. "I think he could use a modern porno," I say, "Considerin' how he was lookin' at all dem old ones." We look around fer Uncle Thom, since he's an old pornographer, havin' filmed some movies of his own in tha back yard. We can't find him anywheres, which is mighty suspicious. Tha bigfoot is moaning now, probably cuz all those pancakes aren't settling in his gut. "Let's go look in Thom's trailer an see what we can find," I say, and dats what Slack and I's do.

So inside Uncle Thom's trailer's like waddin' through a marsh; deres so much shit in yer way, comin' at you from every direction, that you gotta be careful you don't get sucked down. "Can't you find anything?" yells Slack after we's been in dere awhile. "I found nutin' but Dimitri, that old cat Willy used to have," I tell 'em, havin' stumbled upon Dimitri's petrified remains. I see a bottle of Pepto Bismol an I grab it. Somethin's moving in under all da trash; it's making a low-pitched cry, and I'll be damned if I wait around to see what it is. We flee da trailer. Soon as we get out, we heres a bunch of cars comin' up the driveway. "Shit, Uncle Thom's called da media!" says Slack. "Dat ol' fucker," I say, knowin' Uncle Thom's screwed us again. We go to tha hole an look down at the sasquatch. He gives us a look like "Why have you done this?" an my little heart breaks. I reach over an grab tha rope ladder Thom sometimes throws down when his captives have had enough. So he climbs dat ladder and stands over us. Slack is scared; I can tell, cuz he pees his pants. I pee my pants. People are running up through da woods now, we can hear um climb da steep driveway. Bigfoot puts two hands on our shoulders, gives us a what can only be described as a smile (looks like he has bout tha same amount of teeth as I) and takes off inta da woods.

Uncle Thom was pissed, cuz he dragged all these people up here an dere wasn't anything down in his pleasure hole but a bunch of half-eaten pancakes. He ends up gettin' in trouble again, which ain't nuttin' new fere him, but he holds grudges, an unfortunately Slack an I are on his shit list. I wish I could say dere was a morale to dis story. If I had to speculate, I'd say "Be kind to udders, an everone likes pancakes." That's all I have to say bout that.

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