Tag: dope dealers

Another Day at The Cock’n Balls Bar and Pawn: Afternoon

Once the Hubbub from the Morning’s Pickled Toe Incident Owner Bud Wiser went back to lazily wiping down the Bar as His wicked Smokers Cough was getting the Better of Him. Bud Coughed, Wheezed, and Repeatedly Cleared His Throat while muttering about whatever was Annoying Him at the Time. Bud took a moment to Scan the Bar since there wasn’t anyone in the Pawnshop since it was Friday aka PayDay so the Need for People to Pawn their Possessions was greatly Diminished. As Bud Surveyed the Bar the Dust that Hung in the Air Mingling with the Smoke of Countless Cigarettes reminded Him of Sea Monkeys though He had No Idea Why.

Shitty Nickels was sitting in the Corner Strumming a Old Guitar that was Beat to Hell that He had found in the Trash Last Week. Shitty had been joined by His Dear Friends and fellow Musician Sexx Fuckin who was considered by Those in the Know as the Best Slide Guitarist Both Sides of the Mississippi. The Gruesome Twosome were Swapping Stories and Reminiscing about Days Long Gone By over some Seriously Strong Singapore Slings.

Mikey Drongo the Leader of a Near By Chop Shop was still sitting at the Bar sipping Beer and Downing Shots like there was No Tomorrow. Bud figured that Drinking like there was No Tomorrow made Perfect Sense considering Mickey’s Line Of Work. Considering He was in Fact a Criminal (regardless of How Nice a Guy He actually was). And Being a Criminal Meant Mickey could easily be Killed by Rivals or Locked Up in a Tiny Cell for the Rest of His Life. Both were Valid Reasons to Drink in Bud’s Mind.

           

Harry Twatter the Neighborhood’s Degenerate Gambler had taken off as soon as the Pickled Toe bet was Settled opting to Spend His Day down at the Dog Track. Harry would spend His Day Tossing Cups of Beer, Tearing Up Losing Tickets, and Having His Wallet Emptied as He Dreamed of Getting Rich Quick Schemes into between Races. After a Good 8-9 Hours at the Track Harry would show Up at The Cock’n Balls convinced He had come up with a Winning System based on His Mistakes from that Day.

Harry would inevitably end up Pawning God Knew What to Secure His Gambling Money for the Next Day’s Venture be it at The Track, Backroom Poker Games, or Illegal Casinos. Harry had always been a Truly Tragic Hero who Dreamed of Scoring  a Small Fortune (through any means Possible outside of  a Legitimate Job) and was Going Broke all the While.

Bawbag Cockwomble had Shuffled Off soon after winning the Pickled Toe Bet and claiming His prize of One Pickled Egg. Bawbag spent His Days Panhandling as He wondered The Streets until Sundown collecting that Night’s Drinking Money. Bawbag called it a Day at Sundown since  walking up to a Car looking Filthy and Disheveled in the Dark with Your hand Outstretched was Likely to get You Killed. Bawbag made a pretty fucking Penny Panhandling have No Doubt about since Bawbag knew how to Play the “Spare Change” Game.

           

Bawbag had found a particularly Busy Intersection that was CONSTANTLY Jammed up with Commuters All Day Long as Opposed to just Rush Hour. Bawbag had learned the subtle art of Looking Pathetically Submissive enough to Get a Donation without looking Desperate. Bawbag knew Desperate People can be Extremely Unpredictable, and that makes Them Intimidating to the General Public which greatly Diminishes Daily Profits.

Pissy Wristy and Her Petty Drug Dealing Boyfriend Jimmy Tosser with the Lofty Ambition of Becoming a Full Blown Pimp had adjured to the Bathroom for a Quickie. Bud Waited a Receptive amount of Time before He went into the Bathroom and Evicted the Copulating Couple back to the Bar. Once The Disheveled Twosome had exited the Bathroom Pissy passed the fuck out from the Previous Nights Drinking, Drugging, and Fucking and Jimmy sat staring at His phone like an Intoxicated Caveman.

Dickey Dullard the Romantic and Animate Junkie had just recently Shot Up a Heavy Dose of Dope, and was attempting to Play Pool. Unfortunately Dickey was so High He just stood at the End of the Pool Table struggling to keep His fucking Eyes Open swaying unsteadily on His Feet. For all intents and Purposes looked Dickey looked so Comatose that Bud half expected Dickey to Suddenly Sink Unconscious to the Floor Collapsing into a Pitiful Heap.

            

Just Then “Bloody” Sod Bollocks burst through the Front Door with a Great Deal of Force sending the Door slamming against the Ball. Sod had entered this way since the First Time He entered the Bar 8 years ago, and as a Result from  the Door Knob colliding violently with the Wall the Knob had Left a Deep Circular Indent at the Point of Impact. Sob strode over to the Bar and Hopped gingerly onto a Bar Stool and snatched up one of the Bowls of Peanuts from its Resting Place. Sod snatched up the Peanuts for the Sole Purpose of Throwing them at Dickey in an attempt to illicit a Response. For His part Dickey remained completely Oblivious to the Legume Assault being Launched at Him.

Sod quickly grew tired of Pelting Dickey with Peanuts and turned around to face the Bar.  The Funny thing about Sod was He considered Himself an Intellectual, Yet Sod was also Self Admittedly Uneducated. Sod had dropped out of School after the 8th grade to go Work in a Haggis Manufacturing Plant.  He had figured School was shit and Work was shit as Well, BUT at least Work Paid, and that was good enough for Sod. So with that He  said  So Long to School and Hello to the Blue Collar Factory Workforce. By the Age of 16 Sod had Left the Work Force since He didn’t Appreciate His Boss telling Him What to Do all damn Day.

With Little to No Prospects Sod gravitated to the Illegal World of Bare Knuckle Boxing where He earned the Moniker “Bloody” since thats the Condition His defeated Opponents Left the Ring in. Sod had made His way up through the Ranks and even had been the Reigning Bare Knuckle Boxing Champion for a Short While. Sadly for Sod He was forced to Vacate the Title when He immigrated to the United States to avoid a rather serious Legal Problem. Sod’s Legal Problem was while He was attending a Soccer Match to Cheer on His Team the Manchester United on to Victory. At some point during the Game Sod got Himself into an Altercation with a Drunken Soccer Hooligan. The Incident Ended with Sod Punching the Drunk Hooligan Dead in the Face so fucking Hard it Ironically Killed the Drunk Bastard Who Died where He Fell.

           

Sod stained at the Graffiti that Patrons had Carved into the Antique Oak Bar over its Many Years in Service. Again it didn’t take but mere moments before Sod became Board and Fidgety as He wasn’t a Very Proficient Reader, and was begging to Wonder why He been in a Bar for 10 minutes and Didn’t have a Beer in His hand as of Yet. Annoyed Sod peered through the Gloom of the Low Lighting until He saw Bud over in the Pawnshop messing around with a stubborn Display Case.

This made Sod Irate as fuck since He never saw the Point in converting Half of a perfect Decent Neighborhood Old Man Bar into a Pawnshop of all fucking things. Gambling Machines Now thats where the fucking Money was at so if Bud wanted to increase His Profits He should invest in a few Video Gambling Machines thats how it should have been Done in Sod’s opinionated Opinion. Everyone fucking Knows No One spends Money quite like a Drunken Gambler mused Sod to himself Las fucking Vegas was Built on that Principle Alone.

Sod waved His hand back and forth perturbed by Bud’s lack of Acknowledgement so He decided He’d call Out to Bud to get His attention. Also being the Dick that He was would use Buddy in place of Bud. Sod knew this Presumably Minor Indiscretion would Piss Bud off in a Big fucking Way because Bud had an extreme aversion to being called Buddy. No one knew why this was such a sensitive issue for Bud and judging by His reaction when it did happen No One was about to Ask.

            

“HEY BUDDY what the fuck Do I have to do to get a Fucking Beer around Here I’m about Dead of Dehydration for fucks sake!” bellowed Sod boorishly as He was apt to do.

Bud had been bent over a Display case tinkering with the Cantankerous lock due to it Being a Bit Rusted when He Heard Sod from across the Room. Bud snapped to Attention standing rigidly as if He was using every fiber of His being to Restrain Himself from running over and punching Sod in the fucking Throat. Bud’s eyes narrowed to the point One couldn’t tell if they were even Open as the Corners of His mouth sagged in Disapproval and Distain. Bud walked out from behind the display case in a Creepily Slow manner Reenforcing the feeling that He was straining with all His might to keep from going Completely Apeshit all over the place.  As Bud walked with Purpose towards Sod He had His Shoulders back, and His Fists Clenched so Tight His Knuckles where turning White.

Stay Tuned for Another Installment of………

Another Day at The Cock’n Balls:Evening

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

The Delinquent Detective Ep.1 : Screaming at a Deaf Dog

Heads Up For Readers: There is a good bit of obscene language and blasphemies contained within this piece.
Rock Hard woke with a startle one hand one his set of bulbous brass balls, and in the other empty bottle of Lithuanian Whisky.
The goddamn phone was ringing relentlessly BRING! BRING! like a goddamn banshee. Rock sat up and wearily rubbing his face trying to dispel the thick fog of yesterday.
Rock was no stranger to the endless trials and tribulations of life not by a long shot. Bullshit was his bread and butter.
Rock slowly made his way to the phone his feet shuffling across the thick scummy orange shag carpet barefoot.
Rock lit a cigarette irritated that some dumb son of a bitch had the fucking nerve to call him this early in the goddamn day. Rock reached the phone and unplugged it. Whoever it was fuck them thought Rock to himself.
Finally Rock thought to himself. Rock found people to be unbelievably irritating at best.
Rock proceeded to get ready for the dismal day that lay before him. Once Rock had shit, showered, and shaved Rock headed out to the office.
Locking the door behind him he started down the hall of The Royal Hotel lined with various delinquents. The monthly crew of cantankerous characters that inhabited The Royal Hotel, one of the BigCity’s finest flop house, was an unending revolving door of debauchery.
Rock tolerated these assholes because in a flea bag shithole no one sees shit, hears shit or says shit especially the police.
The residents of The Royal were the lowest of the low. There were junkies, hookers, pimps, cults, drunks, drug dealers, shut ins, welfare cases, white trash, Neo Nazi’s (that hangout at the lobby bar), traumatized Vietnam vets, thieves, bikers,and the mentally ill with no family.
It wasn’t always that way though. Back in its heyday The Royal played host to musicians, writers, artists, film makers running the entire gamete of the art world.
Business men booked suites for their corrupt conferences where they found ways to fuck over the working man. The staff was professional and proud to be part of The Royal.
Now Tina “Two Tits” Earner the local hooker was constantly prowling for pricks in the Hotels shitty dive-like bar. Homeless Hank the blocks beloved gutter dwelling bum was living in the lobby. The rest of The Royal was a fucking freak show a goddamn insane circus.
Ignoring the nasty noises of fighting and fucking that bled through the paper thin walls Rock made his way to the downstairs. Rock stopped briefly to shoot the shit with the front desk clerk.
The clerk was an anciently old man who worked the front desk and had for 52 years named Barnabas.
“Whats going on you nasty old bastard?” Rock asked casually with no real interest.
“I’m just a goddamn gargoyle perched on this goddamn stool watching the derelicts and dopers coming and going, it’s an endless parade of the broken and disheveled . Once the sun sets the city streets flood with sinners,” replied Barnabas weirdly staring off into space.
Rock stared at Barnabas wondering if he was senile or just being a mean old shit .
Rock walked briskly to the front door to escape the scum of the Earth confined within the rancid Royal.
Before exiting Rock checked to make sure he had his two faithful companions with him his flask and his revolver. Once he had established he was in possession of both Rock burst out on to the street.
Rock waded through the littered streets coated in filth and grim. The bums lurking in doorways like living corpses that had abandoned all hope in humanity.
The hookers were returning home after a long cold night on the street selling their souls as well as their snatches.
Junkies posted on the corners heckling change from the few regular folk who hadn’t fled the dying neighborhood bathed in decay.
Over laying graffiti adorned the street plastered across walls and any available space was now coated in spray paint.
Rock didn’t mind the dereliction in fact he welcomed it. People are parasites that don’t belong in palaces was his opinion.
At least when your deep in the shit surrounded by the dregs of society you know where you stand.
There is honesty in hooliganism. You can take everything at face fucking value, no bullshit required.
Rock chain smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on his wayward walk to work. So what if smoking led to fucking cancer Rock didn’t give a rats ass what the Surgeon General had to say on the subject.
Rock picked up a couple of new packs of smokes at newspaper stand around the corner from his office. Rock’s office was a located in the Burner building within walking distance from The Royal.
The Burner was a small building sandwiched between to sky scrappers. The Burner had always been a mega for unorthodox and unconventional professions such as psychics, weapons dealers, and in Rock’s case Private Detectives.
As he approached the front door of his office on the 3rd floor of the Burner he saw a person pacing in the dimly lit hallway.
Rock was already wondering what the stranger was all about when the stranger turned towards him and said……………

To Be Continued in
The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions from the Blind.