Thursday, August 21, 2008

You died in Maxnzhoot's "Suicide Barbeque"

No one seemed to ever point this out to you, on account of your ludicrous overconfidence, but you were kind of a moron weren't you? Like always? Fair enough?

Maxnzhoot's hybrid car was a pain in the ass for more reasons than he was the only one that could fit in the motherfucker without crushing his knees. To the point that fluid would begin collecting in the base of your heels and tips of your toes. But the real problem, from his point of view, was that he couldn't even off himself in the damn thing. Ever tried carbon monoxide poisoning in something that runs off hydrogen atoms and that smug sense of Hollywood Condescension that is extracted from Tom Hanks' pores every time he posts a YouTube video? Let's just say the guy had plans to beef it up a bit.

* * *

So for whatever reason you're out in your front yard in a towel doing your aikido workout, and Maxnzhoot is carrying one of those little Weber deals into the backseat of his Saturn and you're all like, "Hey Max, hold up, I got some killer shanks in the Windsor." Dude, the last time you hung out with this guy, he walked into a pantry to find you with his daughter home from college getting double penetrated by your member and a crudely fashioned clay penis while she called out the name you had given: El Hombre Ceramico. Some bury the hatchet steaks and a couple of beers weren't going to fix that for anyone outside your head.

So he ignored you at first but you didn't let up, and then you noticed he was acting a bit weird right? Who the heck fixes to put on a BBQ inside of a car, unless it's that custom fit deal with gas burners like what Gregorio Tanner has down the street, that you only ever saw through binoculars since you made a fuck palace out of lawn chairs in his pool with his wife.

Maxnzhoot muttered under his breath, cursing to himself that you would leave him be, but there would be no chance of that, tapping on the passenger side window, oh and the door in the back was open so you squeezed in, and "Wha-at can I do for you?" Maxnzhoot twitching as he spoke, and there was a lot of black smoke even then so you bent over and popped the sunroof, "Listen man, no hard feelings about the whipper snipper and your old lady's weimaraner right?" but it appeared by then he'd tuned out completely.

"Yeah man, I hear ya." you said. "I have days like this" and you lit up a cigarette " these days when I can't even wait to get out on the lake to do some fishing," and you leant over to the front seat to snatch the bottle of Rittenhouse "but I get ahead of myself, have too many drinks. End up watching Splash and hope that the escort agency knows what I mean by Daryl Hannah cheekbones."

Maxnzhoot was travelling at about 20kph under the speed limit humming along loudly to More Than a Feeling which was playing on repeat at a barely audible level. After a slow collision with a number of sulo bins you asked him how he liked his shanks and the police weren't too far behind your tail. A fifteen minute stand off followed soon after which ended in Maxnzhoot hysterically forcing himself into a suicide by cop situation, and the backseat so blackened by smoke that they didn't even notice you were in there still chewing on your own charcoaled creation, slowly asphixiating to the sounds of Boston.