My adopted brother, Jimmy Jack Jameson*, told me an interesting story the other day. It’s a story of depravity. A story of evil so evilly evil that he could barely push the words past his parched lips. (Dude could use some Carmex.)
Apparently, his 17-year-old cat, Skeetbag, has gone missing. Jimmy Jack has no clue where his old, decrepit cat is, but he knows who took him: Spencer Kietzman, son of Best In The Bizness, Kevin Kietzman.
You see, Spencer is a noted is a noted thief of cats. No one is quite certain what he does with them. The rumor is, he spends all of his $5,000 monthly allowance on cold tablets, ephedrine, and 2-liter bottles of soda (no one’s sure why), leading to some speculation that he might be reselling the cats on the black market, to facilitate his ability to buy bad beer.
My adopted brother Jimmy Jack tells me that it’s well-known that Spencer carries a bottle of chloroform in his front pocket that he uses to subdue particularly unruly cats. (It also causes some confusion as to Spencer’s happiness to see people.) As he lay, nearly passed out in his own puke on the lawn of the Tri Delts (Jimmy Jack’s house is just next door), Jimmy Jack saw Spencer steal his old fat cat.
As he lay there, trying to collect his wits, Jimmy Jack says he saw Spencer coming out of the house, two pussy cats under one arm, and the bottle of chloroform in the other hand. (He’s fairly certain Spencer was using the chloroform only on the cats.) Out of the corner of his inebriated eye (yes, he was so drunk his eye was even tipsy) he noticed his cat Skeetbag coming toward him from his house next door.
Already weak from overconsumption of Bully Wheat, my adopted brother Jimmy Jack tried desperately to save his Skeetbag from being chloroformed by notorious cat burglar Spencer Keitzman. This desperate attempt dissolved into one long, deeply resonant, bad beer belch however, and the last thing my adopted brother Jimmy Jack remembers is a slightly jowly face and slightly receding hairline, as Spencer covered his Skeetbag’s face with a chloroform-soaked rag. (Jimmy Jack thought it was strange that the rag seemed to have lipstick splotches on it.)
At this point, my adopted brother Jimmy Jack farted loudly, pissed his pants, and puked on Spencer’s shoe. Or maybe he farted loudly, puked on himself, and pissed on Spencer’s shoe. Things go fuzzy a bit in my adopted brother Jimmy Jack’s memory regarding the actual sequence of events after Spencer chloroformed his Skeetbag.
The next thing Jimmy Jack remembers is waking up on the Tri Delt couch, surrounded by gorgeous, but disheveled 18-to-22-year-old women. Some were weeping, mourning the loss of their beloved cats (apparently). Other women (busty blondes, mostly) gently cut away his puke and piss-stained clothing, to administer healing balm to his bruised body. As this occurred, he faded back out of consciousness.
When he finally regained full control of all of his faculties, Jimmy Jack was sitting (lying, really) naked on the curb in front of the Tri Delta house. His own housemates found him there, scratch marks across his face and chest. Those same housemates later talked him out of filing a police report on Spencer, a decision he now regrets, given the serial nature of young Kietzman’s one-man crime wave.
Currently the crime wave consists of two cats are missing from the Tri Delt house, my adopted brother Jimmy Jack’s Skeetbag’s disappearance, and Jimmy Jack’s across-the-street-neighbor said her cat flees in fright whenever it sees men. It’s been quite a crime-wave, indeed. (Incidentally, the Tri Delts have taken out a restraining order on my adopted brother Jimmy Jack, but he says that is completely unrelated.)
After he told me this story, I tried to convince my adopted brother Jimmy Jack that it all sounded like some kind of Bully Wheat, Pizza Shuttle-fueled dream sequence, but he insists it all happened, just as he told me. And I am now duty-bound to report it to all of my faithful readers.
*=My adopted brother Jimmy Jack may or may not exist, it’s hard to say.