The Insurrectionist...

"Call out the instigators because there's something in the air. We've got to get together because the Revolutions' here."

Thunderclap Newman ~ Something in the Air

I have been trying to reach Mad Max since the Insurrection to no avail. Today I finally contacted him:

"Were you part of the Insurrection Mad Max? I watched a lot of videos of it and I didn't spot you in any of them. I'm not sure though. Why have you been avoiding all my calls & texts? Were you there or not?" 

Earlier in the week I chatted with a mutual associate of ours. I asked if he thought Mad Max went to the Insurrection, his answer was right to the point, "I think he is all talk and when it comes right down to it he doesn't have the balls. All talk, no action, that is our Mad Max." 

It is finally time to hear it straight from the horses' ass.

"Goddamn right I was there with the rest of the Patriot's," he answers emphatically, "Another thing asshole; stop referring to it as an Insurrection. It was a rally of the people formed to combat the fraud & tyranny our government is pushing upon us. The rally at the capitol is just the beginning."

"Did you actually go in the capitol?"

"No," adding sternly, "I marched from the rally to the capitol with the rest of the Patriot's, but me and the guys I were with stayed behind the barriers. We did nothing wrong, so the feds can kiss my ass."

"Did you take any pictures or videos?" - All talk no action. Show me some actual proof.

"I can't send or post anything because the feds are monitoring social media, trust me I was there. I wouldn't have missed the most historical moment in our countries history for anything."

The time Mad Max has been talking about for years is finally here; according to him. 

"You watch boy, the Revolution is upon us."

I'd heard enough Revolution talk for one day, I ask if he is excited about the Chiefs being in the Super Bowl. 

"See boy, this is what I don't get about your sorry ass. I'm telling you the country is at its most pivotal point since inception & you want to know what I think about a fucking football game. Wake the fuck up!"

"Jesus, give the Insurrection a break for a minute and tell me if you think the Chiefs are going to repeat as champions. You are going to blow a gasket if you don't relax."

"Relax," adding in a mocking tone, "Relaxing is for sheep like you. Do you remember what I told you a while back?"

"What's that Mad Max?"

"Your fat worthless ass will be the first to capitulate. The freedom fighters you witnessed at the rally are the one's people should be emulating. They will rise up against a tyrannical government and thrive. You & the majority of the masses will always be subservient."

After listening to him rant for a few more minutes, I ask another question.

"What did you wear to the Insurrection?"

"What do you mean? What kind of question is that? I wore clothes you fucking moron."

"I mean specifically. What were you wearing?"

"Why?"

"I heard there was a guy spotted wearing a Madison Bulldogs' hat & his old letter jacket. I thought it might have been you."

"You think all this is funny. Just wait asshole. You'll see soon enough."

try to get a straight answer...

The other day I called my friend Roy to gauge how much money he was going to bet on Kansas City covering the Super Bowl:

"More than you got son. It will be enough to buy the wife something nice with plenty leftover for a trip or two."

"Come on man, give me an actual dollar. You're probably talking ten grand or higher. I'm curious Roy. Tell me the actual amount."

"Like I said son, more money than you got."

He's weird like that. Instead of telling me the actual amount of his bet it's always the same answers... "More than you got boy; enough to buy my wife something nice; enough to make your asshole pucker; enough to court a couple of party girls for the week."

It's my belief he answers this way to shield the actual amount of money he loses. 

"Come on Roy. Give a straight answer for once."

"Let's put it this way boy. It's way more than you got in your bank account. I can guarantee you that much for sure."

He wasn't going to give up the actual amount. So we moved on to what happens if they don't cover.

"Not going to happen asshole. Andy, Patrick & the rest of the gang are going to beat the hell out of Tampa Bay. It won't even be close motherfucker," the confidence in his voice not wavering a bit.

"I admire your enthusiasm Roy. I got to know though. What happens if they don't cover?"

"Then I am out the money and my wife will throw me into the street," seriousness in his voice, "Stop fucking asking. KC is going to destroy Tampa Bay & the wad is going to get several inches thicker. That is what is going to happen!"

My plan is to watch the championship at my associate Fred's place. 

"Fred, we can start the dynasty talk after they win," exclaiming to him in no uncertain terms, "That will be two in a row with a bright future ahead. What do you think about that?"

"We'll see. They got to win this one before we start talking dynasty."

"They will," is my forceful response.

Whenever Fred and I watch the games; undoubtedly, we will see an advertisement for a food delivery application (Grubhub, Postmates, DoorDash). It's painful seeing how successful the process has become knowing full well I was at the forefront of it...I missed out as usual.

"Goddamn Fred, did you see how much the initial public offering of DoorDash is. It's valued at over sixty fucking billion. That's billion with a fucking b!" 

If you've followed the blog for a substantial amount of time you are familiar with my foray into the restaurants of Chinatown. Those restaurants are worth millions upon millions nowadays. I was there before anyone; with connections to boot...still I failed...it's a hard pill to swallow nowadays.

"Think about all those fucking restaurants I had under my thumb Fred. I was in Chinatown before anyone else. It was ours for the taking and it got away. Think about all the money & opportunities this family lost because I was weak. It's the biggest miss in family history."

Fred remembers the time I am referencing. I ask him if he has any regrets about it; knowing full well how profitable the process has become. 

"You need to let it go. It's over now. You missed," is his terse response to my question.

I ask again in hopes of getting an answer.

"Get a life," is his next terse response.

No Tyreek! No Super Bowl!

I realize an actual parade with real life people standing next to each other is out of the question. Chalk it up as another casualty of the cancel culture. Although, I am now informed, a virtual parade is the way to go...the plan is to host one on FaceBook sometime after their victory. I'll get back to you with more details.

"No Tyreek! No Super Bowl!" 

I watched the game at my associate Fred's house.

"Tyreek also happens to be my idol nowadays. What do you think about that Fred?"

"I wish you would stop saying that," he finds my favorite chant about my favorite player annoying.

"It's the truth," is my answer every time he complains.

"I don't care, it's obnoxious. Find a new chant."

"I can't just change my favorite chant at the end of the season. They got one more game to win. I'll find a new chant next year. For now the chant stays."

"Get a life," is his response.

I called Roy on the ride home from Fred's place.

"Chiefs motherfucker!" 

The unbridled enthusiasm in his voice tells me he hit it big on the game.

"How much boy? What did you have going on it?"

"The entire wad son," his enthusiasm growing evermore.

"Are you going to get down on them again in the Super Bowl?" 

I already knew his answer, but I ask nonetheless.

"You bet your blue boots I am. I'm going to ride them all the way home. I told the wife last night when they cover we are going to buy her something nice. It brought a big smile to her face," I often wonder if his wife is aware of the extent of his habit.

"So how much are you going to get down on them for the Super Bowl?"

"The whole load motherfucker. I'm going to get it all back plus some. Goddamn boy they looked good yesterday," his enthusiasm not wavering a bit, "They're going to beat the hell out of Tampa Bay. Do you want to know something else boy?"

"What?"

"Your pep talk the other day gave me the confidence to slap it all down on Andy & the boys. They kicked ass like you said they would. Boy did I need it asshole! I truly believe my wife would have thrown me out of the house if I would have lost the bet. Speaking of that, she's yelling at me right now. I got to talk to you later boy."

"Before you go Roy I got one thing to say."

"What?"

"Chiefs motherfucker!"

He reciprocates.

  

Cover the spread already...

I called my friend Roy in Kansas to discuss the game Sunday:

"The only thing different is they're not covering the spread. That's eight games in a fucking row I've lost betting on them."

"At least they won and have clinched a third straight AFC title game at home. You got to love that Roy."

"That doesn't do me any good asshole. If they don't cover my bookie takes my money and I am left with shit. The winning part is irrelevant to me."

When I called Roy to gauge his excitement about another Chief's title run I should have known better because he is a gambling man. KC hasn't covered a thing in eight weeks no matter what their record states.

"Don't worry Roy," in an attempt to calm his nerves, "They're going to beat the hell out of Buffalo. Get down on them again. Besides, they are due to cover."

"Due to cover," he says in a mocking tone, "I've been saying the exact same thing for eight weeks & all I'm getting from it is a shrinking bankroll. You really are a fucking moron if you think the Chiefs are going to cover against Buffalo."

"Are you going to take Buffalo instead?"

"No," with desperation in his tone, "I am going to take Kansas City again."

"Why would you take them when you are getting killed by them?"

"Because I am fucking stupid."

Chief's football in all its glory is too upsetting for Roy to discuss any further. We change the subject to something less stressful.

"Is your idol going to find a way to keep his job?" A belligerent snicker accompanies his question.

"I've told you this a hundred times Roy. He's not my idol. Tyreek Hill is my idol. Please stop calling him my idol."

"Whatever Trump lover," adding with a snicker, "If he's not your idol than why do you ride around with a Trump bumper sticker on your car."

"I don't have a Trump bumper sticker on my car jerk off."

"That's not what I heard," is his reply with another snicker.

"Whatever dude. Why don't you tell me something interesting? You use to be a fucking Legend," Roy's nickname back in the day was Legend. No one has referred to him as such in over twenty years. No one, that is, accept me.

The conversation shifts back to the betting line on the Chiefs.

"Look brother, I have been getting my ass whipped & my confidence isn't what it use to be. I will lay something down on the Chiefs this Sunday because I don't know any better. They need to fucking win or my bankroll will be gone."

Listening to Roy whine is annoying. He needed a pep talk in the worst way.

"Stop whining Legend. Get yourself together," he is a shell of the man he use to be...it's hard for me to except at times, "I want you to do me a favor & shift your thoughts from now to twenty years ago. Think about that guy back then & how he could dissect a spread in his sleep. All you did was pick winners. Think about all the confidence you had in yourself. Now keep that state of mind and go all in with Kansas City. You will get your money back & then some when they win the Super Bowl."

"I did pick a lot of winners back then," a hint of confidence finally returning to his voice, "I'm going to call my bookie and tell him to let it all ride on the Chief's this Sunday. Andy & Patrick won't let me down. Besides they're due to cover."

"There's the fucking Legend. He's back!"

"I hope your right boy. If not my wife is going to throw me into the streets."