Owen's manor, Owen's estate, Owen's house...the dump truck located three blocks east of Eastern on Owens has taken on many different titles - I simply refer to it as the shit hole:
"Goddammit - this place is a shit hole! If I see another cockroach in this motherfucker I swear I am going to go crazy!" I yell as I step on yet another one - My roommate James and I have created a game called Fred & George. The rules are simple: Whenever we see a cockroach crawling around the dump truck we call home; we obliterate it. At the end of the day we tally up how many we killed and the winner gets a pat on the back. I no it sounds rather Cretan in nature, but we enjoy it.
"Goddammit boy - how many is that today?" James says. "That is either ten or eleven. How many have you gotten today?" I ask. He responds with a shrug and says, "I lost count, but it's way more than what you have."
We are setting in the living room watching Fox News when someone knocks at the door, I get up to answer it - "Have you seen Victor?" A blond with a curvy figure is standing at the entrance -- Victor is a rough and tumble guy who I call one of my five roommates. He bangs more whores than any man I have ever known - "He's not here," I tell her. "Will you tell him that Charlene stopped by and I will catch up with him later," she says to me. I tell her I will and promptly close the door.
"Who was that?" James says as I sit back down on the couch. I tell him it is one of Victor's girls and he says - "Goddamn, that guy does more fucking than a five pecker jack rabbit. Where does he get all his energy?" I shrug my shoulders to let him know I have no idea and resume watching Fox News.
A few minutes later I hear a knock on the door again - "Goddammit," James says, "What is this place? Grand Central station," I get up from the couch and answer the door: No surprise whatsoever - it is another one of Victor's girls - "Is Victor here?" a red head in a short skirt says - "No, he is not here right now," I tell her, I then add - "Would you like to leave a message for him?" - she gives me the look over and says -- "I know that asshole has other bitches. The prick said I was going to be his one and only. Does he have other bitches over here? I want you to tell me," she concludes.
Guys never rat out other guys - "Look, sweetie," I then add, "I have no idea what you are talking about. You interrupted James and me while we are watching Fox News. If you have a problem with Victor take it up with him...Okay." I then close the door, walk back to the couch, set down and began watching Fox News again. James ask yet again who was at the door. I tell him it is another of Victor's bitches - he says, "Goddammit, you are right about this place. It is both a shit hole and a whore house."
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
The village idiot of Las Vegas is convinced his ex wife is the culprit in all the recent road rage shootings in Las Vegas.
"Come On - just tell me the truth. I promise I won't turn you in for the reward money. We both know you are in town again. It is time to come clean!" My ex wife suffered bouts of road rage when she lived in Las Vegas - In the last week, with gunshots reported, there have been three cases of road rage incidents in Clark county.
"It wasn't me," she says, "I have not been to Las Vegas in a few months. I already told you that," she adds. I'm not sure if I believe her based on the perpetrators description - "Look," I tell her politely, "How come the description fits you to a tee? In every situation they are saying it is a middle age Caucasian women driving an Explorer and a party colored toy poodle is setting in the passenger seat barking. That sounds a lot like you and Pepper," I conclude.
"You want to know something," she says, "I sold my gun a while back and the only thing I have now is a couple of double barrels, and they are at my sisters. So it couldn't have been me," she concludes. "I know what the deal is," I tell her jokingly, "You ditched the evidence. You didn't sell your gun, you probably threw it in the river so no one could pin things on you. That is what happened. Come On, just admit you are the culprit in all the road rage shootings we are experiencing here in Las Vegas lately and I will leave you alone about it."
She sighs, laughs and says - "Look, I have not been to Las Vegas in a few months. If I need to get sworn affidavits from my alibis I will. No one is going to pin the recent spats on me." We chat a bit more and then she tells me it is time for her to go. Before I hang up, I ask one last time - "Okay, this is your last chance to come clean. Just tell me the truth...hello, hello," - she had already hung up.
"It wasn't me," she says, "I have not been to Las Vegas in a few months. I already told you that," she adds. I'm not sure if I believe her based on the perpetrators description - "Look," I tell her politely, "How come the description fits you to a tee? In every situation they are saying it is a middle age Caucasian women driving an Explorer and a party colored toy poodle is setting in the passenger seat barking. That sounds a lot like you and Pepper," I conclude.
"You want to know something," she says, "I sold my gun a while back and the only thing I have now is a couple of double barrels, and they are at my sisters. So it couldn't have been me," she concludes. "I know what the deal is," I tell her jokingly, "You ditched the evidence. You didn't sell your gun, you probably threw it in the river so no one could pin things on you. That is what happened. Come On, just admit you are the culprit in all the road rage shootings we are experiencing here in Las Vegas lately and I will leave you alone about it."
She sighs, laughs and says - "Look, I have not been to Las Vegas in a few months. If I need to get sworn affidavits from my alibis I will. No one is going to pin the recent spats on me." We chat a bit more and then she tells me it is time for her to go. Before I hang up, I ask one last time - "Okay, this is your last chance to come clean. Just tell me the truth...hello, hello," - she had already hung up.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
The village idiot of Las Vegas calls his ex wife to inquire about her whereabouts.
"Are you in town?" I ask. "No - why do you ask?" she says. "You know why I ask. You know exactly why I ask," I tell her. "Did someone get shot again? Was it another road rage incident?" - she says: A few days ago a lady was shot and killed in a road rage incident in SW Las Vegas. My ex wife suffered from bouts of road rage when she lived in Las Vegas. After hearing the news, I thought, maybe, she sneaked into town without me knowing about it.
"Are you sure you weren't in town a few days ago?" I then go on to add, "Look, I read the description of the suspect in the paper and it said - 'A middle-age Caucasian women driving an Explorer with a party colored toy poodle setting in the passenger seat.' That sure sounds like you!" She starts laughing after the remark and says, "I have a number of people who will serve as an alibi for me. I have not been to Las Vegas in a couple of months, and Pepper (the toy poodle) hasn't been there either."
Thursday, February 12, 2015
The village idiot of Las Vegas and the dump truck he calls home...Part 2
"Goddammit - how many is that today?" - One of my roommates, James, said his count was three. I counted four -- I then add - "Jesus, Victor is on a roll!" Victor is a rough and tumble guy who I count as one of my five roommates at the dump truck I call home. The four versus three talk was an argument brought about on how many hookers he had made acquaintance with over the weekend.
Thirty minutes or so later he walks through the living room with his third, or fourth (depending on whose count you use). - "I got it going this weekend!" - he tells us after shoving her out the door -- "I might get another one in an hour or so. It depends on how I am feeling," he says as he is heading back to his room.
James and I resume our conversation - "Have you seen that new guy lately?" I ask. "I think he got thrown in jail," he says and then adds "The cops were over here last week looking for someone. I am guessing it was him since I haven's seen him around." The dump I call home and the dump next door is owned by a China man named Bruce Lee (I kid you not that is his real name). Any way, it is hardly uncommon to see Metro parked outside banging on the door looking for someone.
"Shall we drink his beer? He's not going to miss it if he's in jail," James made a sensible comment. A twelve pack of Budweiser had been cooling in the fridge for the last week and a half - That's a world record around the shit hole I call home. We promptly guzzle a few beers from the twelve pack and James says - "Hold on, I see Fred," he grabs a shoe from the floor and in one fluid motion rises and obliterates a cockroach that was crawling on the wall -- "That makes five of those bastards I have killed today," he chuckles. He sets back down and we continue our conversation.
"Goddammit - this place is a shit hole," I stammer. He rolls his eyes and says, "I am going to start calling you Mr. Fancy Pants. If you don't like this dump - why don't you move someplace else? Oh, that's right - You are a broke ass motherfucker. Looks like you are stuck!" We began laughing after his statement and then I tell him to toss me another beer - "Here you go Mr. Fancy Pants," he tosses me a cold can of Bud and adds, "Will regular Budweiser be enough for you or should I run down to Mexican market and get you some craft beer to drink?"
We are down to the last beers of the twelve pack and I hear a knock at the door - "Goddammit," James says in a half slurred tone, "Answer the fucking door." I get up from the couch and open it -- "Is Victor here?" a Puerto Rican girl in a tight black miniskirt is standing at the entrance - "You know the way," I tell her as I wave her in. She smiles and starts the trek back to his room. Once she is out of earshot I spurt - "Goddammit - this place is not only a shit hole. It's a fucking whore house as well!" -- James nods in agreement.
Thirty minutes or so later he walks through the living room with his third, or fourth (depending on whose count you use). - "I got it going this weekend!" - he tells us after shoving her out the door -- "I might get another one in an hour or so. It depends on how I am feeling," he says as he is heading back to his room.
James and I resume our conversation - "Have you seen that new guy lately?" I ask. "I think he got thrown in jail," he says and then adds "The cops were over here last week looking for someone. I am guessing it was him since I haven's seen him around." The dump I call home and the dump next door is owned by a China man named Bruce Lee (I kid you not that is his real name). Any way, it is hardly uncommon to see Metro parked outside banging on the door looking for someone.
"Shall we drink his beer? He's not going to miss it if he's in jail," James made a sensible comment. A twelve pack of Budweiser had been cooling in the fridge for the last week and a half - That's a world record around the shit hole I call home. We promptly guzzle a few beers from the twelve pack and James says - "Hold on, I see Fred," he grabs a shoe from the floor and in one fluid motion rises and obliterates a cockroach that was crawling on the wall -- "That makes five of those bastards I have killed today," he chuckles. He sets back down and we continue our conversation.
"Goddammit - this place is a shit hole," I stammer. He rolls his eyes and says, "I am going to start calling you Mr. Fancy Pants. If you don't like this dump - why don't you move someplace else? Oh, that's right - You are a broke ass motherfucker. Looks like you are stuck!" We began laughing after his statement and then I tell him to toss me another beer - "Here you go Mr. Fancy Pants," he tosses me a cold can of Bud and adds, "Will regular Budweiser be enough for you or should I run down to Mexican market and get you some craft beer to drink?"
We are down to the last beers of the twelve pack and I hear a knock at the door - "Goddammit," James says in a half slurred tone, "Answer the fucking door." I get up from the couch and open it -- "Is Victor here?" a Puerto Rican girl in a tight black miniskirt is standing at the entrance - "You know the way," I tell her as I wave her in. She smiles and starts the trek back to his room. Once she is out of earshot I spurt - "Goddammit - this place is not only a shit hole. It's a fucking whore house as well!" -- James nods in agreement.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
The village idiot of Las Vegas hears some news from Riggs.
Last night I called Riggs. It has been a while since we talked. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:
"I want to tell you something - I have found a way to get back in business...big time!" Riggs is a living Las Vegas legend! He's lived a life most would describe as wine, dine and sixty nine. It truly has been legendary - "Goddammit boy, I am back in fucking business!" - He says with extra enthusiasm this time.
"Slow your roll," I tell him, "What the hell are you talking about? You were never out of business." He responds with more enthusiasm than before, "Jethro. - I received some good news and was eager to share things with you. Maybe it will lead you to the big lick you are looking for." - He then proceeds to tell me some interesting news about a burgeoning business in the valley -- "How did you come across this information?" I ask.
A good way to describe Riggs as pertains to his business dealings in Las Vegas: He's connected to a lot of important people in town. I didn't say he had 'clout,' so to speak - he knows a lot of people who do -- "Look, Jethro, you don't worry about where I get my info from," he tells me with force in his tone, "All you need to do is listen when I tell you something important is going down - Just shut-up and listen...Okay!" The two of us often argue who has the longer dick - I always concede in the end. Anyways, I tell him to relax and ask what else he has been doing.
"I got a new girl," he tells me with anticipation in his voice, "She might be the one for me," - Riggs has been with more women than I can count - "I have never had anything less than a nine," is his favorite quote. I make him sound full of himself - but as he puts it -- "It's not bragging if it's true." He then goes on to explain how he hooked up with a broad who is a UFC ring girl (the girl who struts around in a bikini between rounds). I ask where they met and he says, "I was hanging out with Sammy at Pierro's and she walked in - I threw on some 'Vegas charm and the next thing you know." - It is utterly amazing the hold he puts on women...it's mythical.
"Goddammit Riggs," I say for the fiftieth time, "Why are you always scoring and I always strike out? It's not fucking fair." I found no solace in his answer - "For some reason or another you just don't have it," he then adds, "I know you are a smart and talented guy - but you just don't have it -- I guess it's something you are born with or not." He tells me it is time for him to go - I tell him this -- "Riggs, I can feel it now! Something big is coming down the pike for me as well! I will make sure there is room for you on my coattails" - He laughs and says, "Come on dude! Everyone knows you are a loser- Anyways, I will catch you later," - the phone immediately goes dead.
"I want to tell you something - I have found a way to get back in business...big time!" Riggs is a living Las Vegas legend! He's lived a life most would describe as wine, dine and sixty nine. It truly has been legendary - "Goddammit boy, I am back in fucking business!" - He says with extra enthusiasm this time.
"Slow your roll," I tell him, "What the hell are you talking about? You were never out of business." He responds with more enthusiasm than before, "Jethro. - I received some good news and was eager to share things with you. Maybe it will lead you to the big lick you are looking for." - He then proceeds to tell me some interesting news about a burgeoning business in the valley -- "How did you come across this information?" I ask.
A good way to describe Riggs as pertains to his business dealings in Las Vegas: He's connected to a lot of important people in town. I didn't say he had 'clout,' so to speak - he knows a lot of people who do -- "Look, Jethro, you don't worry about where I get my info from," he tells me with force in his tone, "All you need to do is listen when I tell you something important is going down - Just shut-up and listen...Okay!" The two of us often argue who has the longer dick - I always concede in the end. Anyways, I tell him to relax and ask what else he has been doing.
"I got a new girl," he tells me with anticipation in his voice, "She might be the one for me," - Riggs has been with more women than I can count - "I have never had anything less than a nine," is his favorite quote. I make him sound full of himself - but as he puts it -- "It's not bragging if it's true." He then goes on to explain how he hooked up with a broad who is a UFC ring girl (the girl who struts around in a bikini between rounds). I ask where they met and he says, "I was hanging out with Sammy at Pierro's and she walked in - I threw on some 'Vegas charm and the next thing you know." - It is utterly amazing the hold he puts on women...it's mythical.
"Goddammit Riggs," I say for the fiftieth time, "Why are you always scoring and I always strike out? It's not fucking fair." I found no solace in his answer - "For some reason or another you just don't have it," he then adds, "I know you are a smart and talented guy - but you just don't have it -- I guess it's something you are born with or not." He tells me it is time for him to go - I tell him this -- "Riggs, I can feel it now! Something big is coming down the pike for me as well! I will make sure there is room for you on my coattails" - He laughs and says, "Come on dude! Everyone knows you are a loser- Anyways, I will catch you later," - the phone immediately goes dead.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
The village idiot of Las Vegas has a conversation with Dan the homeless guy.
Last night my friend Dan stopped by. He has called the church courtyard across from where I live home for the last five years. We were standing in the driveway with the Clyde (the house cat) at our feet. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:
"Do you want to know something? I have lived in North Las Vegas (NLV) for thirty years. Your blog brings out the flavor in it. I really like the direction you are headed. I can see how you want to bring it visual. It would be the next logical step," hands down the biggest fan of my blog in NLV is Dan.
"Dan," I say to him with many thanks in my tone, "I agree with you wholeheartedly about the flavor NLV holds. It is a unique place with lots of unique characters living in it." NLV is a section of Las Vegas proper that 250,000 people call home. It was hit hard by the recession, but I am seeing signs of life - Dan is a lifelong Raiders fan, he was born and raised in SoCal, but I am converting him. A few weeks ago I gave him a Chiefs hat - his previous hat was looking worse for the wear. Anyways, I wrote a post about the experience and it became the second most viewed post I have ever written. He is that kind of guy.
"Rob," he says to me in a pleasant tone, "I sincerely believe you have the talent to make something special of your writing. You do an excellent job of capturing things and the great thing about it is you tell the stories so fluid. I enjoy reading them immensely." After his compliment I decide to anoint him with a very special title - "I got to tell you something," I say with a wide grin, "You have been appointed the official president of The village idiot of Las Vegas fan club. Unfortunately, it is an unpaid position. But who knows? Maybe one of these days I will be able to afford a salary for you." We both share a hearty laugh at the statement and he says, "I accept your offer. I sincerely believe you will find a way to make things come to fruition."
We chat a little more about the comings and goings of the neighborhood and then he asks - "How the hell did Clyde get so fat? He use to be a lean, mean, fighting machine. He has gone soft," Clyde is the house cat. He use to be feral but everyone started feeding him and now he looks like the cartoon version of Garfield. "Hey fat boy," I say as I reach down and scratch his belly, "Did you hear what Dan said about you? He thinks you have gone soft," - he starts purring and begins rubbing against my leg -- "He has gone soft," I add as I look up at Dan and laugh - "You need to quit feeding him so much," Dan responds, "All the other feral cats in North Las Vegas are going to be jealous of his girly figure."
"Do you want to know something? I have lived in North Las Vegas (NLV) for thirty years. Your blog brings out the flavor in it. I really like the direction you are headed. I can see how you want to bring it visual. It would be the next logical step," hands down the biggest fan of my blog in NLV is Dan.
"Dan," I say to him with many thanks in my tone, "I agree with you wholeheartedly about the flavor NLV holds. It is a unique place with lots of unique characters living in it." NLV is a section of Las Vegas proper that 250,000 people call home. It was hit hard by the recession, but I am seeing signs of life - Dan is a lifelong Raiders fan, he was born and raised in SoCal, but I am converting him. A few weeks ago I gave him a Chiefs hat - his previous hat was looking worse for the wear. Anyways, I wrote a post about the experience and it became the second most viewed post I have ever written. He is that kind of guy.
"Rob," he says to me in a pleasant tone, "I sincerely believe you have the talent to make something special of your writing. You do an excellent job of capturing things and the great thing about it is you tell the stories so fluid. I enjoy reading them immensely." After his compliment I decide to anoint him with a very special title - "I got to tell you something," I say with a wide grin, "You have been appointed the official president of The village idiot of Las Vegas fan club. Unfortunately, it is an unpaid position. But who knows? Maybe one of these days I will be able to afford a salary for you." We both share a hearty laugh at the statement and he says, "I accept your offer. I sincerely believe you will find a way to make things come to fruition."
We chat a little more about the comings and goings of the neighborhood and then he asks - "How the hell did Clyde get so fat? He use to be a lean, mean, fighting machine. He has gone soft," Clyde is the house cat. He use to be feral but everyone started feeding him and now he looks like the cartoon version of Garfield. "Hey fat boy," I say as I reach down and scratch his belly, "Did you hear what Dan said about you? He thinks you have gone soft," - he starts purring and begins rubbing against my leg -- "He has gone soft," I add as I look up at Dan and laugh - "You need to quit feeding him so much," Dan responds, "All the other feral cats in North Las Vegas are going to be jealous of his girly figure."
Monday, February 9, 2015
The village idiot of Las Vegas and the dump truck he calls home.
The Guns-N-Roses song Welcome to the Jungle is one of my favorite tunes. I have gone Weird Al Yankovic on it a little. See, whenever I walk into my current abode the melodies start going through my head. It's the lyrics I have changed:
"Welcome to the shit hole, we got dirty dishes, we got a filthy refrigerator, we got cockroaches - in the shit hole, welcome to the shit hole." Again, this is a little taste of a parody I wrote that was inspired by my current living conditions. One of these days I will incorporate more lyrics into it.
"Goddammit boy- what the fuck is that smell? It smells like someone died in this motherfucker!" - a pungent smell with no comparable description was coming from the kitchen, "Jesus, has anyone seen that new guy lately? Maybe he died and it is the smell of his body decomposing," I add.
"No, that's not the smell of a dead body," James, one of my five roommates, use to work in the medical field - "It smells like someone got wasted and took a piss on the floor somewhere." The smell was so filthy that both of us decided to investigate its origin and do what we could to eliminate it - "I found it," he says. He then lifts up an old mop that had been setting in the corner of the kitchen -- "Let's get this motherfucker out of here and things will smell better." He picks it up and waves it around as he is throwing it out...the smell nearly knocks me out! "Goddammit, this place is a shit hole," I state once again - He nods in agreement.
Later that night I am standing in the kitchen with another roommate (Keith). He is fixing carne asada on the stove top - I hear him say -- "I got you this time motherfucker," and without hesitation he squashes a cockroach that was crawling on the wall with the spatula he was using to fix the carne asada with - "We won't be seeing him around anymore," he laughs and says.
Watching him splat the cockroach all over the wall with the spatula was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. The problem is he was so drunk he forgot to get a new spatula to work the carne asada with - "Here, man, try some of this shit. It tastes just like a street vendor would make," I ask if he remembered to switch out spatulas after he squashed the cockroach - He gives me a bewildered look and says -- "Fuck, I forgot to do that - Well, it looks like the alley cats are going to eat well tonight." He then walks outside and dumps a full skillet of carne asada in the backyard. Ten minutes later every stray cat in North Las Vegas is feasting.
As I set here putting the finishing touches on my post I think about what Roxy told me - "Jethro, I can tell you one thing for certain. I will never set foot in a shit hole like the one you are living in now - Never!" I have come to the conclusion she is to highbrow for me. I need to find a girl around the neighborhood - I keep my room spotless. I will tell her to close her eyes and hold her nose when I bring her over. Once she gets back to my room things will be fine.
"Welcome to the shit hole, we got dirty dishes, we got a filthy refrigerator, we got cockroaches - in the shit hole, welcome to the shit hole." Again, this is a little taste of a parody I wrote that was inspired by my current living conditions. One of these days I will incorporate more lyrics into it.
"Goddammit boy- what the fuck is that smell? It smells like someone died in this motherfucker!" - a pungent smell with no comparable description was coming from the kitchen, "Jesus, has anyone seen that new guy lately? Maybe he died and it is the smell of his body decomposing," I add.
"No, that's not the smell of a dead body," James, one of my five roommates, use to work in the medical field - "It smells like someone got wasted and took a piss on the floor somewhere." The smell was so filthy that both of us decided to investigate its origin and do what we could to eliminate it - "I found it," he says. He then lifts up an old mop that had been setting in the corner of the kitchen -- "Let's get this motherfucker out of here and things will smell better." He picks it up and waves it around as he is throwing it out...the smell nearly knocks me out! "Goddammit, this place is a shit hole," I state once again - He nods in agreement.
Later that night I am standing in the kitchen with another roommate (Keith). He is fixing carne asada on the stove top - I hear him say -- "I got you this time motherfucker," and without hesitation he squashes a cockroach that was crawling on the wall with the spatula he was using to fix the carne asada with - "We won't be seeing him around anymore," he laughs and says.
Watching him splat the cockroach all over the wall with the spatula was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. The problem is he was so drunk he forgot to get a new spatula to work the carne asada with - "Here, man, try some of this shit. It tastes just like a street vendor would make," I ask if he remembered to switch out spatulas after he squashed the cockroach - He gives me a bewildered look and says -- "Fuck, I forgot to do that - Well, it looks like the alley cats are going to eat well tonight." He then walks outside and dumps a full skillet of carne asada in the backyard. Ten minutes later every stray cat in North Las Vegas is feasting.
As I set here putting the finishing touches on my post I think about what Roxy told me - "Jethro, I can tell you one thing for certain. I will never set foot in a shit hole like the one you are living in now - Never!" I have come to the conclusion she is to highbrow for me. I need to find a girl around the neighborhood - I keep my room spotless. I will tell her to close her eyes and hold her nose when I bring her over. Once she gets back to my room things will be fine.
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