The Insurrectionist...Part 2

I called Mad Max again. He told me last week he attended the Insurrection. Honestly, I don't know whether to believe him or not:

"I think your giving me a line about being at the Insurrection. Send me some proof. I am starting to agree with Randy, you are all talk and no action.

"What did I tell you last time we talked? I can't send you anything or post anything because the Feds are breathing down everyone's neck about it."

"You didn't do anything wrong. You said you and the guys you were with stayed behind the barriers. All I want you to do is send me a picture or video proving you were there. I'm too old to take your word for it. Send me some proof and then I won't ask about it again."

"I was there motherfucker. You're starting to piss me off with your implications. Don't question my integrity?"

"Well then show me some proof," adding again, "I will shut my mouth up about it when I see some proof."

"What did I tell you asshole? The Feds are breathing down everyone's neck & I don't need the hassle."

"If you stayed behind the barriers you did nothing wrong. The Feds don't give a shit about that. The people who actually stormed the capitol are the ones' they're looking for. Until you show me some proof I will have doubts about you even being there. It sounds to me you are making the whole thing up in an attempt to look cool."

"I was there," anger in his voice evident, "You are starting to piss me off. Are you calling me a liar? It sounds like you are."

"I'm not calling you a liar Mad Max. It's just I am a doubtful man nowadays. I have to be because I've been burned too many times. If you want to sell your Insurrection story to me you must prove it. I'm past taking your word for it."

"My word is all you are going to get asshole," adding angrily, "I was there rallying for the soul of this nation while your fat worthless ass was sitting at home stuffing cookies into your bloated face. I don't have to prove a thing to you."

"Yes you do," interrupting his rant, "If you want me to believe you were at the Insurrection. Until then I am holding your claim suspect. Do you understand?"

He's too old and lazy to get involved; or maybe he's not. He's been preaching about a time like this for as long as I can remember...I'll give him that. Still, he has to prove it definitively or I ain't buying. Until he does I consider him a wannabe.

Tyreek motherf%$%er!...

I called my friend Gus in Las Vegas today to discuss my workouts:

"Sorry to hear about your idol losing the election," is his greeting.

"He's not my idol for the hundredth time. Tyreek Hill is my fucking idol! He'll even be more so when the Chiefs bring home another title. That's my idol, not the guy you are talking about!"

"Why do you have his bumper sticker on your car if he's not you idol?"

"I don't have his bumper sticker on my car dumb shit."

"That's not what I heard," a snicker in his voice.

"You heard wrong boy. Tyreek motherfucker! That's my idol!"

I met Gus a number of years ago at a sweat shop in Chinatown. It wasn't really a sweat shop. It was a big call center (think of it as a sweatshop with phones). Gus is a no bullshit transplant from the east coast who's spent a vast amount of time in the weight room. He convinced me to lift heavy nowadays.

"How's the legs going?" 

"Hard as hell buddy. I saw Tweety bird the other day during my squats. I powered through it any way.

Seeing Tweety bird is gym slang for when you think you might pass out because the lift is more than your nervous system can handle.

"Seeing Tweety bird is a good thing," he proclaims, "Remember, Tweety bird is your friend. When he shows up it means you are growing."

"He doesn't seem like my friend when I'm about ready to pass out."

"Can I give you some additional advise?"

"If it's not about lifting, I don't want to hear it."

"Stop calling Tyreek Hill your idol," ignoring my request, "It makes you look stupid."

"I can call anyone I want my idol," proclaiming, "When the Chiefs win the Super Bowl again he will be that much more my idol."

"Find a better idol is all I am telling you," adding "What about Larry Bird? You told me he was your idol long before Trump became your idol. Why don't you go back to him being your idol?"

"First of all, Trump was never my idol to begin with. Larry Legend got old on me; make no mistake I still revere the man. I needed to update my idol for today's time. Tyreek Hill is my favorite player on my favorite team. He's the perfect fit to be my idol nowadays."

"Okay, whatever," adding in a mocking tone, "It makes you look stupid telling people Tyreek Hill is your idol. That's all I am saying."

"Why does it make me look stupid?"

"You are a fifty year old man wearing a Hill jersey that's a size to small running around telling everyone he is your idol. Come on man! Think about it for a minute."

bet the farm on it...

The other day I called my friend Junior in New Mexico. I asked if he attended the Insurrection:

"No," emphasizing, "I wish I did though. The Patriot's who stormed the capitol should be applauded for their actions."

I got to give credit to the Libertarian bastard, he was yelling 'Trump' before it became cool.

our conversation circa 2011:

"We should do like Donald Trump says and turn it into lake Iran. How come this country spends trillions on wars & doesn't get a fucking dime in return," or his other staple, "Build a fucking wall to keep the illegals out. There's too goddamn many of them to begin with."

Ten years down the road and we are having a different conversation:

"Are you mad your idol lost?"

"He's not my idol. He's your idol," is his quick reply to my question.

"Don't lie to me dude. You were tooting the Trump horn way before anyone else. You were the very first guy I knew who started talking about Trump for president. Don't jump ship now. Admit he's your fucking idol & we can move on."

"He's your fucking idol."

"Don't get smart with me boy. Admit it already!"

"Like I said before dip shit. 'He's your fucking idol.' Jesus, are you deaf?"

Junior is a tricky one:

"What about the Chiefs motherfucker? It's back to back time. I'm going to have virtual parade Monday after they win it. I'll send you an invite."

"Don't bother," adding with gruff, "They are going to lose to Captain America. It will be the Brady show come Sunday. The Chiefs will lay an egg."

Junior is a die hard Steeler fan. Through the years I've listened to him brag about how many Super Bowls they'd won compared to my beloved Chiefs. The Steelers' are no where to be found nowadays. I remind him of such.

"Back to back motherfucker. I've been telling you the same thing since the nineties. Once we get a quarterback the titles will start piling up. Look what finally happened. Tom Brady can stand outside as far as I'm concerned. The Suck's; or Buc's; or whatever their goddamn name is have no chance - None!"

"Mahomes is pretty good," stating the obvious to me, "I just don't think he has what it takes to get it done, not against Brady any way. You guys will be back in the Super Bowl again. This year belongs to Captain America."

"Captain America," I add with a mocking tone, "He sure as hell isn't Captain America to me. He's just another cog in the Belicheater wheel. If you are going to refer to him as Captain America; Mahomes is Superman."

"I get it, Mahomes is good. Think about it this way instead. This will be a legacy game for Mahomes; with Brady it's just another Super Bowl. The pressure might be too much for him," he's regurgitating what some moron sportscaster is saying. I call him out on it.

"I agree with them," is his answer.

"Let's go a bill on it if you are so sure," Junior is a gambling man. Let's see him put his money where his mouth is, "I'll take the Chiefs and you can have Captain America."

"I'm going to pass," is his response to the challenge.

"That's what I thought. The Chiefs win by a couple of touchdowns. Bet the farm on it."

 

 

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."