I guess my nephew Tyler ain’t comin’ over for a good while. His mom just called me and she was real pissed. He’s my brother Tom’s kid and I was kind of getting to like him. We were hanging out once a week while they had their little “date night” where they went out for dinner and a movie and pretended they weren’t married and didn’t hate each other’s guts. Anyways I guess I can tell you the story about why Tyler ain’t going to be around for a little while seein’ as how his mom says I ain’t allowed to see him no more.

Tyler is four years old, and the first time they dropped him off at my place Mrs. Gutierrez from next door was watching out the door and said hello to him. She don’t just come running up to kids I got with me ever since she got a kick in the shins and an uppercut to the groin from my other nephew Steven a few months back. She’s more careful now and don’t just run up to every kid she sees pinching their cheeks and shit.

Well anyway she says hello and waves at Tyler and he waves back at her and we go on into my apartment. I didn’t want Tyler getting too friendly with that old bitch, so when we got inside I told Tyler that Mrs. Gutierrez was Puerto Rican and that he should learn to speak Puerto Rican to say hello to her properly. I showed him how to hold his middle finger up, which means “Hello” in Puerto Rican and I told him how to say “Fuck you Puerto Rican whore!” which of course means have a nice day in Puerto Rican.

Tom and Jeanie shelter the boy quite a lot, and I don’t think he has ever really heard any cuss words, so he didn’t know them words from real Spanish and he learned it real good. I told him that you only greet Puerto Ricans that way, and never say that to other people because they won’t understand. I figured we could keep it our little secret and I wouldn’t get in no trouble and Mrs. Gutierrez wouldn’t get all friendly with the boy and start bothering us every time we walked down the damn hallway.

When we walked back out of the apartment to head down to the liquor store, sure enough she cracked her door open and waved at little Tyler again, and he greeted her proudly with his new Puerto Rican vocabulary. She looked aghast and slammed the door, and I told Tyler that Puerto Ricans were very strange people and sometimes they had weird reactions to things. I told him that you never can tell about Puerto Ricans and that you just greet them properly a few times and eventually they warm up to you.

Everything worked out fine, and for a few months Mrs. Gutierrez left us alone and we had a good time sitting in the park every Thursday night, me drinking whiskey and him drinking chocolate milk at a picnic table. Then I got the call today from his mom Jeanie and boy I have never heard that woman so pissed off. Apparently he had a substitute teacher in preschool today, and it turns out that she was Puerto Rican. You can guess how well that went, but here’s the story as the boy’s dad told it to me this afternoon.

The teacher walked in to the room and introduced herself to the class as Mrs. Perez. From her accent Tyler must have recognized that she was Latin or Hispanic or whatever they call themselves these days, and he raised his hand and she called on him.

“Mrs. Perez, are you Puerto Rican?” he asked.

“Why yes I am, how did you guess that Tyler?” she said, probably charmed and delighted that the cute little redheaded boy guessed where she was from and wanted to learn about it. What a nice little Gap commercial world her little classroom will be!

Then he proudly gave her the finger and told her “Fuck you Puerto Rican whore!”. The way Tom told it to me, the teacher says she almost fell down from the shock.

“What did you say?” she repeated.

“Fuck you Puerto Rican whore!” he repeated, louder this time, hoping she wasn’t being weird like some Puerto Ricans can be. He repeatedly flipped her the bird as well, probably very proud of himself.

She grabbed his hand and took him down to the administrator’s office where they asked him why he said that. “I know how to greet Puerto Ricans, but she’s being weird. You never can tell with Puerto Ricans, you just have to keep talking to them and hope they come around.”

I guess the whole thing went over very badly in school since he goes to one of them persnickety fancy schools where everybody is supposed to love everybody else. Anyways, Jeanie is REAL pissed at me and said I can’t hang out with Tyler any more and she said that when she asked him, Tyler told her about me drinking in the park all the time too. I can’t wait until they see a police officer and he tells her that all cops are just donut eating shitheads that like to bother Uncle Willie when he ain’t doing nothing wrong.

And when they see Santa Claus next year and he tries to punch the magic button located between Santa’s legs that guarantees you will get all the presents you ask for, I won’t know anything about it. I expect a couple more angry phone calls, but it’s worth it because I love teaching things to children. I should probably have been a kindergarten teacher.

I got legal troubles again, and all because I didn’t want a new alarm system. Last Monday, round about three O’clock, there is a knock on my door. Now you can’t just get in to my building and go knocking on a fella’s door, you gotta get somebody to let you in through the buzzer system. Since I hadn’t heard my telephone ringing, I figured it must be one of my neighbors complaining again because of all the cussin’ and stompin’ around I was doin’. Some days I do get a little testy if I got a bit of a hangover.

Well it wasn’t one of my neighbors, it was a kid with a clipboard. NowI don’t know about you, but if answer my door and see somebody with a clipboard, I know right away they want either my time or my money. I ain’t never answered my door to find somebody with a clipboard who needed to let me know that my name was on their board and they were here to give me $20 and then leave me alone. No sir. Well I don’t like to be bothered much, and I let this fellow know just that.

“Good afternoon sir, my name is Alex and I..” he said, until I interrupted him right there.

“And you are a fuckhead with a clipboard who wants to knock on my door and try to sell me some bullshit. I don’t want none.” I told him, but I didn’t close the door in his face like usual because I wasn’t done with him yet.

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t want to take up your valuable time, but there have been a number of burglaries in the area and we would love to offer you a $150 rebate on a brand new alarm system.”

“Really? Holy shit! I thought you were just some asshole who was going to interrupt my day and try and sell me something. I’ll take that rebate for sure, that’s a nice thing for you to do. Who bought the alarm system?” I asked him.

“You have to buy the alarm system to get the rebate sir, but we install the system for $200 if you sign a two year agreement.” he says, and looks at me like he’s worried I’m about to hit him, which I was. I might have got a little more worked up than I needed to over this whole deal.

“You filthy cocksucker!” I shouted at him “The old bait and switch huh? Offer the old fool $150 and he’ll sign a contract to pay you $800. Do I look like a sucker to you?”

“No sir, I think you misunderstand” he stammered back at me, lost for words.

Now like I said I might have gotten a little too worked up about this whole thing and maybe I was a little hard on the guy, but I had about enough of this bullshit with people bothering in the middle of the day to try to sell me something. They aren’t even supposed to be able to get in to our building.

“I understand completely asshole.” I says, and walk out the door with Ol’ Hickory in one hand and the other balled up in a fist and shaking at him. “You sneak in to a building full of old folks and start looking for the feeble ones who will sign your clipboard and give you $800 if you convince them it’s a good idea with a few sneaky lies.”

He was speechless, but backing away in a hurry. His back hit the wall and before he could turn to run I shook Ol’ Hickory at him and his eyes were locked on that cane, ready to avoid it if I should swing it his way. He’s a dumbass, and anybody who knows me can tell you that if I’m about to hit you there ain’t no chance you are going to see it coming. I’m god damned treacherous is what I am.

While he was lookin’ scared at that old cane and getting ready to turn and run for it, I gave him a good hard slap across the face with my empty hand. “Don’t let me catch you in here again preying on old folks and waking people up from their naps you son of a bitch, or I’ll beat you with this here cane until you cry for your momma.”

Now I know that he was just soliciting, and usually throwing some water on them solicitors or letting old scooter chase em is the best way to deal with em, but I don’t think it was fair for me to facing assault charges. If I really wanted to hurt the fella I could have invited him in and beat him like a Sunday mornin’ boner, but all I did was slap him, which is really more insult than injury. A little bruise on his face ain’t likely to ruin his life, and he certainly didn’t need to run to the cops with it like a god damned crybaby.

Anyways, I go to court on the 19th, wish me luck.

My nephew Steven came for a visit yesterday. I figured this was the only place I can talk about it because the son of a bitch is eight years old and he still can’t read. His momma says he’s a “special needs” child…

I’ll tell you about his god damned special needs! That little bastard has a special need for me to go upside his head with a sock full of rocks is what he needs. Seems to me like “special needs” is the new-fangled term for idiot, and if that’s true then I live in a whole world of “special needs” folks. And I’m talking about you too, don’t think I ain’t. Sometimes I think my old mutt Scooter has more sense than most of the dumb ass folks that live in my building or those damned idiot kids hanging out across the street with heir hats turned sideways askin’ me what I’m drinking today.

I got this crazy Puerto-Rican woman lives next door to me. She comes out into the hallway when me and Steven are on our way to go get us some lunch and starts whoopin’ and hollerin’ and makin’ a fuss about how the son of a bitch is so damned cute. I hate when women folk get like that.

“Oh yeah, he’s a heckuva kid” I says, figuring she’ll get close enough to him to get herself in trouble. Sure enough she walks right up to him and she gets what I call the “Steven Special” in short order.

The “Steven Special” is his patented move. He’s like Rowdy Roddy Piper only he weighs 52 pounds and he’s retarded. You see the little bastard has to wear special shoes because his feet are messed up. The soles on them things are about as hard as concrete and he just loves to kick and stomp with em. He uses those concrete shoes to get the Steven Special started.

He starts her off with a good hard stomp on the foot with one of them shoes and she ain’t wearing nothin’ but socks in the hallway, so I can hear the crunch when he gives her that stomp on the toes. She looked just shocked as shit, and her eyes get all big and she starts hollering and cursing in Puerto-Rican just as loud as hell. While she’s hopping around on one foot he gives her part two of the Steven Special, which is an uppercut to the groin that he learned from his Uncle Willie.

Let me tell you, that boy hits hard for a “special needs” kid. He hit Mrs. Rodriguez square betwixt her thunder thighs with a world beater of an uppercut and I couldn’t help but be a little proud after being the boy’s boxing coach for these last few years. Well “Crotch Punching Coach” might be a better description, but who’s splitting hairs right?

After he delivers that beautiful uppercut, he bellows out “I love you Santa Claus!” and runs like hell. Do you know how hard it is to stand up after you’ve had your foot smashed like a mashed potato and then taken an uppercut to the groin? Apparently it’s impossible because I’ve taken Steven to the park an awful lot over the last year or two, and there hasn’t been a single person that has managed to stay on their feet after a Steven Special.

Anyways she hit the floor about the same time I did, only I was only on the floor cause I was laughing so hard. With most people I act like I didn’t know he was gonna do that and apologize, but that Puerto-Rican bitch knows I hate her and I didn’t give a damn if she knew that I let her walk right into the ambush. Maybe that bitch won’t run up and hassle every kid she sees from now on huh?

After a few seconds one of our neighbors comes out to see what the noise is all about, and he just looks as confused as a man can get. She’s laying there tied up in a knot trying to hold on to her foot and her crotch at the same time and cursing like hell in Puerto-Rican, I’m laying not five feet away holding my gut and laughing so hard that tears are rolling down my cheeks already, and Steven is running up and down the hallway shouting “I love you Santa Claus!” and looking all cross-eyed and shit with those huge thick glasses. To top it all off he’s looking up at a G.I. Joe man that he’s holding above his head and it don’t look nothing like Santa Claus and he’s running all sideways like he does, which is why he needs them damn concrete shoes.

Our neighbor Tom Cavanaugh just stood there lookin’ confused for a bit and then went back inside shaking his head like he was trying to forget what he saw. Then I saw that Mrs. Gutierrez was crawling back inside and reaching for her cane next to the door and I figured it might be time for us two amigos to get the hell out of there.

All I needed to say was “Who wants to go to White Castle?” and Steven was on his way out the door and headed for the car, making that high pitched squeal he makes that always makes me want to throw the little bastard in the river. I love takin’ him to the White Castle. Just as long as I time it right that can be a fine place to enjoy a meal. As long as I get that timing right.

You see one of the things that’s messed up about the kid is his innards. If he eats the wrong food it don’t take but two hours and the poor little bastard is guaranteed to shit his pants. And I’m not talking about a couple of little turds neither. That White Castle messes him up something fierce. It looks like a whole Thanksgiving worth of brown gravy has been poured down the back of his pants and into them big old shoes. Of course it don’t bother him none, he just jumps around hollering “Poopy Shoes! Poooooopy Shoes!” and running away from anybody who tries to catch him to take them shoes off him.

Since his mom was due to pick him up in about 45 minutes I figured we had time to hit the drive thru, wolf down a few burgers and get rid of the evidence before she showed up to get him. That’s the key to comedy really. Timing. That and a retarded nephew that gets the green apple splatters any time he gets hold of a White Castle.

That’s how my day went, can’t say I give a damn about yours.

The boys seen me buying some chicken and some whiskey tonight and they knew I was about to put up a batch of my famous Wasted Willie’s Whiskey Chicken. They been tryin’ to get that recipe out of me for years, and they says they can pay some of my court fines for pushing over that police motorcyle in the park if I write it out here on the webnet machine, so here she goes.

Wasted Willie’s Famous Whiskey Chicken

First you get yourself a big old chicken. They got good ones at the Shop Mart down there on 4th street, and they only run you about seven bucks a piece. Now you don’t want no frozen chicken, so if you got one in the freezer you best take it out way ahead of time. And don’t touch my bottle of vodka I keep in the door of the freezer there or I’ll kick your ass but good. I ain’t kidding.

Once you got yer chicken, you gotta get you some whiskey. I prefer Johnny Walker, but I didn’t have enough cash on me, so I picked up a pint of Johnny for drinkin and a fifth of cheap Fireball whiskey for the chicken. Now I’m gonna take you through it as I go, cause I ain’t never wrote this recipe down before. In fact I kind of make it up each time as I go, and I don’t remember how I did it last time, so I guess I’ll have it once I get it wrote down tonight.

First thing I do is open this here pint of Johnny Walker and pour me a glass of it on some ice. Usually half a pint is good for a glass with some ice and a pinch of salt, so I’ll get two good glasses of whiskey out of this bottle, and maybe I’ll sneak a bit of that Fireball too. I don’t really need a whole fifth for the chicken. Probably ought to sample it to make sure it’s usable anyway.

It ain’t much good, burns a lot more than the JW, but it’ll do.

Now you have a good long drink of that whiskey that you got on ice, and put the rest of the bottle in the freezer to get nice and cold. Hell I’m damn near done with my first glass already. You better have another drink and get to catchin’ up. Lightweight.

Now you gotta get out the spices. I like some sage or some Mrs. DAsh or some shit, whatever I got around the house, and drrnk some more whiskey too. I gotta get me that second glass of hooch out of the freezer, this fucker’s gone arleady. Good stuff, goes down real smooooth. Now take bid grink out of that glass of whiskey and get our spices and rub em all over that bird and put some black pepper on it too so it’s got some kicks to it. You want a bird wiff kicks.

Now heat up yer oven or fire or whatever you are drinking to about 350 degrees. Damn my whiksey is gone agains. I need me a lil’ sip of that Fireball, might as well pour a glass -m it’s gonna be a fine bird anyhwo. This stuf ain’t so bad this Firball whiskey. So I took the bird and put it up in the oven and I fogrot the whiskey on the bird. I dont even know what I put the whiskey on for the bird or whatever. I’m drinkin this siht now.

Go white Stox#2@@h

Now rebember to turn of taht over if yer drinkin heavy cause you’ll leave it on all nihgt and bern the piss out of yer chicken, so Im just turn it off right now and finish this bottel of licker.

Fukc it, I’m done and i’m go to bed and fucking the chickens. And fcuk you if ya read thid and steal kitchne of the oven or some shit. Dickhead. Byu a shiert!

Whiksey!!!!!!

*Note from the nephews

At this point we actually watched Uncle Willie take the chicken out of the oven, toss it out the kitchen window, and stomp out the front door yelling “I’m going to bed, fuck it!” He spent the next few hours in the park drinking with Chaser Tommy and Big Chief until they got arrested for urinating off the highway overpass. For more stories from Willie, check out his blog at Wastedwillie.com