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.
August 10th, 2009 at 3:08 pm
I am truly in awe of your skill in the arts of comedy.
August 14th, 2009 at 11:57 am
I am truly in awe of your skill in growing an awesome beard.
September 21st, 2009 at 11:17 am
Funniest thing I’ve read in ages!