My Wife

McDougal showed up at my house late one night -- drunk as a skunk.

He says to me, "I'm here for some pussy." Then he woke up my wife and had his way with her.

Then he crapped in my pantry, and guess who had to clean it up?

That's right -- my wife.

The Early Years

When McDougal and I were in Elementary School we went out to the Charing Cross Whorehouse one November afternoon. I was maybe 10, 11 at the most and McDougal was like 23. We rode on griffins, and in those days he was on a real Bob Seger thing so we had to listen to "Greatest Hits 2" at full volume all the way out there.

We pulled in and stabled our griffins, and downed a couple of bottles of week-old Mai Tais. McDougal, goddamned crazy McDougal, busted in the door and yelled for their darkest Arabian chestnut hare. Being a whorehouse they didn't have any rabbits or anything close, which pissed him off even more. So he picks up this one girl and draws a map on her tits showing the Cherokee Trail of Tears, and it was pretty good I might add, showed the current cities and roads overlaid in this kind of faded color so it didn't detract from the original primitive landscape ... you really had to see it to fully appreciate it.

Anyway, he draws this thing out on her tits and then pours the rest of his Mai Tai down her gullet. So she's about drunk as can be and I'm just wanting to get home and watch GI Joe Cartoons, when he ups the ante by bringing in the entire cast of "Stomp". Damned if he doesn't hand every one of them a Bible, pair of Titanium bracelets, and a gatling gun - each one in a different color.

So we're all kind of standing there, not knowing what to say, and crazy ass McDougal clogs up the whorehouse toilet with a big stinking shit and then just walks out and goes home.

And that's the day I became a man.

Dead as a Doornail

That reminds me, there was a day last year McDougal showed up at my door with three whores and a dog, all tied together and slathered in mucus. I said, "Hey it's McDougal," which of course was a mistake and he murdered me right there. Dead as can be.

So there I am, dead, with McDougal on my porch with his mucus-whore-dog. He's completely drunk, racked out on meth and Dimetapp, and he's got some sort of wireless television strapped to the top of his head. I think you can see where this is going.

So he carries us all in, me the whores, and the dog. Apparently, and I never knew this, he had built an underground laboratory under my house sometime in the late 60s, and he took us all down there and strapped us into some kind of whirling lightning bolt. One month later I'm opening my eyes and seeing the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio. That's right, old McDougal had brought me back to life as a Jimi Hendrix exhibit, complete with black skin and an acid bandana. There I was getting my picture taken all day long with families and old hippies, with McDougal just laughing and laughing. Goddamn him to hell, is what I said.

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Ha! You're not the only one he's done that to. Remember Murray from A/P? That bastard's living out his days as a Pteranodon's assbone in the Natural History Museum.

I think McDougal's put shit under all of our houses. His own little subterranean empire is what he's got going.

This spring, my youngest boy was playing under the house, looking for spiders and vipers and shit, when he comes upon this trap door. Naturally, he opens it up and goes in. He ain't got a flashlight or nothing. Just goes on in.

Turns out, McDougal'd opened up a portal to hell right there under the master bath. And he'd rerouted our sewage to drain right down in there. So the boy goes to hell through a tunnel of shit.

He shows up stinking to high heaven, and they mistake him for the cable guy.

The devil says to him, "Son, we can't get the Starz channel."

Of course, the boy don't know shit about cable. So he says, "We get it just fine. Why don't ya'll come up to my place and we can watch it there."

So, I get home from a long day at the office, and what do I find? My boy, the devil, and six billion angry souls watching "Iron Eagle II" in my living room. Everyone one of 'em stinkin' like shit and lounging all over my furniture.

So I send the boy to his room and try to run out the devil and all the damned souls.

That's when the devil says he'll go, but he's takin' my soul with him.

So he takes my soul back under the house and straight to hell. Leaves me standing right there a soulless shell of a man waiting for the Nightly News with Bryan Williams.

So it comes on and wouldn't you know it ...

Lead story is about McDougal setting fire to a government-subsidized housing project, then singlehandedly going in and rescuing all the occupants. They were going to press charges, but McDougal had already built them a brand new luxury high rise with 300 fully furnished units and moved them into it that day.

Needless to say, I forgot about my petty problems and poured myself a tumbler of Jack and had one to McDougal.

Here's to McDougal, the kindest, most tender man I've ever known.