Click to Subscribe
▶  More from Harm City Guest Authors Tao of Tony Rooster
One Less Cop
Tao of Tony Rooster

The first time I met Shmikey, we were both teenagers. It was late on a winter night and we were the only two people out and about. He looked like he was from outer space, eyes like dinner plates, a 15 year old white kid dressed like Jimi Hendrix. He asked me for a cigarette, and I handed him one.

"Hold this a second will you?" He pulled a ball peen hammer out of his pirate coat, and handed it to me, then commenced to searching his jacket for a lighter.

His cigarette now lit, I asked him, "What's up with the hammer?"

He looked at me incredulously, and explained, "I'm not gonna be walking around tripped out on acid without a hammer. What are you crazy? You know what kind of weirdos are out here this late at night?"

I accept his answer and we chit chat for awhile. He tells me he has a drum set and electric guitar in his basement, and his parents are out of town. We head for his place, and have been friends ever since.

His parent's house was rather large, and out of the way. His dad was a cop, his mother a homemaker. Both were deeply religious, and fretted constantly for their only child. Neither had ever so much as had a drink of alcohol in their lives. Their son, on the other hand was well on his way to becoming a stone cold junkie.

One day, I show up at his parent's house and knock on the door. His mom answers, all smiles, and......just stared at me. Grinning. "Is Mikey home?" I ask.

"He's in the oven. We're cooking him for dinner! Hahahahahaha!" She is cackling like some mad witch, an overweight, short haired house wife, possessed by demons, it would seem.

"Um, so he's here right?" I can tell something is up here, but can't figure out what.

"He's in the oven! Hahaha!" Funny. Never seen her joke around before.

I follow her into the kitchen and see Mikey's dad, and the church lady who rented a spare bedroom, all sitting around the dinner table, grinning like devils, sunshine beaming from their eyes, and in the middle of the table, a brita water pitcher. All of a sudden, I remember the other day. Mikey took out the charcoal filter and shoved a 10 strip of Jesus Christ acid in there before replacing it. We both laughed at the time, and instantly forgot about it.

His dad had dark hair and friendly features, typical cop mustache, and a generally good nature. He spoke to me now, "Today we feel the Holy Spirit. Jesus is here with us, right now. He gave me a message! Hahahaha!!"

Oh man, this is serious. He's really come unglued. At first, I thought it was possible that maybe he found the blotter paper in the water filter, and all this was a big show to make me talk, make me feel bad, incriminate myself, something. But no. These loony ass church people were tripping balls. Jesus this, and God that, all the while drinking more of the holy water. Their happiness was infectious, and soon, I'm smiling and laughing right along with 'em.

Mikey's dad got up from the table and made a call from the wall phone in the hallway. I tried to listen in on him over the deafening laughter around me at the table. I can hear most of what he's saying, "......yes. This is Seargent McKunkle..........No.....I'm not calling in sick.......I......just can't do it anymore.......that's right, I'm actually........Hahahaha!"

He walked back in the kitchen, "I QUIT MY JOB! Praise Jesus!"

I had to get out of there. Three days later I finally saw Shmikey, and told him what I witnessed. "Oh yeah, I forgot about that water filter. Wow, dude. My dad really did quit the police force, too."

His dad soon had a job doing security at a big hospital on the graveyard shift. His favorite part of work was putting hazmat stickers and "HUMAN HEAD" labels on boxes, and leaving them in the hallways as a joke. He never showed any sign that he had a sense of humor before that.

The malicious teenage prank that could have gone horribly wrong, ended up being the greatest gift Shmikey could have given his parents.

To this day, both of them believe that what occurred that day in the kitchen was a deeply meaningful religious experience, proof that the God they always had faith in loved them back. I'd never want to take that away from them.

The Mind of Mescaline Franklin

The Awakening of a Paleface Ethnocist

Add Comment