NEW YORK CITY TRILOGY: Part II

Out of Money

Let me start at the beginning, before I knew Murray James or any of Sandra's silly little movies. In the mid-80s, I was the manager of a successful NYC restaurant that specialized in beefy tango pizza, a recipe I invented in culinary arts school. Life was good; everything was going my way. That is, until I found the following advertisement for Modestly-Dressed Woman Digest. I bought a subscription. Then I bought a second one. A third. And a fourth.

Soon, I was addicted. Each subscription seemed affordable at first, but after a few months, the price was amped up to $427 plus a tooth per issue. Have you heard of the Left Behind series? It was kind of like that: all these subscriptions were waiting for the pre-tribulation rapture and I wanted to buy them before Christ returned for his magazine church.

Eventually I ran out of money, and my health care provider wouldn't cover the dental costs. I sold my pizza shop to Bertrand Tapestry (even though I freakin' hated the guy), and picked up drug running instead. Trafficking cocaine was profitable. I could support my habit again. Hooray.

Out of the Frying Pan... When I saw Sandra Bullock in the March 2005 issue of Modestly-Dressed Woman Digest, everything changed. I fell in love immediately. She was beautiful, but unrelentingly modest — a true woman of principle. Sandra was the spark I needed to free myself from magazine subscription addiction. I decided to clean up my act — for her — but I had a serious problem. Drug running is highly illegal, and the police were after me. I needed a scapegoat. Imagine my surprise when Murray James stumbled into my IRC chatroom and showed me his ASCII portrait. Holy crap! This loser looked exactly like me! This was my big chance! I told him to meet me for dinner at my old pizza shop in NYC. I planned to get there first, kill Bertrand Tapestry (I freakin' hated the guy), call the cops, and frame Murray James for murder. Sadly, as I was leaving my house, cops apprehended me for drug running. I went to jail.

Out of Rufus

My cellmate Rufus was the man. He was arrested for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. Back in the day, a traffic cop put a boot on his car for unpaid parking tickets. It made Rufus so angry, he ripped the boot right off the wheel and hit Joe Montana in the face with it. While Joe ran away like a frightened school girl, Rufus taunted, "Hey, the Comeback Kid! Come back, kid!" Rufus rules.

Or rather, Rufus ruled. After the San Francisco 49ers lost the Super Bowl that year, he went into a deep depression. He appealed the courts for a tougher sentence, asking for the death penalty. The state declined. Then, with the assistance of some incensed football fans who just wouldn't let go, he petitioned the government for death by firing squad, or starvation, or both. Again, the state declined.

Despondent, Rufus found some rope and hung himself.


Out of Nowhere

After Rufus's untimely death, jail life just wasn't the same. Wanting to close this chapter of my life, I busted out of prison and hitchhiked to Little Rock, AK. There, I met up with my old employer, who gave me a car, 20 kilos of cocaine, and an assignment. It was good to be back.

One can never underestimate the resourcefulness of the police. They have the power to do just about anything, including pulling someone over because his Mensa card-carrying drug baron boss gave him a car with stolen plates. Considering my recent escape from prison, I had cause for concern. I opened the glove compartment and quickly used the white face paint on hand to disguise myself as a mime. This obviously threw off the police officer, who in time realized the futility of questioning a man who, by his very nature, cannot speak. Our conversation went a little something like this: Police: Where did you get this car? Evil-m: ... Police: I just asked you a question, son. Evil-m: ... Police: Oh, I get it. Mimes can't talk. Evil-m: You'll never catch me, copper! Then I ran over his foot.

When I got back to New York, I went to Murray James's "Emperor of New York City" inauguration. Conveniently, Sandra Bullock was there. I guess they hooked up while I was in jail. To help celebrate, I sucker punched Murray James in the abdomen, took his plush white crown, knocked him unconscious, packed him in a shipping crate with the 20 kilos of coke, and mailed him to that police officer whose foot I mangled.

Sandra and I hit it off right away. You would think I'd have all sorts of explaining to do, answering her questions and whatnot, but it was surprisingly easy. Believe me, she's not that bright. Not that I'm complaining — I'm so happy the girl of my dreams is finally mine.

Because Sandra is rich, we were able to buy the city block containing Bertrand Tapestry's Beefy Tango Pizzeria and force Bertrand to close the store. He later went crazy and attacked John Elway with a parking meter. He's on death row now, which is fine by me. I freakin' hate the guy.

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