Criminally Irresistable.

Here is a funny tale. Gather 'round, grab a blanket and a loved one and let my dulcet tones lull you into a dreamlike state as you find yourself regailed with a story told with never-before-seen beauty and eloquence.

Alright, enough of that. Now you are way too excited to hear my story. Settle yourself down and we'll get started.






There, that should be good. Ok, so, if you have been as faithful a reader as the countless hundreds of others have, (Who, by the way, send me copious amounts of fan mail. Ooh, speaking of which, DaytonaFan56, thanks for the love, and SuperHotCanadianChicko69, I regret to inform you that I cannot date you.) you will know that I have been working as a general laborer for Clark Builders this past while. And, if you make some amazing inferences from my writings, you may also have randomly guessed that I have been working with a fellow by the name of Everett. Everett is a good guy, on the whole, although somewhat scummy. I met him about 2 months ago now, at a Self-Storage Centre. He asked where I lived and I said, "Sherwood Park." Then he said, "Hey, I live in Clareview, do you think I could get a ride home with you?" Clareview's sorta on my way home, I thought to myself. Well, I gave him the ride and then he calls me up that night and asks for another ride, the next morning. I say, "Sure", because I get nervous on the phone and just want to please people. Anyway, eventually I am driving him to and from work everyday, but that's not the point of this story so we'll forget that. So, here we are, two guys, working at Clark, and I can't stand this guy. It's really nothing he does purposefully, I just dislike him. Everything he does seems to tick me off, I get irked by the littlest nuances of who he is. Every morning I dread picking him up because he makes the car stinky and I just don't like the aura he has around him. I try to keep my morning music playing pretty loud so that it seems obvious to him that I don't want to talk, but everyday, like clockwork, he manages to start a conversation with the line that never seems to get old, "Man, I hope today goes fast." And then there's me, ever the early-morning conversationalist, reluctantly replying with my classic, "Yeah, no kidding."
Then we get to work and start doing things, meaningless things, little arduous tasks that are mostly just delegated to us to take up time. Now, this is where I go nuts, working with him. I get these ideas in my head that he is constantly doing stupid things just to tick me off, and I think to myself, "Good grief, how can you be so stupid? How on earth can anyone be this unintelligent?" Then I probably swear a whole bunch in my head, never out loud 'cause I'm a Christian, and wish I was dead. I rip strip after strip off of the guy, in my head of course, and then sit back and think about how much smarter I am.
Ok, this is all good stuff I am saying, but let's talk about the funny things I learned about him the other day. Well, y'see, he got a fax at work the other day that gave him the information he needed to be transferred up north to a diamond mine Clark is building. The front page told him about the Police Security Check he needed to have done before he went up there. After he read this, he turned to me and said, "Well, that just about screws me over right there." Being the naturally inquisitive-type, I asked, "Why?" Then he began to recite a rap for me. Now, you're all thinking, "Wow, Everett is a pro-rapper!" Well, no. He isn't, in fact, he has no musical talent. (Remind me to tell you about the time he butchered "Keep on Rockin' in the Free World" while stripping a trench.) Everett proceeded to shock and amaze me with a rap sheet longer than my... nevermind. Let's just say It was long. He proudly announced that he had 16 convictions and that he had spent 52 wonderful months in prison. At first I thought, "Oh, 52 months, that's not that bad." But I think measuring time in months always makes it seem shorter. Quickly I realized that 52 months was equal to 4 and 1/3 years. That's a pretty long time to be in jail. And my buddy Everett did it. I think for a few minutes this realization gave him a bit of a celebrity status in my mind, but then I realized that was stupid. So, I asked him what he did time for. I loved his nonchalant answer. It was as if he was listing off the ingredients for Grandma's Old-Timey Chorcolate Chorp Corkies, when really he was listing the necessary ingredients for a wackload of time in the slammer. He seemed to reminisce for a moment and then casually rolled these bad boys off his tongue:
"Oh, you know, 5 or 6 car thefts, a few break-in-and-enters, a buncha posession of stolen goods, a lot of tax fraud and several drunk driving convictions."
Ayiyiyiyiyiiii... Everett, my good man, you are a criminal.
I was talking to my friend Mike about him last night, and I told him that Everett was the type of guy who would constantly give me tips on how to do things the "right way", and he suggested that every time he gave me a tip like, "You should use a shovel, it's easier," or, "Here, don't bend at the wrist so much," I should simply respond with a few tips of my own, for example, "Don't steal cars," or, "Don't drink and drive," or, "Pay your freaking taxes, wiener-boy."
Isn't that awesome? It's so weird. The funniest part was when I remembered that I had, on several occasions, left him alone in my car with the keys in the ignition and the car running. On gasoline. ON GASOLINE! Can you believe that?! Gasoline!
Hang on a tick, that's not what I was trying to stress. I had left him alone in my car with the keys in the ignition. HIM, ALONE, MY CAR, KEYS IN IGNITION, RUNNING! The man who had, "Oh, you know, 5 or 6 car thefts" on his record. Needless to say, It caused quite the chuckle to arise from within me. Then I also remembered my expensive stuff that was always in my car that could've easily walked home with him on any given day, like my iPod, my Minidisc player, or my wallet. However, I think the best part came later that afternoon when I was driving him home and he said, "I will have to take you out for supper or something when I get back, to thank you for the rides. I STILL HAVE YOUR NUMBER AND YOUR ADDRESS, I WON"T LOSE THEM." This man knows where I live. But hey, I think we're tight enough that he won't commit any crimes on me, so it's ok. I mean, I even had a conversation with his mom. We gotta be tight. I hope. And pray.




Splendor ender.