Karl Welzein is the President and CEO of Bad Boy City, USA. Follow him @DadBoner.
S’up. Name’s Karl Welzein. Really hurtin’ right now, and seriously considering some major life changes.
On Monday, my piece of trash buddy, Crazy Cooter, called to tell me how my old roomie, Dave, “f@ckin’ died when his old lady Sue smothered him to death with her cooze.” Needless to say, I was pretty distraught, you guys.
I been steamed at Dave for a while ‘cause he booted me from the pad, so now I have to live in my ride. But steamed or no steamed, it really gets you in the ticker when you find out one of your oldest and closest bit it ‘cause his hefty gal’s downstairs department was so large and in charge that it caused a suffocation situash. Hardly seemed plausible, but in this day and age, nothing seems too out of bounds for carnal passions when they run wild, even if it’s ‘cause two gross outs needed to get it on. ‘Course, my mind might not have been on point due to a combination of breakfast boozes on top of a USA-style Monday hangover with all the trimmings. When you’re crashin’ in your car, it’s chill to keep it rockin’ in Cold One City, but the snoozes you get aren’t very money in the evening. Lotta cramping tends to happen. Got one in my leg so bad the other night it made me have a small stool release. No bueno.
After I squared up my noggin’ a bit with a couple Filet-O-Fishes at Mickey D’s, Cooter rang again to say, “April Fools’, motherf@cker! Dave ain’t f@ckin’ dead from no cooze, you stupid motherf@cker!”
While I was relieved my pal Dave wasn’t smothered to death from his babe’s big basement, I still felt hurt, burnt, and crunchy. Crazy Cooter’s about the biggest idiot in our area. One time Coot crashed his motorcycle into his aboveground pool on purpose. Asked him why, and he said, “F@ck it. That’s why.“ Cooter don’t deserve to have an aboveground pool AND a motorcycle in the first place. Gettin’ taken for a ride by Coot for some stupid mind game made me feel like the biggest load in town, so I had to get it on, street justice-style.
I cruised by the Kroger and got me about six cans of Hormel Chili and some TP. Then I headed to Cooter’s. Didn’t think he was home, so I started dumpin’ out all the chili and pilin’ up TP on his back steps so he’d think some street animal got a case of the nasty D and blew out a backdoor explosion with the heat of a thousand suns. I wasn’t payin’ too good of attention when I was tryin’ to get the TP lookin’ muy authentico and didn’t hear Cooter come up on me. Guess he was pretty bombed and thought I was tryin’ to break into his crib, so he pulled out his pocket knife and shoved it in my back. Hurt real bad. Started screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Coot, I’m just tryin’ to get you back revenge-style with a fake pile of ‘rrhea, idiot!” So steamed. Could feel my back get real wet from the gash and wanted to pass out, so I had Coot drive me to the hospital. Told me the hole looked like Dave’s babe’s death slizz. Got my back stapled up, though, which looks SO badass, I must say. Can’t wait to show off the scar during beach season. Probably gonna try to leave the staples in as long as possible too.
Coot felt bad about tryin’ to murder me and was concerned that “the f@ckin’ pigs might get involved,” so he said I could crash at his pad for a while if I’d “shut the f@ck up and just tell the hospital it was some gangbangers or some sh*t.” I kept it on the hush-hush, of course. Guy code. And Cooter’s ain’t so bad. I mean, his ma could stand to not call me a “fat old f@ggot” several times a day, but she did make us mac ‘n cheese with cut-up hot dogs in it for supper yesterday, so she might just have trouble expressing kindness. When you been livin’ in your car for a spell, a nice old-fashioned, home-cooked meal of mac ‘n cheese and dogs with a roof over your head is just about 100 percent worth takin’ a blade in your back.
Looks like things might be really lookin’ up for your main man, K-Money.
United We Rock,
POWER MOVES: Livin’ The American Dream, USA Style by Karl Welzein is now available for presale from HarperCollins’ It Books