Fear and Loathing in F19 (Part II)

The shortest week (of my life) came from a giant amongst men known only as Imari.  Imari came from the heavens equipped with stories that fascinate me to this day.  Catching, cooking and eating raccoons and turtles for Thanksgiving anyone?

I was so ready to figure out a plausible excuse to skip my families’ own festivities.  I mean turkey versus raccoon?  Do you even need to think about it?  Sorry, Grandma, but I’ll go for the unknown every time.

It didn’t start off as grilled turtles though.  Imari’s first day had me sweating bullets.

While the libertarian had the ‘politics’ part of the ‘don’t touch’ training equation down pat, Imari started off by preaching the ‘religion’ side.

You don’t know just how long five hours can drag when all your partner is talking about is church.  Did I know any good churches in the area?  Pastors?  Blah blah blah.  Dude, I don’t think I’ve even spent five hours in a church in the last fifteen years.

It took all my restraint not to start busting on the Pope.  He’s such an easy target!  Instead we settled on child-molesting priests.  That way he gets his religious jibber-jabber in while I can still pass out at least a little trangressive/aggressive humor.  We could do this without completely destroying any sort of mutual respect we had growing.

It wasn’t until we settled into the P.G.I. strip mall parking lot for lunch that Imari transcended his ‘bore’ status into the coveted ‘holy Christ awesome‘ spot.  This transformation started with his relocation story.

Imari had previously been living with his sister in Hotlanta.  His routine was: work all week, get paid, and then party all weekend.  Pretty normal by must standards.

One fateful night he ended up with 600 dollars burning a hole in his pocket.  So naturally he went straight to the strip club.  (This is the point where my ears perked up.)  The next thing he remembers is waking up with the sun shining through is passenger window.  He had managed to drive back to his sister’s apartment, but not make it into said apartment. 

Then he passed back out.

Passed out only to be awoke by his sister banging on the windshield.  She was screaming her head off at him.  Didn’t he know this wasn’t a good neighborhood?  How could he sleep in the car like that, it wasn’t safe.  She had been up all night worrying about him.  She knew he had some money and was afraid that he’d either found trouble, or trouble found him.  How could he do that to her?  Oh, by the way, where was the money?

It was Saturday morning and he was dead-ass broke again.  Six hundred blown in a strip club and he didn’t even have a memory of it to enjoy.

He realized there that he needed to refocus.  So he moved to a retirement community in South West Florida; i.e. the dullest place on Earth.  From here he would reacquaint himself with his religion and start living ‘right.’

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