Wassup, peeps? Man, I’m in a rough patch. Not to bore anybody too much, but I knew I never shoulda let ole Rusty Post stay at my place. He come down to LaGrange in October, told me he was down on his luck and needed a place to stay for a week or two. Well, here we are, what — two and a half months later? And that meth-addict freak is still sleeping on my couch, watching my cable and eating my food.
And the cops have been to to my place three times. My boss, Danny and his wife — I live in the apartment over their garage in the back yard — didn’t care for that at all. I wasn’t wild about seeing John Law in my living room, myself. Hell, I was hoping they’d haul Rusty to jail, but he talked his way out of it somehow.
Anyhoo, Danny asked me the other day if I seen Rusty going in their house. I ain’t seen him go in there, but I damn sure wouldn’t put it past him. Danny’s wife, Renee had some jewelry come up missing. Rusty probably stole it to buy meth. He’s crazy white trash with no respect for hisself or anybody else. Hell, the other evening I came home from work and he was sitting on a chair on our little porch jerking off just as nonchalant as you please. Anyway, I’m scared to just kick him out. Sumbitch is so crazy no telling what he might do.
I know Rusty from back in Forest Park. His older brother, Derwin, went to high school with me. Derwin’s a pretty good ole boy. Harmless. Been working at the tire shop for 25 years now. Ain’t setting the world on fire, for sure, but he’s Bill friggin Gates compared to Rusty. Rusty ain’t helping my cause in trying to get back together with Brenda, either. She heard from Derwin that Rusty was staying with me. She was unimpressed, to say the least.
Suffice to say, I got work to do there. She’s even spending Christmas with that damn electrician she’s been dating, with his kids. Makes me wanna puke. I reckon I’ll hang out and watch the Blue-Gray game with Rusty. How’s that for a Merry damn Christmas.
So, about the Braves. I like that Uggla. Funny name, but he can hit. I’m hoping we can get a center fielder. McLouth might as well swing, well, a rusty post up there at the plate. Dude can’t even throw the ball in from the outfield. I even had a dream about that bum the other night. Dreamed he tried to throw a ball and it just fell out of his hand and into the crowd. Some woman caught it and she turned around and it was my mother, but then her face started melting off and I was there naked and …um, nevermind.
I wish we had another center fielder. Another Heyward, or somebody like that. Or another Otis Nixon. Hell, Rowland Office would be better than Nate McHeaduphisass. I hate to see Matt Diaz go. Thanks for the memories, Matt. I never did think he looked Mexican even though he got a Mexican name.
Yall be good. Merry Christamas and go Bravos!