Day 104

Dear Diary,

I still don’t have no idea in my brain pan wot I’m gonna do to save the biddies from being fried up into biddy gristle fritters to feed all them Texas tourons wot’re renting time-shares in Floozie Da Smelley’s a hundert and ninety-nine pink and gold portable toilet deluxe luxury holiday home conversions. It turns out Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley and their lawyer, Misther Paddy Da Wagon, JD, are all as ignorant as turnips when it comes to the art of writing contracts, not to mention reading wot’s been wrote and looking over fine print in general. Dumb fucks went and drawed up a legally binding agreement with them city slickers, The Platinum-Plated Texas Touron Travel Plan for Texas and Oklahoma Oil Billionaires, wot is run by Ol’ Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack’s twelve year old brother, Masther James Dean Leroy Pubis Elvis Athuritis Huckleberry Hackensack, during an hour when their common sense were out to lunch at The Shovel It In and Fatten ‘em Up Burger Joint. And as luck would have it, unlike Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack, who’s dumber’n a pickle and not good for nothing outside’a selling time shares on TV and getting suntan oil rubbed over his lardy butt by Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon, Masther James Dean Leroy Pubis Elvis Athuritis Huckleberry Hackensack’s smarter’n a cracker and’s got brains where everyone else’s got sphincters. He definitely has a whole lot of talent in the moneymaking department and knows how to turn a bucket o’shit into a mountain o’shinola. And for those of you wot don’t understand this highly sophisticated technical term I just wrote down, let’s just say it’s the polite way of saying he owns all the sewers from Dallas to Fort Worth and over to Houston and down to Corpus Christi, and what he don’t know about turning that there smelly brown stuff into gold don’t exist. But as I was starting to say, when the legally binding contract was drawed up between him and The Smelley-Fanny Slap Happy Pink and Gold Deluxe Luxury Portable Toilet Summer Holiday Home Conversion Motor Hotel, which is a fancy way of saying Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley’s Spend The Night Toilet Facilities, he snucked in wot they calls a codicil, which is something wot he says is gotta be wrote down in invisible ink or it’s not worth the paper it’s wrote on. According to this here codicil, Misther Patchouli Da Fanny (et el, as they say) has gotta provide all sorts of shit wot the tourons ask for, including nearly everything wot exists in the world, and the thing is, he can’t charge any extra money for any of it, not even if someone wants a Ferrari or a night making whoopy with Miss World. And in one of the sub-paragraphs, Number 177a/27b/x to be precise, it specifies that if they gets lost at sea, then automatically all them Texas and Oklahoma Oil Billionaires is gonna be the first ones at the dinner trough. And, as they likes to say in the vernacular, biddies makes good chitterlings.

Sorry I took so long to give you wot they calls background information, Dear Diary, but I thought if I took some extra time writing it down, it’d give me breathing space to come up with a way outta our situation, which is perhaps not as rosy as I let on. You see, what I didn’t tell you, and wot you probably don’t know about if’n you wasn’t here at the time, was that while Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon was busy shooting me in the front tyre’d and thinking it’d have the same result as shooting a human being in the foot, she was also waggling her solid gold and diamond encrusted pocket watch in the air and hypnotising The Widow Fartie Da Whistle into being her slave for life. Now you may recall that Ol’ Fartie’d just finished up hot waxing her body ‘til it were as smooth and shiny as one of them crystal balls Madame Zena looks into over at Madame Zena’s Genuine Exotic The Fortune Telling Emporium behind Beryl’s Hair Parlour for Old Women. Unfortunately for her, wot she did at the same time was one of them do-it-yourself hot wax brain cleaning detoxifications. I guess she figured that when she finally meets up with my soon-to-be new owner, the part-Italian Greek God Hunk Signore Malvinio Da Flota-Mota, as well as with his sidekick, Ol’ Benvolio Da Trampolio Ducati, she’d try to impress ‘em with an immaculate and shiny mind to go with her immaculate and shiny body parts. Unfortunately for her, Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon’d saw wot she’d did, and since she does the same thing two times a weeks to Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack so’s she can tell him she needs a brand new fur coat from an endangered species and make him go straight out and kill her one, she said to herself, “hot damn ifn’t this ain’t my lucky day!” And why was it her lucky day, I hear you ask? Well, Dear Diary, it were not two minutes before that she and Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack was asking each other how the fuck they was gonna get the bus (being me) to drive itself back to their special Platinum-plated Texas Touron Travel Plan for Texas and Oklahoma Oil Billionaires All You Can Eat Floating Island Bar-BQ Picnic Paradise and deliver up the old biddies for their lunchtime treat.

By the way, in case you didn’t already know, this new All You Can Eat Floating Island Bar-BQ Picnic Paradise is wot they just built from wot used to be Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s old Pink and Gold Portable Toilet Holiday Office and Personal Health Spa before it’d got blowed up. And between you and me, Dear Diary, I hopes Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley don’t never see wot’s been done to their old health spa, on account of they’d just finished redecorating for a TV show and the paint wasn’t even dry yet and according to their contract they is gonna have to pay for all the new the renovations. But where was I?

Oh, yes, we was talking about how The Widow Fartie Da Whistle’d just sucked out her brains and polished the inside of her head to a brilliant lustre, and how she’d been hypnotised into a zombie by Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon. Right away, on account of she was as hungry as a shark wot’s not ate a blond bimbo since last Tuesday, Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon ordered Zombie Fartie, as she were now called, to drive the bus (being me) and all the biddies back to the Bar-BQ pit so’s they could be slaughtered according to the laws of Kashrut and marinated in sweet ‘n’ sour sauce. Well, Zombie Fartie bowed low to the floor like she was told to do and answered in a voice wot now sounded like a bucket of gravel wots being tossed around inside a cement mixer. “Yessum, missus, I’z yer zombie and will obey yer every wish.”

Well, right then and there she revved up my motor and I saw stars in front of my eyes. I was helpless as a newborn kitten, and I knowed at once it were the end of us all. Cuz if’n they could roast up the biddies and eat ‘em all up, then wot would they do to me? And if I goes, then I’ll never be able to tell you wot happens next. And if’n you don’t know wot happens next, Dear Diary, well, you might just have lived in vain.

I’ve suddenly got mysteriously depressed and am gonna put away my pencil and sulk for an hour or two. ‘Course, there’s every chance it’ll take Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack longer’n he reckoned to butcher up them biddies, on account of they’s tougher’n brick shithouses and ain’t gonna cooperate, with or without a contract. And since I’m a firm believer in the power of biddies, I’m gonna bet I’ll still be here tomorrow to tell you how it’s coming along. And I have every hope that I’ll greet you with words, so endeth Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack’s reign of terror.