Do you remember the scene from the “Green Mile” where the prison van rolls up, and that humongous guy gets out? When he exits, the truck’s leaf springs relax, and the vehicle rises about a foot. Well, that’s what it looks like when Amy gets out of a U-Haul truck. Now, I’m not the purest thinker in the world, and I have had an impure thought, or two. When I first came upon Amy it was around six or seven years ago. I was deluged with a host of glamor shots from Facebook, should have known better, having been in real estate for years, exposed to pictures of old ladies portrayed as movie stars, but I’m an optimist, and I do drink a bit, so I held out hope.
She popped back up recently and we began to chat again. Same glamour shots, same endless drivel about vast conspiracies to assassinate her, same stuff about losing her kid because her step father was really the bastard child of Josef Mengele performing medical experiments on her daughter, but, did you ever screw a crazy woman? If you ever do that, you’ll never go back to straight. So, after about a week or so, the gremlins came a-calling again, and I got these calls, texts, and emails detailing her situation. Seems she is living in motels, and needs a place to hide from assassins, but, she ain’t got NO money! Now she mentions going to a Wal-mart, and to be honest, when I hear the combination of can’t pay the motel, and Wal-mart, I put two and two together and picture her pushing a shopping cart up and down the isles all night, ok? Then she mentions Denny’s, and actually says as long as she and her boyfriend can drink coffee they can stay there. Of course, that IM on Facebook seems to have evaporated, but hey, I’m still buying into the pictures, ok?
I’m gonna be straight with you guys. I’m a little stupid when it comes to women, and I’ve had a few beers, so I suggest she comes up here to hang out. She informs me that she can’t fly (no crap) because it’s to “dangerous” so she and her boyfriend, oh, I’m sorry, her bodyguard must come up by bus. Then I get a text that she has fallen into a vast fortune by way of her deceased grandmother and they are on the way. Chick rolls up in a U-Haul truck filled with her possibles. That’s when I meet the real Amy! I’m trying to describe to you what Amy looks like in person. Remember that chick who sang with the MaMas and the PaPas? Yeah, that one. The one who choked on a ham sandwich. Well, with one look at Amy in her full glory it was back to the old drawing board. You know, you hold your head sideways, squint your eyes, but it don’t work. It is what it is.
So, they hang out for about a week, trying to sell the contents of the truck, and some chunk of glass her grandmother left, and after many tries they come up with two hundred bucks or so. Of course, when you gotta feed Amy that don’t go far. Makes you appreciate crack head chicks who make it on five bucks a day, and at least LOOK like their mug shots. They have to be back home by Monday because she has to beat some charge the Illuminati has thrown at her, but the money is gone, the truck is over due, and Amy is HONGRY! She says that after Monday money will be no problem because she will sue for a hundred million or so, but needed to find a lawyer who would advance her fifty Gs to get her by until the case is over. My EX-wife, you know, one who supports ME, has this shed, and in a moment of weakness I tell her she can stash her stuff in the shed. They dump the truck at U-Haul in the middle of the night. Now, all they need is a bus ticket, but naturally, they’re a little bit short so they hit me up. Amy is on the phone to her ex in Europe somewhere trying to get fifty grand to pull her through the week, but, aw shucks, the Swiss banks are closed so he can’t send her twenty bucks for a ticket. I finally CRAPPED forty just to get them gone!
I don’t know what was in the shed, but I can tell you what was left in my bedroom. Let me just say this; a woman who would take a crap in your yard would probably leave her soiled panties in your spare bedroom. Since I don’t have Portnoy’s Complaint, I had absolutely no use for them. So, I had some friends gather this stuff up and stack in in the breakfast nook adjacent to the kitchen, all but the parties, they threw them away. I’m hoping Amy and company would come right back and pick all this stuff up, but, you guessed it, after very tense texts screaming, “URGENT” Amy goes to plan B, accuses me of being one of the shooters on the grassy knoll, announces she is going to Hollywood to expose me, and warns me that I’d better not steal her “hundreds of thousands” of dollars in precious jewels until she returns in glory. Now this chick still owes me forty bucks, ok?
There is no rest for the wicked, and karma is a bitch in tight jeans. We blow up the kitchen cooking catfish, it takes out the kitchen, smokes up the rest of the house good and proper, scorches my eyelids, and torches the items in the breakfast nook. Amy and friend text me, I tell them the truth that the two suitcases are history, and folks, they really are, but the stuff in the shed survived. That’s when I learned that the Tsar Nicholas’ missing jewels were in her luggage. I somehow missed those when I was sorting through the Trojans. Of course, she’s all disturbed about a video I put up about her, having received “a thousand death threats” in twenty four hours after the posting of said video. I did some quick math. Twenty four hours times sixty minutes per divided by one thousand equals a death threat about every one minute and forty four seconds, but that’s believable if you consider Amy has possibly pulled this same con on many people before she landed on me. Her logic behind the reason for the threats was that I had supposedly let out a rumor that she and I are romantically involved. Folks, I have standard white boy issue, and I’m simply not that well endowed.
Now, I get daily texts telling me that “a very famous judge” has advised her, along with a “very famous lawyer” and a “very famous detective” is looking for me. I still haven’t seen the items she supposedly left in the shed. THEY put them there! The good news is my eyebrows are growing back, and I got a real good article out of this mess. As for writing this? Hey Amy! Now you’ve tasted my mutton, how do you like it, huh?