The dogs started barking before I got to the gate despite the fact they were in the backyard and it appeared that nothing was back there to get them to make all that god forsaken noise. My guess is they heard me shut the door to my El Camino and mistook me for someone that was going to play with their stinky, mangy asses. Before I untwisted the wire that holds the gate shut and keeps the mutts on the inside of the fence, Slobber and Stupid came galloping like racehorses around the dead rosebushes on the side of Mike’s doublewide.

“Slobber, Stupid! Get the fuck out of here!!” I yelled at them. But the dumb beasts don’t listen. It’s like I speak to them in Mexican or some damn thing. So I acted like I threw something to the backyard. Stupid chased after it, but Slobber just stood in the middle of the sidewalk. A ball of drool formed on the tongue hanging out the left side of his mouth and began to fall toward the ground. It extended about dick length before it could no longer support its own weight, snapped in two, and formed into a ball before making its dark spot on the concrete.

As if the ball of slobber hit the doorbell, Mike threw open the screen door and bounced onto the unstable deck attached to his mansion on wheels just in time for the door to slam against the siding. He was wearing what used to be white Fruit of the Loom briefs, a wife beater tank top, and his worn out Red Wing work boots. Looked like the same clothes he had on the last three times I stopped by. Or am I just imagining that?

“Hey fuck face, how many times do I have to tell you that the big one is named Brutus and the little one is named Rocky?” he inquired in the same irritated-as-shit tone of voice he did the last time he asked that question. The big one, Slobber or Brutus if you will, is a bull mastiff who has seen better days and the better part of two decades. The little one, Stupid or Rocky if you must, is a pain in my ass beagle.

“I’ll call them whatever the fuck you want so long as you keep ‘em from jumping on my ass as soon as I walk through this gate,” I said convincingly enough, although I can never remember their “real names” when I visit Mike. Even though that is most days. It’s just easy to call them what they are.

“I’m glad you see things my way you no good son of a bitch,” he triumphantly remarked en route to catch the filthy mutts. As soon as he had them both by the collar some five minutes later by my calculations of the movements of the sun, I finished unwinding the wire, walked through the gate, and wired it shut before going into the house and letting the screen door slam shut. After what seemed like an eternity, Mike followed me in.

“Well, what can I do ya for today, son?” Mike asked me while simultaneously scratching the his right shoulder blade with his left hand and his left ass cheek with his right.

“Well, I have $33 cash and $7 in lottery tickets,” I told him, making sure to leave out the last part of what I was going to say, because I like to bust his balls.

“That sounds like two twenties to me,” Mike shot back like I’m some kind of dingleberry wasting his precious time. Like this prick had something better to do at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning.

“I also have this coupon,” I said slyly, pulling out the contents of my pockets. “If I can find the damn thing.”

He stopped scratching.

“Coupon? What do you think this is, the fucking grocery store?”

“It’s for 10% off any purchase of $300 or more at Sears,” I informed him knowing full well that such a coupon would be honored in his living room.

The look in his eye told me he was going to stop busting my balls. It also let me know if I played my cards right I just might leave with enough to last me a couple days. Or at least until I could make it out to Junior’s. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“Why don’t you just have a seat there son,” Mike cooed as he picked up a 15-piece metric socket set and a 12-volt cordless drill still in the original packaging from the couch. He moved them to a clean spot on the floor next to a professional-grade soldering gun and a 12-inch miter saw, also still in the original packaging.

With all the extra time and energy you get from using our drug of choice, hobbies, habits, and eccentricities turn into outright obsessions. People who like to drink, they drink for three days straight. I’ve seen some guys pound through four cases of beer in a matter of seventy-two hours and never blink an eye. People who like to clean have spotless houses and empty cupboards. People who always had sex on the mind before collect huge libraries of videos, magazines, and sex toys. People who like to build things, they end up like Mike here. They have a garage, shed, and house full of nothing but tools and a dozen and a half unfinished projects. I had access to Mike’s second addiction. I had Mike by the short and curlies.

Amidst the haggling, Mike’s ol’ lady Missy strutted her former stripper self in. She was wearing a pair of flower print panties that came either from the Wal-Mart in the city or the Dollar General down the way and one of Mike’s old football t-shirts.

“When are you coming back to bed honey? I’m getting lonely back here,” she said as seductively as she could muster, with an emphasis on the lonely. Guess what Missy’s thing is.

It was 10:37 on a Wednesday morning, and I am quite certain by the look and smell of these two that they had been up since at least Monday. After a further bit of calculation, I decided it was just as likely that they started a 120-hour day Friday night or Saturday afternoon. At any rate, they had both been going at it for a while, and the likelihood of me leaving with a good amount of dope got better by the second. Pardon the rambling. At this point I can’t help it. Really.

Missy. That poor, dumb girl. She is exactly the kind of girl that ends up with a guy like Mike. At one point she was considered one of the best looking girls in this shithole we call a town. While that doesn’t necessarily put her on par with your Jenna Jamesons and Pamela Andersons, she was still way out of Mike’s league. Mike had a nickname in high school. It was Footer. He got it when he decided to tell the rest of us about the time he managed to put his size twelve in the 300 pound Mexican girl. That’s right. Size twelve in the 300 pound Mexican girl. We never let up. Where was I again?

Oh, yeah. Missy. Five foot seven. Long, dirty blonde hair. Green eyes. 120 pounds, at least eight of it pure tit. 32 C. Damn she had a rack. A real nice set. The kind of boobs you just want to stick your head between and . . . That’s another story for another day. Anyhow, she used to play volleyball. Showed a lot of promise on the court. Nothing too outrageous, but she had Division II scouts showing up to games her sophomore year. But that was before dope, and long before Mike. She started out smoking. Everyone starts out smoking. Then for a while she liked to put it up her nose. Said she liked the burn. Now she cuts out the middle man and mainlines. You’d never know by looking at her, but she’s five years younger than me.

Poor, dumb girl. I’m glad I’m not that bad. No needles for this guy. I’ll just stick to my glass dick, thank you very much. You can still see how good looking she used to be. Emphasis on the used to be. Those granny panties she has on are hanging off what used to be one fantastic ba-donka-donk. And tits? What tits? Those glorious mounds of fat and mammary glands have had the life sucked right out of them. By Mike’s business, not his mouth, though he might try to tell you otherwise. And when she smiles, you can count her teeth on your fingers. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll have to get dentures. But that might not be such a bad thing. She has the reputation of a girl who knows how to suck a cock. I imagine a gummer would be an experience to write the folks about.

“Mike. Goddamnit listen to me! I am going to bed. I want you there in five minutes or else I’m breaking out Homer.” Homer is a 16 inch black rubber cock. How I know this is a tale for another day.

“Now, honey, let me take care of this right quick. Go back in the bedroom and put on that movie I like. I’ll be back before the midget jumps out of the weddin’ cake.” She gave him an inappropriately long kiss before teasing his balls with her left hand and strutting down the hallway to the back bedroom.

“Well, young buck, you know I don’t like stop-and-gos, but I have some bidness to tend to,” he practically whispered as he motioned his head to the bedroom and handed me what looked like a little over a gram. You could hear the trailers from the classy piece of cinema Missy just put in.

“I understand Mike. You mind if I smoke a quick boat before I hit the road?” I asked.

“Just make it quick. You know the way out. I have a feeling I’ll be tied up for a while,” he said with a twinkle in his eye while taking the packaging off of a 30 foot length of nylon rope about as big around as my little finger.

“Mike! They’re rolling out the wedding cake!” Missy screamed before the electric toothbrush sound of Homer could be heard over the noise of the TV. Mike ran out of his Red Wings on the way to the bedroom.

I made my way to the kitchen to get at the foil, stepping over circular saws, tool boxes, and drill bits. By the time I got my foil ready, I could hear the grunts, groans, and skin on skin contact emitting from the bedroom on the opposite side of the trailer. Thank God they don’t have kids, I thought to myself as I took my first hit of that particular twenty-four hour period. I got a few big pulls off the little pile I put on the foil. When I was satisfied, I crumpled the foil into a ball and put it carefully at the bottom of the kitchen trash. As I turned around and headed for the front door, I heard one really loud skin on skin contact followed by a thud and the shaking of the trailer’s floor. I jumped out the door, slammed it shut and took off like an Olympic sprinter for the fence. I managed to get over it before Slobber and Stupid caught up to me.

As I breathlessly shut the door to my El Camino, I took another look at the house I just ran out of. I knew I didn’t want to know what happened, but I was some of that curious. Much to my bewilderment, I saw Missy standing in front of the screen door stark naked. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the blinds in the bedroom flash open. And there was Mike, giving me the stink eye over a bleeding nose. I laughed, started my car, threw on some Sevendust, and rode hard for B.J.’s.