Gladys Ray was this hophead who lived below me.
Last Xmas we had this huge party, and Gladys, of course, shows up with some of my least favourite people . . . Ratface, Wiley Willy, and Monday Moonie. I don’t think those are their real names.
Anyway, she and the rest of her cohorts take off to the bathroom and proceed to start shooting amphetamine, which bothers me. Not shooting amphetamine, what do I care, but shooting amphetamine in my bathroom . . . it’s my personal sanctuary, and besides – it was a party. People need to use the bathroom. I know I’m not the only person who gets the trots from Labbatt 50.
At any rate, long story short, Monday Moonie -that bastard- had been trying to knock Gladys off for the better part of a year, with no success. She was a hophead, but not a fool; she and Moonie had a sort of retarded Batman/Joker relationship, although I have no idea which they considered each other. It all started with a bad wet-willy one April Fools Day – let that be a lesson to anyone interested: wet willys can open a door to all sorts of shenanigans you don’t want to get involved with . . . anyway, where was I? Right, how Moonie knocked her off . . . he got her to shoot this combination of pixie sticks and pop rocks which was apparently quite lethal when mainlined.
Gladys Ray exploded.
I came running in, and shouted “Aw you shouldn’t DO that, don’t you know you’ll stain the carpet?!”
Of course, none of them cared about that, they were too busy taking a run for the door. Every single one of those putzez took off leaving me to clean up an exploded A-head. I pieced her back together as best I could, wrapped her in a garbage bag, draped some tinsel around it, and left her on the curb. She was gone the next morning.
I’ve only thought of her once since then, and that was when my friend Slappy shook up my can of Dr. Pepper, which exploded all over me. I thought of Gladys, and for the first time I found it funny.
I guess time really does heal all wounds.