Digital Underground - uXu - Underground eXperts United #uxu-478

### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### ## ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ## ####### [ A Trailer Park Fairy Tale ] [ By M. James Dinniman ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ A Trailer Park Fairy Tale by M. James Dinniman I was dreaming of Helen Hunt when I was awakened by a knock at the door. My first thought was: Tornado! There's a twister a'coming and they've come to let me know. But as soon as the whiskey induced cobwebs fled my mind, I realized that was impossible, it wasn't even stormy outside. Besides, I wasn't in Kansas anymore. I had packed up my lawn flamingos and moved my trailer from Hampton to Phoenix after the factory had shut down almost a year ago. I looked at my clock and it announced that it was 4:17 am, an ungodly hour. I got up, wearing nothing but my boxers and went to the entrance to the trailer. I chained the slide lock and cracked opened the flimsy door. "What do you want?" I asked the large shadow standing outside. "I was wondering if I could give you a blowjob." The man stepped into the light of the bug zapper, and for a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. The man was tall, about 6'6, and fat, about 350 pounds. He was black. None of those things however, not even what he said, caught me as off guard as what he was wearing. The man was covered head to toe in saran wrap. It was wrapped up both legs, across his enormous girth and arms, and up his neck to his head. The only parts of his body that I could see were his hands, eyes, nose and mouth. "I live a couple of trailers down and I needs it real bad, I've seen you standing out on Van Buren before and I know what you do. I'll pay you good." I wasn't about to let this freak into my home. "First off, it's four-thirty in the fricking morning, second off, when I work, it's only the weekends, and third, I never work at home." I started to shut the door. "Wait!" he yelled. A dog somewhere down the row started barking, causing an inevitable chain reaction. A couple seconds later, every dog in the damn trailer park was howling. "I got $400 to pay you!" I hesitated. $400 would pay the lot fee for my trailer for 2 months, and I hadn't been doing too good lately money wise. I didn't sell myself very often, I had a real job too. I only did it when I really needed the cash. However, Village Inn was seriously cutting back on the hours they gave me, and that damn cigarette tax just about ate up all of my funds. I weighed my options. "O.K. I have two questions for you." He stared at me vacantly. I asked the man, "First, why the hell are wearing that?" "Wearing what?" "The saran wrap." "It keeps me safe," he answered as if it was stupid question. Wonderful. "Second question. You live in trailer, how can you afford to pay me $400?" The man brought his hand to his chin as if had I asked him what the meaning of life was. After a moment of silence, he looked to the left and to the right and then he whispered conspiringly, "It's the spending money the FBI gives me 'cause I told them about the aliens." "Maybe some other time," I smiled and slammed the door in the guy's face. The prospect of $400 wasn't worth the possibility of being bludgeoned to death or having my pecker bitten off by a psychopath. He knocked on the door a couple more times. If I had a phone I would've called the police, but he eventually went away. I sighed, I knew I would never get back to sleep. I had to be to work at nine anyway. I was out of smokes so I grabbed a box of cereal and a warm 'Chihuahua' brand beer instead. I flipped on the TV and sat on my duct-tape bean bag chair. I stole cable from my neighbor, but without a box I only got channels 2 through 13. The only thing on was the news and some cartoon on channel 3. I chose the cartoon and dug into the box of cereal. At least the day had started off interesting. Of course the rest of it would probably drag on just like every other tedious weekday. I would work from nine to one at Village Inn. They used to give me 40 hours a week, but now they only gave me 20. After work I would half-heartedly search for another, better paying job, but I would always end up at the same place. 'The Jasmine' was my kind of bar, cheap beer, a jukebox that played Elvis, and the same crowd every night, trailer trash like me. I would sit next to 70 year old toothless Jake Evans and we would talk about Kansas where we both grew up. I would drink JD till they cut me off, or my money ran out, whichever happened first. I would stagger home and go to bed. The next day I would do it all over again. The weekends however, were a completely different story. If I decided that I needed some extra cash, I would start preparing myself the moment I got home from work on Friday. I would take a shower and shave my body. I would usually dress in my button-fly black jeans and wear my blue silk shirt. I had some tiny plastic sampler tubes of some designer fragrance and I would dab some of the cologne on my wrists, neck and crotch. At about 7 pm I would walk the two miles to Van Buren street where all the prostitutes, mostly females and transvestites, collected. I would stop at Osco on the way and buy a six pack of lubricated spermicide condoms. There was a particular corner for the male hookers. We were an eclectic, always changing group. There were usually anywhere from 5 to 15 of us hanging out on the corner at any given time. Every week there was someone new and every week a 'regular' mysteriously stopped showing up. Though mostly in the late teens or early 20's, our ages ranged from 14 to 40. Although we were all prostitutes, each one of us was a completely different person. Some of us were gay, some, like myself, were not. I would never do anything with a guy unless I was getting paid for it. Some only did particular things, like give oral sex or hand jobs. The young ones were always picked up first, but eventually, a car would pull up and I would get in. The Johns were all different too. I got everything from Catholic priests to 75 year old drag queens who wanted me to call them 'Mommy'. Once I even got picked up by a real-live woman, but that's a rare occasion and I would be lucky if it ever happened again. I charged them based on the type of car they drove and what they wanted. If it was a guy in a Hyundai that wanted a blowjob, I would ask $25. If it was a Doctor in a Lexus that wanted sex, I would ask $200. If I asked for too much, or even too little, they usually kicked me out and drove away. After a couple hours of warm beer and TV, I decided to take a shower. By 8:30 I was ready to go to work. Village Inn was about a 1/2 mile away and since my only transportation was on cinder blocks in the front yard, I had to walk. Jerry Bennett, my next door neighbor, was getting on his motorcycle as I walked out the door. Instead of his normal jeans and a t-shirt, he was wearing a suit and his hair looked recently washed. It was the same suit he had worn on the Ricki Lake Show when he went on to talk about his midget sister moving to Utah and marrying into a harem. "Hey Jerry, what's with the suit?" I asked as I headed for the sidewalk. "Today's the big day!" he smiled proudly with a thick southern accent. His gold front tooth gleamed proudly in the sunlight. The very top of the dragon tattoo on his chest peeked out above his collar and tie. The engine to his motorcycle roared to life and he yelled over the rumble, "We're going to the state su-preme court today!" "The supreme court?" I hollered, "You mean about the power line thing?" "You betcha!" he beamed. "If they over-turn the ruling, me, poor little Jesse, and Elmira are gonna be one millions of dollars richer!" Jerry was suing the electric company because he claimed the electric magnetic pulses (or something like that) from the power lines above his trailer were what caused his kid's birth defect (he had no lips). The electric company's lawyers would probably be intrigued to know that Jesse and Elmira were first cousins. So far every court had found for the power company anyway, and this was Jerry's last conceivable appeal. "And we's gonna win this time, I got an ace in the pocket!" "Whatcha mean?" I asked. "I got a friend from the swap meet that works for the power company," he pronounced it 'cump-nie', "and we's found out who the judge is, and I got him to turn off the judge's power for the whole past weekend. He erased every record of the judge ever paying his bill. By the time we get to court today, that judge'll be mighty pissed at the 'lectric company. He'll be sure to give us the money, 'specially after he sees poor little Jesse." "Does your lawyer know about this?" "Hell no! He'd shit purple twinkies and die if he knew what I'd been up to! Elmira don't know either, and don't you go telling her!" "Sounds like you have it all worked out!" I yelled as he drove away on his Honda. "It's money in the pocket!" he yelled over his shoulder. I shook my head and continued on my way to work. It was a miserable day to be walking. Most people believed that July was the worst month in Phoenix. They were wrong, it's August. Just before the monsoons start, and the humidity starts to rapidly build, the air becomes almost unbreatheable. The heat actually sticks to you and doesn't let go. The longer you are outside the more the tangible hell starts to weigh you down. It has a way of beating all the optimism out of you. By the time I reached the street my work was on, I was seriously contemplating quitting my job, and calling an air-conditioned cab to drive me home. It's kind of funny how sometimes what you wish for comes true in strange ways. I saw the smoke before I saw the flames. When I did see the flames, I realized that they were bursting from the orange and green roof of Village Inn. My work was burning down! There were four or five large fire trucks spraying the flames with no visible progress. About 20 police cars were haphazardly parked on the street and the cops were running around, apparently doing nothing. I ran to the large crowd that had gathered near the burning building and sought out a familiar face. Frannie, one of the waitresses, was standing by herself, covered head to toe in soot, staring at the fire, smoking a cigarette. "Frannie!" I yelled, coming up to her, "What the hell happened?" "Village Inn is on fire," she whispered. "No shit!" I waved my hands at the building, "How did it catch on fire?" She turned to me. "You know Laurie Lee, the new assistant manager?" I nodded. I hadn't met her yet, but I had heard that she was pretty nice. "Well I guess she used to be a hooker, and her pimp didn't like the fact that she was trying to clean herself up and burnt the place down. I'm lucky to be alive." "Jesus," I muttered. Just then the roof collapsed with a huge BANG!, sending firefighters scattering and sparks flying. The crowd was thoroughly impressed and gave a complement of "ooohh's" and "aaahh's." "How do they know this guy did it?" I asked her. "They caught him I guess," Frannie pointed to a ring of police I hadn't noticed earlier. I turned, expecting to see a black guy wearing bell bottoms and a big hat with a feather in it, but in fact it was a white guy wearing an ASU shirt. "He's a pimp?" I said incredulously. "That's what they say." Frannie said as she took another drag from her smoke. "I wonder if we're still going to get paid on Friday." I asked, mostly to myself. "I hope so," Frannie answered, "I got two youngins." Eventually all the Village Inn employees found each other and gathered on the corner. Ronnie, the head manager, came too even though he was supposed to be on his vacation. "OK everyone, listen up!" Ronnie looked like he had been crying. "For now, there's nothing we can do. Lets all just go home and we'll be in contact with you over the next couple of days." "What about our jobs?" Hector, a Hispanic dishwasher, yelled, "Are we supposed to get new ones or what?" "Yeah!" someone else yelled, "And are we gonna get paid on Friday?" "Look," Ronnie said, rubbing his eyes and sitting down on the curb. "Right now, I know about as much as you do. Just go home. I'll let you all know what's going on later." Most everyone just shook their heads and got into their cars. A few of us, Hector, Ronnie, Frannie, and I stood around for awhile to watch the firefighters spray water on the remnants of the building. Ronnie looked like a man who had just lost everything. A single tear ran down his cheek and he kept clenching his hands into fists. "Hey boss are you O.K.?" Hector asked. "I'll be fine," Ronnie answered. "It's just that I owe these guys a lot of money, and if I'm not working..." An old man, hunched over and leaning on a cane, hobbled up to Ronnie and interrupted him, holding out a small piece of paper. "This is my pre-paid senior card. It was only good at this Village Inn! I haven't used all my dinners yet and I want a refund!" Frannie leaned over and whispered into my ear, "That's the old guy who always gives me problems. He never tips and he complains about everything. I swear to God, I'd give anything just to wring his neck." Ronnie lifted his head from his hands and looked at the old man "Well sir, there's nothing I can do for you right now," he said. The man cracked his cane on the sidewalk. "I want my goddamned $25 back, and I want it back now!" He moved closer to Ronnie, spit flying from his dentures. "You are the manager and you're gonna give it to me, you're gonna give it to me right now!" Ronnie stood up to face the man. He was easily a foot taller than the irate customer. "And what if I say no?" he said, putting his hands on his waist. The old man raised his cane to point it at Ronnie's face. "I'll report you to the Silver Panthers! We'll make your life a living hell!" Ronnie's eyes darkened and I immediately thought, oh shit. "You want me to give it you?" His voice had turned almost to a whisper. The old man lowered his cane. "Yes I do. I want you to give it to me right now." Ronnie's foot flashed, kicking the cane out from under the man. It tumbled into the street. The man surprisingly kept his balance. Ronnie's face was suddenly an unbridled mask of pure rage. The old man started to say something but stopped, suddenly backing up when he looked into Ronnie's eyes. I just stood there, unable to intervene. Ronnie had always been the soft-spoken type, very polite and happy-go-lucky. It seemed surreal, watching Ronnie advance on the old man. "Kick his ass boss!" Hector yelled, bringing me out of my trance. "Jesus I think he's really gonna hurt him." I said. "Naw he's just fucking with him," Hector laughed. "It's about time these asshole customers get what's coming to them." Ronnie bent down and picked up the cane from the street. The old man was muttering something indistinguishable. No one else seemed to have noticed what was going on. The old man turned and started to try to run away but he slipped and fell with a loud crack!. He started howling in pain. "My hip! I think I broke my Goddamned hip you bastard!" "Aw poor little baby," Ronnie smiled as he raised the cane above his head. He brought it down with a grin right into the man's midsection. He raised the stick and brought it down again, and again. The man shrieked in pain with each blow. Some police officers were standing only a mere 100 yards away, but their backs were turned and they couldn't hear over the noise of the fire engines. After the six or seventh blow, the man's screaming stopped. Ronnie kept beating him. Suddenly my feet came unglued and I ran to him, grabbing the cane from his hands. "What the hell are you doing?" I yelled. "Jesus Christ I think you killed him." Ronnie turned to me, a glazed look in his eye. "Yes, I believe that I did." He turned around walked to his mini-van, got in, and drove away. Hector, Frannie, and I just stood there, our mouths agape. "Well that's not something you see everyday." Hector said. "I think it's time to make our exit," Frannie whispered, backing away. "We can't just leave him here!" I couldn't take my eyes off of the old man. "He's fucking dead man! There's nothing we can do. Let's get out of here before the cops see us!" Hector yelled. Cars were driving by right where we were standing. About a 100 people must have seen the incident, but no one had stopped, or said anything. "It's a sick world we live in my friends," I said as I started to walk down the sidewalk, away from the dead man. After a minute or so of walking, I looked back to see a couple of kids with bikes were standing over the old man. I turned back around and continued on my way. The kids would tell the police, and if by chance he was still alive, they'd get him to a hospital. I was originally planing on walking all the way to the Jasmine, I needed a drink, but realized it was only about 9:45. The bar didn't open till noon. I stopped at a bus stop and sat on the bench, contemplating what I would do for the rest of the day. I was still pretty shaken up over everything that had just happened, and I was feeling more than just a little guilty about the old man. I sighed and rationalized to myself that it was too late and there was nothing I could do now. There was a Denny's about a block away, I could always apply there, but I wasn't really wearing my job application clothes. The idea of walking all the way home, changing, and walking back was not an inviting one. I really didn't want to spend money on a cab, and the bus didn't run to the trailer park. "Excuse me, do you know what time the 10:00 bus arrives?" a gravely voice asked me. I looked up to see the most disgusting man I had ever seen. Obviously homeless, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that both looked like they were pulled from a corpse found in a sewer. He smelled like polish sausage that had gone bad in a broken meat locker. He was about forty years old. The most disgusting feature of this guy however was his teeth. They were so grimy you'd think he'd been eating chocolate pop tarts and mud pies his whole life without once brushing. I felt sick to my stomach. He sat down right next to me. "Uhh," I answered, scooting as far to the left as I could, "at 10:00 I guess." "It figures," the man answered. "You know the bus people are all communists." I didn't answer, trying my best to ignore him. "Hey do you got any money?" I turned to him, "I have no spare change, sorry. I don't even think I have enough for the bus." The man laughed. "I wasn't asking if you had any money for me. It's funny how pwople always seem to get that sort of thing mixed up. I was wondering if you wanted some money?" I sighed, wondering if I had a sign on my forehead that read, 'Crazy people please talk to me!' "I could always use some extra money." "I was planning on giving this to you a long time ago, but I didn't really think you deserved it then. I still don't now, but it doesn't really matter anymore anyways. I just want to watch your reaction." He pulled out a dollar bill and a lottery scratch ticket and handed them to me. I almost asked, "What the hell are you talking about?" but decided I didn't want to know. Just smile and nod. That's what you're supposed to do to crazies. I stuffed the bill and lottery ticket in my pocket. "Thanks." "Just remember," he said, "Money isn't everything." He stood up. "If that's true," I smirked, "then I must be missing out on a whole lot." "As your fairy godfather, I hope that today you will realize what you just said is very true." he answered and started to walk down the sidewalk. A car honked and I looked away for a fraction of a second. When I looked back, he was gone! He couldn't have disappeared that fast! I stood up and looked around for a minute, but couldn't see him anywhere. His stench still lingered though. He must have ducked into the shopping center behind me I finally decided. I didn't believe in fairy godfathers, especially not ones that were homeless. A group of four or five kids, all about 13 years old, rode by on bikes, shouting names at me. One of them tossed something in the trash can near the bus stop. Another poured a red slurpee on my shoes, and rode off before I could knock the little shit off his bike. I contemplated running after them, but decided not to. Nowadays kids their age packed heat. I swore and kicked the red ice off my shoes before it soaked in and made my socks wet. Curiosity getting the best of me, I looked into the trash can. The kids had thrown a wallet in and I pulled it out. Before I even opened it up, I knew whose wallet it would be. The picture of the old man from outside of Village Inn glared back at me from the driver's license. His name was Vernon Yarnish. The kids probably hadn't even told the police about the corpse! They had just taken his wallet and probably took the cash and credit cards. I wondered it he was still laying there, unnoticed. I rifled through the wallet, but there was nothing except his license, about 10 used up Village Inn senior cards, and a picture of him and a lady I assumed was his wife. I took the license, I could probably get a couple of bucks for it, and tossed the wallet back in the trash. I sat back down on the bench and wiped my shoe off with a piece of newspaper. The bus was coming from down the street, but I had no idea where I wanted to go. Digging into my pocket I pulled out the dollar bill and lottery ticket. It was one of those tickets where you scratched of the silver stuff to see if you won anything. It was called 'Tic Tac Dough'. The ticket proudly announced 'If you scratch off the same dollar amount three times either vertically, horizontally, or diagonally then you win that amount!' Using my thumbnail, I scraped away the first horizontal row: $20,000, $10, $10. Wow, I had almost won ten dollars. I scratched the second row: $1, $20,000, $10. If the last number of the third row was a $10, then I would be that much richer! I had never won anything fair and square before in my life and I had to admit that it was kind of fun. Nervously I scratched the third row: $1, $2, $20,000. Damn it! No $10 for me. I started to toss the ticket in the trash, but suddenly a chill ran down my spine and I looked at the ticket again. I read the instructions again. 'If you scratch off the same dollar amount three times either vertically, horizontally, or diagonally then you win that amount!' I read the ticket over and over. I had won $20,000! With shaking hands, I turned the ticket over and read the prize claim instructions. The bus pulled up just then and opened it's doors for me. The Arizona lottery prize claim center was just down the street. I slipped the dollar the bum had given me into the machine and climbed aboard with shaky legs. I sat near the front, clutching my ticket in my sweaty hands. My breath was starting to come in slightly ragged breaths. I had never had $20,000 at one time ever before in my life. I sat in silence, almost like a trance, as the bus took me the seven blocks to the lottery claim center. I jumped off the bus and ran inside, still clutching the ticket in my hands. A secretary, obviously used to excited people rushing into the building, gave me a knowing smile as I rushed up to her desk. "O.K. first off," she said, "Take a few deep breaths." She was rather pretty. Long blonde hair and blue eyes made her look like a model, but I wasn't thinking about sex at the moment. "Now, was it the lottery, powerball, fantasy five, or a scratcher ticket?" "It's a scratcher ticket," I said holding it out for her to see. "I won $20,000!" "Wow," she said, "Congrats! Let me call down a lottery executive and we can arrange deliverance of your money." I sat down on the leather couch and waited for what seemed like an eternity. The big clock above the desk read 10:30 when a tall man in a suit came out of a door and shook my hand. He hesitated when he saw me, I realized I must look practically homeless myself with the soot all over my clothes and red slurpee staining my shoes. After a moment he smiled and walked up to me. "Congratulations," he said, "William Jefferson's my name, Come into my office." Lottery executives must make a lot of money because this office was really nice. A huge oak desk stood before a picture window that gave view to a small enclosed desert scene. Abstract artwork hung on the walls to my left and right. On the desk sat a computer, a microscope, and a few pictures of Mr. Jefferson with his family. He had a pretty wife and triplet boys about 5 years old according to the picture. I sat on a leather chair and Mr. Jefferson sat behind the desk. "Now let's see that ticket of yours." "Here you go," I said handing it to him. "I just scratched it about 1/2 hour ago. I came straight here after I found that I won." As soon as he looked at the ticket, he instantly frowned. He turned it over and just stared at it for a second. He turned to his computer and starting hitting keys. "Is there something wrong?" "Where did you get this ticket? Did you buy it today?" "Well I got it today.... It was a gift." I was starting to feel a little nervous. He hesitated. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid this ticket is no longer valid." "What!?" I had a terrible sinking feeling. "Arizona state law has some very specific rules about the collection of lottery winnings. All prizes must be claimed within 180 days." "But I just did it today..." "That may be so, but we haven't sold 'Tic Tac Dough' tickets in a long time. Unfortunately, if you had showed up yesterday, we might have been able to do something for you, but as of today all tickets in that series are now invalid." "You've got to be kidding me! Because I'm one day late, I won't be getting my money?!" I stood up, starting to yell. "I'm afraid so." Mr. Jefferson looked very scared. Suddenly something clicked in my mind and I stopped in my tracks. I realized that I had met him before. I now understood why he had hesitated when he first saw me. "Mr. Jefferson," I asked, instantly calm, "do I know you from somewhere?" A trickle of sweat ran down his temple, and at that moment, I knew I wasn't mistaken. "I've never seen you before in my life," he stammered, "And I think you better leave now." I had no intentions of leaving just yet. I walked to the door to his office and pushed it shut. "I think we need to talk about this ticket some more Mr. Jefferson, I really do." I walked up to his desk and picked up the picture of his wife and kids. "If I remember correctly, you drive a BMW, don't you? Is this your wife? Maybe I'll stop by your house sometime, I would just love to meet her." I came home that afternoon with a cashiers check for $20,000 in my pocket. Mr. Jefferson was even nice enough to give me some extra cash for an air-conditioned cab ride home. I went into my trailer and put the check in the cubby hole behind my velvet Elvis where I hid all my valuables. The next day I would go to the bank and open up my first savings account. I decided to veg out for the rest of the day. I pulled out my lawn chair and filled up the kiddy pool with water. I pulled my TV to the steps of my front door. I sat in the chair, soaked my feet, drank 'Chihuahua' beer and watched cartoons for the rest of the afternoon. At 5:00, when the news came on, there was a story about Vernon Yarnish, the old man Ronnie had killed. The police were looking for a couple of kids seen rifling through the man's pockets. There was a blurb about the fire, and another story about a man who had shot himself. I would find out later that the man was Ronnie. Jerry came out of his trailer and I bummed a cigarette from him. He had changed from his suit to his typical wardrobe of dirty camouflaged pants and rebel flag T-shirt. "So how'd the court thing go today?" I asked him. Jerry took a long drag from his smoke and blew it out into a ring above his head. "No one ever told me the state supreme court had more than one judge." He sat down on the ground and I handed him a beer. "At least that one judge voted for me." "Was he the only one that decided for your side?" "Yep." A black sedan pulled up in front of my trailer and two women in business dresses and sunglasses stepped out. One was really tall, and the other was really short. They both had a very serious look about them. They walked up to us and the short one flashed a badge. "My name is Gretchen O'Leary, and I work for the FBI. Do either of you gentleman know a man by the name of Reginald Nenderson? He lives in the trailer 2C." I laughed, "Is that the fat black guy who wraps himself up in saran wrap?" The agent hesitated. "Yes" she said finally. "We are looking for him, do you know where he might be?" "Hey are gonna arrest him 'cause he goes around telling people that you guys are giving him money?" The tall agent stepped forward, "He's told you that he's on the federal witness protection program?" "Yeah he told me about the aliens too." "Wonderful," the tall agent turned to the short one. "We better find him." "Hey try Van Buren, he might be hanging out there," I said as the two women got back into the car and drove away. "Man," Jerry said. "If I was on the Federal Witness Program, I wouldn't be caught dead in no shit-ass trailer park." "I don't know," I said, "Maybe he likes it here." "I'd do anything to be rich," Jerry said as he grabbed another beer. "Anything. It just seems like it's impossible to dig out of the hole I'm already in. At least impossible doing it the legal way. It seems there's only one way trailer trash like us can ever get our hands on some decent money. We has to lie, cheat, or steal. No fairy godmother is gonna come save our asses. We has to be sneaky, or we'll be stuck at the bottom forevers." "Amen brother," I said clinking my beer bottle on his, "Amen." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #478 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #478 Call tHE MiCROLiNKS WHQ -> +32-16-356019 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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