Monday, November 10, 2008

I Got A One-Legged Meth Head Uncle

Uncle Jerry wouldn't use a prostethic leg, preferring to use crutches or hop around on his remaining leg. Fond of cut-off denim shorts, and sporting a huge, scraggly beard from which sprouted a continuously burning Doral, left-eye squinted against the smoke.
When I was elementary school, Jerry split with his wife Barbara. She was also an unrepentant meth head that somehow managed to weigh 400 lbs. They had a retarded son named Jerry Glenn. Jerry Glenn was named after Jerry because he was born during their marriage, but was not actually his son. That honor goes to mentally deficient glue-sniffer by the name of Clifford, and was the direct cause of Jerry and Barb's split.
Jerry had no where else to go, so my Aunt Carolyn, the heroin dealer, let him move in. He became her constant companion and personal slave. He cooked, cleaned, and ran penniless dope fiends off the land with the aid of a rifle. In exchange, she kept him in constant supply of heroin and Coca-Cola, which he consumed at the rate of twelve a day. His unhealthy habits go a long way towards explaining his excessive sweatiness.
They lived together, swapping pulp horror novels, shooting dope and watching B horror movies.
Carolyn got busted for passing fake percocet prescriptions, and decided to hide out at our trailer on Hall Hill until things cooled down. I woke one morning to find Carolyn and Jerry climbing out our tiny bathroom window. Seconds later, police surrounded the trailer. As Carolyn belly crawled through the high grass of our back field, Jerry was hot on her heels.
Unfortunately, a sobbing, hysterical, one-legged man in a cow pasture is very easy to find. Carolyn was apprehended from a decrepit dog house nearby.

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