February 10th, 2004

Ski poles make excellent weapons.

I remember seeing a yellow ski pole one time kick the shit out of an unlucky bastard one night behind the bar. From that day on, a friendship was born. Now I know what you’re thinking, alcohol had to be an issue. If you got a minute, I’d like to tell you the story behind this twisted pole known as “Shindo”. He gets very ornery when he doesn’t get what he wants. And Shindo finally wants his story to be heard. That and his therapist said it would be very redeeming for his recovery. Stand back though, he has chronically been having an issue with flatulence due to the horrible low quality of the prison food.

Now I understand that it’s “Brit Week” at IP Inc. so I pleaded with RazZ to post this plight that has been weighing down my conscience, since that dastardly day two and a half years ago. He agreed, and I will thank him by sending him a crate of rabbit ears for him and his entire staff. I like the pink fuzzies; it makes great dental floss. I make them along with the other illegal immigrants at the sweatshop. We’re underpaid, but we have a great health plan. They feed us.

This is a story that started years ago in the mountain resort of Aspen Colorado. Aspen is a pretty town, even with the high number of “fluffers” that ski their slopes. “Fluffers” are like yuppies, they like to ski, and refuse to donate to charity. Now you’re probably asking what an illegal immigrant is doing in a place like Aspen. I went there over the course of my “walkabout” and found such gainful employment at this sweatshop that I decided to relocate. Now this my friends, is where the story gets a little odd. I developed a drinking problem fairly quickly after arriving in Aspen, due to the imported Canadian beer that was served at the local pub. Over the course of one of my more vigorous binges I was introduced to a wonderful fellow by the name of “Shindo”.

After much discussion on the effects of the introduction of the tortoise to the Great Lakes Region, we decided to take a trip to the local bowling alley. Needless to say, I was shocked that a ski pole as fit as Shindo would be interested in taking up the sport of bowling. He seemed more like a soccer guy. Behind that exterior of acryllic and plastic lay the heart of a tyrant. I realized that quickly after our introduction, but denied the fact handily because he was springing for the spirits.

Afterward our night of irresponsible drinking, we went back to the bar to see if we could charm our way into the pants of some unsuspecting lovely lady. Our efforts would go unrealized it is sad to say. Again, it would seem that another sexually absent night would come to a close with me masturbating to old pictures of Cheryl Tiggs. I need new material, but I can’t afford it. The money that I don’t use drinking myself into a stupor, I send home to my malnourished family off the coast of some godforsaken country that nobody fucking cares about.

We walked out of the bar empty handed that night, with nothing but a lack of oxygen in our brains, unaware that a life changing experience was upon us. My socks were too tight on my feet, and they were bothering me, so we got up from our seats after our rejection, and walked into the cold night air. To our right, we noticed a street lamp with a sparsely dressed lady standing beneath it. Now, fearing for her immediate safety, and still with eighty bucks left to our name, we wandered over to assure ourselves that she was in no danger. Her teeth were crooked and she smelled of sardines but we could have cared less at this point. If the international community wouldn’t assist in her protection, we would.

On that most somber of notes, we whisked her away to the closest abandoned alley, and gave her a fairly quick anatomy lesson before excitement overtook us. She was pleasantly surprised when our excitement became too much. A smell of celery filled the air. Broke again, she left us, hobbling gently due to the positioning of a very cold pole that was near her buttocks. As we turned to leave and head back to our feeble home life however, terror struck fast and fierce.

Intoxication aside, we moved fast. In the distance was the woman that had just left our presence, and to our dismay she was being accosted by a man of low social means with a wooden leg. How he caught this woman of grace is beyond me. He looked like floundering pogo stick on Independence Day as he overtook her. Regardless of the scene before us, we sprung into action like Starksy and Hutch and within seconds had found ourselves upon this evil villain. Although I had known Shindo for only a matter of hours, the teamwork that we exhibited was astounding. If I had met him years earlier, I may have made the Olympic javelin team.

With a steadfast belief that justice always prevails, we beat this evildoer to the ground and with perpetual vigor, made sure that he would never harm another again. As you can probably imagine, the lovely lady that had been threatened was gracious and thankful for what we had done. She called the police using her mobile phone, and quickly the boys in blue, donuts in hand, came to make a report of the hooliganism that had transpired. However, in a heap on the ground lay our victim and he wasn’t moving. Which didn’t bode well for an illegal immigrant and a ski pole by the name of “Shindo”. I would take the rap for this without a doubt, gladly.

Not long after my brief trial, Shindo confided within me a secret so disgustingly vile that I shan’t have even mentioned it now, if he didn’t plead with me to assist him in spreading his words to the global masses. He was a mercenary of discerning tastes, and although he didn’t like the platform shoes I wore, he was using me as his medium to accomplish his mandate on earth. I was going to help cleanse the world of evil, and evildoers everywhere. Immediately after my release.