Daily Dojo

Orphan Monologue - Jerry In Jail

Hey. Hey buddy. Hey man.

You got a cigarette?

No? Fuck. I was hoping you had one.

Those fucking things are expensive these days, man. Can’t give them away all nonchalantly anymore right? People are getting desperate now, you know?

I was in a bar last week and this fucking hot chick tried to bum one off of me.

You know she comes up to me all sweet and pouty-like. Flashing some major fucking chest hardware.

And let me tell you something.

She was hot. I mean she was porn star hot. I mean fucking hot.

And she goes “Hey stud, can I bum a cig?” All smokey-like.

And you know what I said?

You know what I said to this chick with a body that I would happily kill my own mother for?

I said: “Only if you blow me, honey. And I’m talking blow. I’m talking the kind of blowjob that you go to hell for. And I want to videotape it. And sell it on ebay. For posterity. You know what I’m saying? That’s the only way you’re getting a cig from me.”

I said that. Hey, cigarettes are like fucking gold now.

Funny thing is, that, for a split second, I think that she actually considered it before she kicked me in the balls.

These are desperate times, my friend. Desperate fucking times.

You scared? You look scared. Don’t talk much, do you? I don’t blame you.

That’s the safest thing to do. Lay low and shut the fuck up.

Wish I could do that.

I don’t shut the fuck up. I can’t shut the fuck up. Shutting the fuck up is not in my nature what-so-fucking ever. I get it from my mom. She could make your ears bleed she talks so fucking much. That’s how by dad died. He bled to death through his ears. It’s true.

And I have the same problem. I talk too much. I talk too fucking much. I talk way too fucking much. I mean I’m a talker. Talk. Talk. Talk. That’s what I do … Talk.

That’s how I ended up in here, you know. Talking. Talking to a couple of cops. I’m standing on a corner, waiting for a friend of mine. I put a cigarette in my mouth, light it, toss the match into the gutter with the rest of the shit and garbage.

Couple fucking cops see me, point at the match, and say “Pick that up.” Can you believe that, can you fucking believe that? Like there’s not a hundred people walking by, dropping butts and matches all over.

This blue asshole points at the match, says it again, “Pick that up.”’

I look at him, grab my crotch and say, “Pick THIS up!”

Pretty good, right?

Course, next thing you know, he’s bouncing the business end of a nightstick off my skull and I’m in for resisting arrest and obstruction.

Don’t know why I said that, but I did.

Just can’t help myself. Heh-heh.


I remember once, when I was in high school, just a shit-eating wet behind the ears freshman, ninety pounds dripping wet, wouldn’t say shit even if I had a mouthful, get the picture?

I was walking down the halls with a couple of my dork buddies, walking in that freshman way, sliding quiet next to the walls to avoid any seniors waiting to beat our ass, you know?

And we’re walking along, class bell rings so we know we’re gonna be late, when the football coach comes out of the bathroom, buckling his pants up. He was also our biology teacher, but everybody called him Coach Paulson, the football coach. At least to his face.

Behind his back, different story. Behind his back, we called him Psycho.

Psycho Paulson. Guy was forty-five, been lifting weights since he was two and was stacked like a brick shithouse. Stacked and mental, fucking mental case, everybody in the school was afraid of him.

Fucking everybody, man, seriously. Our fucking football team took about five conference championships and it wasn’t because they were any good, it was mainly because they were scared shitless of Psycho Paulson. They thought if they lost he’d literally fucking eat their nuts for breakfast.

So me and my dork buddies are slinking along, Psycho Paulson comes out of the shitter, looks at us, grunts and says, “You boys get your butts to class, on the double!”

Can you believe that? On the double, like we was fucking in the army, something like that.

So he says that, my dork buddies turn white as a fucking sheet that he even spoke to us, he says that to us and before I can even blink, my mouth is opening wide and deep and I’m falling right down into it.

I look at him and go “Why don’t you go FUCK yourself?”

That’s what I said.

Psycho Paulson doesn’t even get it at first, he’s halfway down the hall when it finally sinks into his gorilla head, what I actually said, and he spins like he’s dodging a linebacker and looks at me, disbelief in his eyes, and he goes, “What did you just say to me?”

He was even giving me an out, Psycho Paulson was actually giving me a chance to save my skeevy ass and proclaim that I did not say what I had indeed said to him, giving me a choice, a choice between lying for humiliating life and extreme honest pain, possibly even death.

He aims his piggy eyes at me, asks me again, “What was that you just said?”

And I think for a moment, savoring the choice ahead of me, then I open my mouth and say, “what I said was, why don’t you go FUCK yourself, Psycho, go back to your classroom and just FUCK yourself.”

Took three teachers and five varsity starters to pull him off my ass. Cracked open my skull, broke my hand, four ribs and knocked out at least half my teeth. I was in the hospital for two months.

Psycho Paulson went stark-raving looney-tunes, they had to buckle him up and take him away. Never came back to the school, not while I was there. He’s probably still locked up, somewhere. Shit, I hope so. Don’t want to run into him in a dark alley somewhere.

I was a hero, really. Even the other teachers were glad he was gone.

But a lot of people wanted to know why I did it, why I opened my mouth not once, but twice, sealing my fate. Did I have a grudge against Psycho, was I setting him up, did I have Tourettes? All sorts of shit.

I never had a good answer.

Now though, I think I know. I know what it is.

The thing of it is, I enjoy the words.

That’s what it is, I just fucking enjoy saying the words.

3 Responses to “ Orphan Monologue - Jerry In Jail”

  1. Andrew Bellware Says:

    Oh man, I love this!

  2. Maile Frasher Says:

    Awesome article! I always learn so much here.I agree with your Demise and Ghirahim categorization. I do purpose a fourth category for Demise’s infant stages, The Imprisoned – “Just Plain Annoying” I also agree with you about putting Bowser in the flawed category. I think he would be the best evil dad ever!Keep dropping that wicked knowledge, o wise Athena! 🙂LikeLiked by 1 person

  3. Belle Kras Says:

    Fick mich!

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