Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The Stupid Native American Jerk in the Cupboard

Like most writers, I dream of seeing my work published. Unfortunately I have a tendency to fore go normal writing tasks such as editing and reading my work after I write it. I've tried many times to get my latest work published, but so far have been unsuccessful. Since copy wright laws prohibit me from publishing this work for profit, I have decided to give it to you, my loyal readers, free of charge.



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“Dog collar, chair leg, container of half eaten yogurt…” I muttered to myself as I rummaged through the garbage heap in the dumpster behind the strip club. It was the day before my anniversary and I was searching for that “special gift” for that “special someone.” Usually I just swipe something from Wal-Mart, but after my most recent run in with their security department and team of lawyers, I decided it was probably best that I avoid that store for a while. Being an internet comedy writer and a colossal failure, I had no money to purchase my lady a gift, so I resorted to what I knew best: dumpster diving. Unfortunately due to the economy I was competing with several other down-on-their-luck husbands and an army of vicious raccoons, so pickings were slim.

After about an hour of searching I came up with three possible candidates for anniversary gifts: an inverted umbrella, various bras of different sizes and colors, and half a kilo of cocaine. I also found a Batman flashlight, but that was a gift for Andrew from the dumpster. Suddenly, something caught my eye. I dug a little deeper in the filth (mostly old condoms) and discovered a charming little cupboard.

“Why look what we have here,” I said as I pulled the cupboard out of the dumpster. “A hidden little gem! I can’t believe someone would just throw this away.” Deciding that this was a vast improvement over the umbrella, bra’s and coke, I hurried home with the dumpster prize under my arm.

I arrived before my wife, who works three jobs to support us. I would feel bad, but I have become a model house husband, preparing dinner almost every evening (which she enjoys for the five minutes before leaving for her night job) and doing laundry at least once a month, or whenever the mold smell becomes unbearable. I placed the cupboard on the kitchen table to examine it, and after noticing it was covered in strip-club filth, I decided it needed a good polishing. Not having any polishing equipment, I dumped a cocktail of cleaning supplies over it and hoped for the best. As the very poisonous concoction entered the doors, I thanked God that I wasn’t a miniature man living inside the cupboard.

“HELP ME!” came from inside the cupboard. “OPEN THE DOOR, THE FUMES ARE TOO MUCH!” I opened the cupboard door, and discovered inside there was a small, wet little Indian…err…Native American. He was decked in traditional Native American crap, you know like feathers and whatever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” said the little Native, obviously put out by my poisonous intrusion.

I looked at the tiny savage, amazed that he would speak to a man much larger than him in that tone, and a WHITE man at that. “I was trying to clean this cupboard before I gave it to my wife as an anniversary gift. How was I supposed to know that the last of the Mohicans was inside?”

“I’m not a Mohican you idiot,” he said while puffing out his chest, trying to look imposing but really looking as threatening as a gerbil in moccasins, “I am Eagle Wing! I have the strength of the mighty Buffalo, the agility of the nimble Deer, and the wisdom of the cunning owl. I am Chief of the Coo Bard Tribe, and this is my home. You cannot take what is not yours.”

I looked at him in amazement, unsure of what to say. I mean, what do you say to a little red skinned heathen that seems to have made your new cupboard his home? Thankfully I was a student of history, and knew exactly what to do.

“Get out of my cupboard before I give you small pox,” I said, while planting my middle finger in front of his tiny face, “Welcome to America bitch.”

“I will not leave,” he said, “This cupboard is my home, and it is magic!”

“This cupboard is magic eh?” I asked less out of curiosity, but more out of a distraction while I readied a can of bug spray and a lighter.

“Yes. I awoke in this cupboard many moons ago.” he began. “I was once a plastic toy, but this cupboard brought me to life, and I will not abandon its supernatural powers.”

“Uh, huh,” I said as I unsuccessfully tried to make a flame from the cheap lighter in my hand. Such a rookie error, gas station lighters are never reliable. This is Arson 101 for Christ’s sake.

“Many have traveled through this magical door, but few have been here as long as I,” he said. “I will protect it, and keep others from abusing its might.”

“Wait a second,” I said as I implored the Native to wait a second. “You’re telling me that you were once a toy, and this hunk of cat-pissed soaked dumpster wood brought you to life?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he replied with a look of frustration all over his little demon skinned face. “I’m not sure I could have been any clearer.”

The realization of the power I had at my disposal suddenly rushed over me. With this cupboard, I could explore the vastness of human potential. I could bring to life Albert Einstein figurines, and have them assist today’s scientists in the complexities of relative science. I could reanimate the minds of the greatest leaders in history, and help direct the world into a new and better tomorrow. Hell, I could bring to life a JESUS statue, and have him bring an end to all the turmoil and strife caused by religious war.

Or, I could finally put my Ninja Turtle and pro-wrestling action figures to good use. And, by good use I mean bringing them to life so I could have them fight each other. It would answer the age old question; who would win in a steel cage match, The Rock, or Michelangelo? I looked down at the Native, and noticed a hint of concern in his eye.

“Oh my God, you’re planning on bringing to life a bunch of toys with this cupboard for the purpose of watching them fight for sport, aren’t you?” he asked. He must have used his witch craft to read my mind. Native American’s are all witches right?

“What if I am? What do you care…Indian…face?” I said, before realizing how stupid that sounded, and paused to come up with a better insult. Struggling to come up with one immediately, I continued. “If you want you could even place bets on them. Everyone knows your people LOVE gambling.” There it was, an unintentional verbal knockout punch! Full of pride, I gave myself a much deserved high five.

“I will not allow you to abuse the powers of this sacred creation!” he said as he readied his bow. “You have desecrated a holy item, for this you shall perish!”

He charged, running as fast as his little heathen legs could move, and shot arrows furiously into the air. Unfortunately for him the arrows were about as vicious as tooth picks, so they did little to deter my goal. Also, he ran out of table pretty quickly, and in fear of falling to his death he was forced to alter his attack. I was just about to make a move for the cupboard when I saw that he was rushing for the cutlery. I tried to intercept him but it was too late, the little bastard had gotten a hold of the largest blade in the kitchen, and was wielding it like a medieval battle ax.

Just as I was about to soil myself and admit defeat to a pint sized casino dweller, I noticed something. His knees were shaking and sweat was pouring from his forehead. He could barely hold the knife, and it was only a matter of time before gravity turned on him. Deciding that I would prefer not to leave it to chance, I gave the kitchen table a little kick.

“What are you doing? Stop that!” he said, obviously terrified.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I said as I gave the table another nudge. “Is it difficult for you to maintain your balance? I thought you had the agility of a buffalo.”

“Agility of the Deer! I have the strength of a buffalo!”

“Really? Because it seems to me that you have the strength of a chicken, and the agility of a retarded snail,” I said as I grabbed the table and started to shake the shit out of it, “EARTHQUAKE TEST!”

He started to stumble, but quickly gained his composure. “I am Eagle Wing! I am the strongest there is! I can hold anything!”

I nodded as I watched him struggle to keep the massive blade from lowering even an inch. I have to admit I was impressed, the little jerk was actually pretty bad ass. Well, as bad ass as an unimposing poodle, but I gave him credit for trying. Seeing that this was going to take a lot longer than I cared for it to, I decided to end it as quickly, and safely as possible.

“You are very strong, but how long do you think you can keep it up?”

“I am Eagle Wing!” he said with pride as he looked up at the heavens, “I can hold this blade forever!”

“Could you hold it while on fire?”

He looked at me, a mixture of fear and confusion sweeping over his face, “What?”

Flames swirled around the plucky little redskin as they poured out of the combined force of the bug spray and the cheap-shit lighter. A short flame darted around the kitchen table while screaming obscenities. What a prick, even in death he couldn't be cordial. Stupid Native American jerk.

Epilogue

“Listen here Jabroni,” said The Rock as he cocked his eyebrow and lowered his sunglasses. “The Rock is gonna take your nun-chucks, polish 'em up real nice, stick those son of bitches sideways...” he stopped, gazed into the eyes of the underage ninja in front of him, then turned his hand in a crude forceful gesture to demonstrate his point, “...AND STICK IT STRAIGHT UP YOUR CANDY ASS!”

“OOOOOH...” said the other pro-wrestling action figures. They gathered around The Rock, slapping high fives and showing off their muscles with homo erotic flexing... they were sure they had this one in the bag. If the insult had been directed at any of the other Ninja Turtles, The Rock might have had a flawless victory. But, Michelangelo was not intimidated by The Rock's obvious fascination with the Turtle's anus. In fact, he was ready to exploit it.

“If my ass is candy...” he began, then paused before hitting him with the finish, “...than I guess you can EAT MY SHIT.”

“OH DAMN!” said Raphael as he twirled his twin Si blades. All four of the Ninja Turtles started hooting and hollering at his mighty comeback that made The Rock's jaw do the people's drop.

“Okay, that's it,” I said as I made my way over to the table. “This round goes the Ninja Turtles for Michelangelo's incredible comeback. Now remember boys, the winners get fifteen minutes with the Barbie dolls!"

“Hot damn!” said Stone Cold Steve Austin as he cracked open a mini beer can. “Stone Cold's gonna run the train on Malibu Barbie! Can I get a hell yeah?”

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