Hola, amigos. Whatcha doin’? I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I’ve been plenty busy. First off, my apartment flooded because some pipe cracked while I was out of town. I lost a bunch of car magazines and about half my tapes. I was real pissed when I got back. It took a day to bail out all the water. I swear, that basement smelled like a combination of old socks and a bong. I almost horked a bunch of times.
Even worse, the flood made a bunch of my clothes reek, including my best Thin Lizzy shirt, because they were soaking in basement water for four days. But I washed them a few times, and that got rid of most of the smell. On the plus side, once the carpet dried out, some of the nastier stains were gone.
On top of that hassle, I got a new job. I never thought I’d be doing this in a million years, but I’m working on a garbage truck. Sure, it smells like shit, and I have to get up real early, but the pay is good and every morning when I get there, there’s a joint burning in the ashtray. Hombre, that’s the kind of fringe benefit I’m talking about. Sometimes, it’s pretty nasty shit I deal with, but you get in this certain mental zone where you can just block it out of your mind.
Each truck has two people on it. On mine, it’s me and this dude Cal. Cal’s the guy who drives the truck, and he won’t ever let me take the wheel. Not that I mind, because he’s plenty willing to share his weed. The thing is, he doesn’t talk all that much. He’ll maybe say “Yup” or “I hear that,” but that’s about it. It’s not a big deal, but sometimes I like to get deep when I toke up, and he just ain’t into that. It makes me fucking crazy to say something real profound and have him say, “I hear that.” He also ain’t into my music. Anytime I try to change the station, he smacks my hand to keep it tuned to some R&B oldies shit. Man, if he weren’t so damn big, I’d smack him right back and tune that radio in to some classic rock. But Jim Anchower wasn’t born stupid, and he didn’t become stupid enough to get the crap knocked out of him over the radio.
One thing that’s pretty cool about Cal is that he’s got this kick-ass tattoo on his arm. One of the only times he’s ever said anything was when I asked him about it. He said he got it when he was in the Marines, and that it said “Julie,” ’cause that was his girl, only she dumped him while he was in, so he got it covered up with a naked chick and a snake. I swear, one time I saw that snake move, but I was pretty baked, so I ain’t gonna swear on it or nothing.
After seeing Cal’s tat, I was thinking that maybe I should get one. I mean, I should have something visible on me that captures the essence of my bad-ass lifestyle. First, I was thinking about getting a dragon like I have on my car. But then I thought that would be lame, because if I ever got rid of the car, I’d have a dragon that doesn’t match anything, and I’d have to explain to people that I used to have this car that had the same dragon on it but I had to get rid of it. Too much hassle.
Then I thought that maybe I should get an ace of spades on my arm, just like the Motörhead song. But that’s too simple. I want something complicated, something you can look at and see all kinds of shit in and say, “Man, that’s fucked up!” I thought maybe I should get the cover of Houses Of The Holy on my back until I thought about how much it would cost. I wanna do it right, but I don’t want to starve for it, you know? Plus, if it was on my back, people could only see it if I were going without a shirt, which is a problem when I gotta go into a store or something.
Then inspiration hit me. I decided I was gonna get a scorpion. That works in so many ways. First of all, it’s like the band The Scorpions, and they rock steady. Second, a scorpion is a loner of the animal kingdom. You never see herds of scorpions or scorpions working as a team, do you? No way–a scorpion looks out for numero uno. Jim Anchower may have friends, but you better believe he’s going to take care of himself first. Third, you can’t pick a scorpion up by its tail because you’ll get stung. You can’t pick it up by its front, either, because you’ll get pinched. And don’t even think about picking it up by its middle, ’cause you’ll get pinched and stung. Any way you slice or dice it, you lose.
Anyway, I was saving up some money to do a little work on my car, but instead I’m going to sock it away for a scorpion tattoo. I asked Ron to draw one for me, but he said it was a stupid idea and wouldn’t do it. Wes said I should just look for a good picture, but I haven’t seen any. If any of you see any pictures of scorpions that kick ass, send them to this paper care of Jim Anchower. They should look tough, though. None of those pussy scorpions. If I get any of those, I’m just going to throw them out and not even send you a thank you. Not a chance in hell.
Jim Anchower joined The Onion’s editorial writing staff in 1993 after several distinguished years on The Come Back Inn dishwashing staff. He comments on community-affairs, automotive, and employment issues. He attended LaFollette High School in Madison, WI.
