Fear And Loathing Of A DelPenn Xmas: A Tongue-in-Cheek Puff Piece by Dr. Dipper Lip
Illegal Actions In Five States
Or
Fear And Loathing Of A DelPenn Xmas
By
Dr. Dipper Lip
The plane touches down in Philadelphia and the weather is miserable, I can’t believe I left my little South Pacific island for this garbage, but a paid visit back and the promise of as much alcohol and drugs as I can consume, and the opportunity to visit some old haunts, sucked me back in. I almost didn’t believe the telegram from ‘Chief and that empty can stealing, head nag, roys, asking for a human interest puff piece on those wackos at DelPenn and their annual DPCD, whatever the hell that is. The price was right, so the good doctor was back in business.
Where the hell is that hockey-puck, Bentnose? He is supposed to pick me up so we can get this party started. Ahh, there he is, getting a ticket in front of the terminal in his red Caddilac. Let’s get out of here, gimme a beer and pass the bong, my psychedelics are just starting to kick in. Time to head to the Penn track and get the lay of the land, rev is waiting to give me some background but bentnose says we have to pick up a package from a couple of goombas along the way as a favor for lacossapizza and sal. Well, after finishing off a keg of Victory Hop Devil and a few tomato pies and cheesesteaks, it was time to stick rev with the check, blow him off and hit the road but first a stop at techrangers for that extra special, get out of jail, no speed limit, black belt Saint Christopher medal. As they say, always cut the deck.
Time to head north to Upper New York which is fine with me, I would like to pay a little visit to labreche, he still owes shadow a big package and bentnose will enjoy the opportunity to hit him in the knees with a balpeen hammer, just like he did to Whoops Apocalypse a while back. Hey, you know, why don’t we stop at that nutty dentist’s, doctahg, he’ll give us a bottle of vicodin for $20, which we will need for deadening the pain of being bored to death by proximity to radzinsky, given and lenny and their floating dungeons and dragons high stakes game and the simstergeeks it attracts. Maybe we can get that henpecked mano away from veuve noir for a while so we can visit some of the more disreputable joints in the area. I heard that old drag queen, sallygee, still does his act at the Dew Drop Inn. Aw, jeez, that screwball husker is hitting my cell, he wants to know if the golf courses up there are open. Yeah, I tell him, their open, I’ll meet you there. Hahahahaha, I hate golf and the course is covered in snow, he should have a real good time waiting for me. It’s time to get back on the road.
Bentnose says we have to stop and see ivan in Puerto Rico, but he is a little confused, he thinks Puerto Rico is a neighborhood in the South Bronx, so skip that. We hit the Jersey Turnpike with two fists of alcohol, some liquid Demerol to chase it, a box of blunts to keep it interesting and all the bennies we can eat. The oil refineries are starting to look like sets for science fiction movies and Springsteen is howling on the radio, life is good until the cherry-top goes on behind us, so we start injesting as many of the illegal substances as we can, when the trooper walks up and knocks on the window. Wouldn’t you know it, it’s that damn buzzkill, kingab, ready to read us the riot act, he starts to tell us we better be out of the state in an hour, but his buddy billgulch yells out that highjacked ted and bobthehat were trying to steal the pig from the roof of Satriales and off they go. We get on Route 1 and start looking for Mo’s Dinner to get a blue plate special and flirt with keely the waitress. We see Mo, pgpg and dc but no keely. Mo tells us that as soon as she heard we were stopping by, she quit, packed her bags and drove 3,000 miles to avoid the hearbreak from our last meeting. Bentnose goes to get some hydro from the busboy and I have started to chat up a twist at the counter named, Barb. Next thing I know, bentnose is running from the kitchen towards the big, red Caddy being chased by one big and pissed off guy with a meat cleaver, when Barb smiles and says, “look, my husband jake has found someone to pal around with.” I hit the door and just make it into the car while bentnose peels out of the parking lot.
We get back on the turnpike but the booze and pills are starting to take their toll and soon we pull into a rest stop to finish the brandy and catch a quick 40 winks. I think the combination of Absinthe and acid is playing tricks on me. I could have sworn a VW van pulled in with fats, stoners, barndog, pye, kaif, rharfo, epic and fabman singing “up with people” and a” hundred bottles of beer on the wall”, having a Chinese firedrill and driving away giving each other high 5’s. Damn, maybe my old guidance counselor, Mr Mackey, was right after all, drugs are bad, nah, just an hallucination.
We pull into a roadhouse/stripper bar in Maryland to reload the cooler with beer, Jack and coke and to catch the show with pole dancers extraordinaire, snowflake, winter and absolut. Damn!!!!! Can they really do that in this state? The band was giving us a headache, what do you expect with a lead singer named Z. whirlwind told me the guy was strung out and sold the other letters in his name to sesame street to support his habits, he also sold his rights to use the notes a, d, high and low e and any blues progression in b flat.
My attorney, topicount, calls to let us know that that fink kingab has an apb out on us and involved the feds for interstate issues. She couldn’t stay on the horn long, another client of hers, raider, decided to have a smoke in his crystal meth lab and blew up a city block and then tried to sell the judges shares in Saarland. She lets us know where the party is but suspects the premises is under surveillance by the DEA and they are under surveillance by Kennedy conspiracy buff and closet liberal, theavenger, in his quest to prove to the world that Rush Limbaugh is the anti-christ and the largest oxycotin distributor in the world. Afc still hasn’t figured out how to turn on a computer or use a phone, so he sends a carrier pigeon message telling us he is performing surgery and a colonoscopy on himself and won’t make the party, but some guy named mike wallace is going to pick up the tab. At the door, the bouncer, knighmare, keeps telling us we’re not on the list but for a “bargain” 2500 credits, he’ll see what he can do. Now I’m talking to some nut in a santa suit with a beard and silver hair and I’m starting to hallucinate a bunch of elves until he says the cops are outside getting ready to raid the joint and pulls me over to the fireplace, puts a finger to his nose and up we go to the roof. Then he says his friends call him big stretch and he is headed south, where the beers are Mexican and the food is chicken friend steak.
Allright, that’s it. I have friggin had enough with these nutcases, the FBI,CIA, DEA and the message board police are all after me, the girls are avoiding me and my drugs are starting to wear off. Enough is enough! Since the BTB paid me in advance, they even gave me money for a photographer, which I already spent on some fine muscatel, and they won’t be able to find me, this will have to do. Merry Xmas, bigger bets and better mutuels. Don’t try to find me. I’m armed and dangerous!!!