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| Jimbo
by captaincareless at 5/12/2008 10:10:23 AM
(Jimbo)
“01, 33, 41, 16, 55, 07 those were the numbers that changed Jim’s life”. Jim was a normal man. A powerless man, who had always dreamed of power. Those were the numbers on his ticket….. that ticket was a lotto ticket.
You see. Jim was a rather poor fellow. At this point in his life he was now living in his small 20 year old pick-up. This beat hunk had a shell which contained everything he needed for day to day living. In it lay a futon , a camping stove, a sleeping bag, canned goods, bottled water and canned beer, a few wackoff mags and one copy of “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli. Jim was not homeless. The truck was his home. He was however jobless but with an income. His income amounted to $800 dollars a month that came every month to his PO Box from the disability gods. Some doc had said he was nuts (bi-polar was the term he used).Jim had insisted that he was just on drugs. However once the doc told him about a disability stipend from the great state of California. Funny thing….. Jim now insist he’s Bi-Polar! Eight hundred dollars. FREE!!!...Plenty enough for life on the cheap…..and to Jim….life was cheap.
Years of working as a low paid asshole had taught Jim that his life was cheap. His life as viewed from others was worth nary a dime. Oh! boy did the shit jobs he’s done throughout his life reinforce this notion! Over and over again he toiled and plodded through some of the most mind numbing, mind dumbing, mind INSULTING!!! Jobs on god’s shit filled earth…..and because of this Jim’s lesson was learned. That life, his and others….. was cheap.
In Jim’s mind he was a BIG man. Why did a big man have to take orders? Why did a big man have to be polite? Humble? Furthermore. Why did HE!... have to be polite, humble and groveling to lesser beings? And they we’re always lesser beings! The lesser. The more orders on how to do things supposedly better. The lesser. The more constantly annoying and on his back. Lesser beings. Individuals(or robots rather) with the I.Qs of 70, 80, 90, but never seemingly more then 100. Retards with authority. They always take managerial positions. When they should just f*ck off… and leave poor Ol’ Jim alone.
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Jim was feeling nice and alone when he pulled up to the gas station one fine afternoon (though it was blazing hot that day. With dry superheated air capriciously buffeting everything with sand and up rooted tumble weeds. The sand went everywhere too! Up ones nose, into the mouth, ears, eyes and all nether holes!) That was the normal high desert weather that suited Jim’s sand pitted truck and face very well. Good weather for a day of winning. Weather like that makes one fancy the idea of lotto ticket purchasing on a whim. On a whim maybe he could change the weather. Whim being maybe his life. Whim being maybe change the value others placed on him. Whim being. Maybe he could become a hum-whim-being. So Jim bought one ticket.
Jim let the machine pick out the numbers for him. You know “Really leave it up to fate this time” he thought. He always despised those bastards in front of him in line that always took forever dealing with lotto gambling at a gas station. When he usually bet on the “sure things” of gas, beer, smokes and Gatorade. He always seemed to be in a big rush to get to the beer (and the desert on the edge of town where he always parked to drink and scream obscenities at the moon about how “THIS IS MY EARTH AND UNIVERSE and that I!!! AM!!! The one being benevolent and piteous enough to others whom I let “share” MY world with. IT WAS NOT GOD!!! MOTHER F*CKERS!!!BUT ME!!!” And yada, yada, yada until the wee hours of the morning when he passed out.) Yup, our boy Jim was always in a hurry. In fact it seemed every line he’d ever been que’d up in put him in a instant hurry. A silent frenzy within to finish.
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