KungFu Mike vs. Rodney the Apartment Painter - December 2, 2006

(Reconditioning Batteries)

Before reading any further, you must play song as background music.

I know what you're thinking. "KungFu Mike lives in an apartment?! I figured he lived in a big fucking mansion with wily midget butlers serving him fancy libations", and you would be right; I only summer here in this slumhole ratfuck shanty that perpetually smells like a fresh autopsy and a truck stop had a baby, it keeps me from letting my Antichristal grip on the Internet go to my head.

Considering that the last time the main apartment hallway was painted was by timid, African slaves using lopped horse tails as brushes (and that most of the leases are up for renewal next month), my greasy Greek slumlord finally broke down and hired a guy to slap a fresh coat on everything in sight - without warning any of the tenants. Let's go - Stavros!! *clap, clap, clap-clap-clap*

I woke up early this morning, pounded a pot of black tar heroin coffee, threw on a dirty pair of short and shirt that I found on the floor and headed out to grab a pack of smokes and grab a bite to eat...only to find that I had been painted into my third floor apartment.

Figure 1.1) Pretty Streamers + Colored Duct Tape + Wet Paint = Worst. Bar Mitzvah. Ever.

I stormed to the top of the stairs through the tacky paint on the floor, balling up my sweaty fists and ready to rain down on whatever migrant worker was unintentionally trying to hold me hostage in my decrepit hovel with a salvo of hate missiles.

I guess Cousin Larry was busy, so Balki decided to hire the next best thing; a cross-eyed, Marb Red chain smoking, Caterpillar camouflage clad mountain dweller named Rodney. I've seen a lot of rednecks in my day, and I'm pretty sure Rodney is related to/had condomless face sex with all of them. If Rodney weighed in at 140 lbs soaking wet, half of that could be contributed to the sizeable mustache gracing his sunken mug. Seriously, it looked like someone stapled a dead ferret to a deflated volleyball.

Regardless, Rodney was obviously new to the whole thinking thing, so I refrained from rifling my coffee mug at his neck and force funneling oil based paint into his unfinished jigsaw puzzle of a mouth and took another route out of my apartment, which involves winding corridors and about four sets of stairs.

Later on this evening, I was outside of my place smoking a cigarette at the alternate entrance of my building, when out of nowhere stumbled no other than Rodney, who looked and smelled like he had skipped dinner and decided to swim in a pool filled with Canadian Club instead.

Rodney: "I'm Rodney. Eww got a beerrrrr?" (Slurring like someone accidentally put an elbow on a playing turntable)

Me: "Huh, what?"

Rodney: "Urrr that guy that lives here, way up dere on the fird floor."

Me: "Yep, that's me."

Rodney: "You hate me fer paintin' you in dere t'day, doncha?"

Me: "Nah man, no worries. You're just doing your job, dude."

Rodney: "Well wah won't eww get me a beerrrr, den?"

Me: "I don't have any beer, dude, but look (pointing), you are working directly underneath a bar. Go on in and have a drink, they have tons of booze."

Rodney:"Eeeeuureee useless, you know dat?!"

Me: "Why am I useless, Rodney?"


"I tell you what, if you can find a beer around here, you can drink it."

Rodney sauntered over to a flower box and began clawing through dried up mulch for invisible beer. I took the last drag of my cigarette and turned for the door.

"Ahhhmm paintin' fer the next two days, pal. Eww ain't seen the last of me yet!!"

Me: "Awesome. Have a good night, man. Be safe."

Rodney: "...Stooooopid mutherfacker."

So there you have it folks; a nomadic, alcoholic painter-for-hire is going to spend the next two days lazily slathering the walls and floors of my building with paint and plotting my demise. This is my life.

It is my regretful duty to inform you that the epic standoff between KungFu Mike and Rodney the Painter has come to an end.

Per a phone conversation I had with my landlord this afternoon -

"Oh, and just so you know, we'll have a new painter come in and finish up the hallway next week."

"Wait, new painter? What happened to Rodney? I haven't seen him since Tuesday morning."

"Where did you see him?"

"He was walking into the bar underneath the building."

(muffled) "Jesus Christ."

"Umm, well...you see...Rodney, umm..."

"Balki, where did the painter go?"

"He's, umm...he's been incarcerated."

"WHAT?! What the hell happened?"

"I guess he had some outstanding warrants on him when he got picked up for public drunkenness the other night."

"You hired a fugitive drunken felon to paint my fucking apartment hallway. That's nice, Balki. "

"He's a good employee, it's just that he really can't hold his liquor. I guess he'll be going away for a while."

"You know I ran into him while he was stumbling around the building after his shift was over."

"Yeah, he tends to do that."

"...have a good day, Balki."

Posted by KungFu Mike at 4:43 PM

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