I Wish I Could Say This Is the First Time I’ve Been Handcuffed to a Radiator.
Man, I really wish I could say this is the first time this has happened to me. Hell, I wish I could say it’s the third. But it’s not. Nope. Four times. This is the fourth time I’ve been handcuffed to a radiator. Second time by your organization, now that I think about it.
Of course, if you want to split hairs about the whole thing, there have been a handful of times I’ve been handcuffed to other household appliances and/or fixtures. Like just a couple of weeks ago I found myself handcuffed to one of those sleek new Sharper Image ionic air purifiers. That, my friends, was a little bit of all right, if you’re talking about being handcuffed to something. Those things are whisper fucking quiet. No joke. And if I had to use the bathroom, it was as simple as unplugging that masterpiece of design and function and just lugging it with me to the can. It was like barely being handcuffed to anything at all. I was breathing a lot better, too. I could tell, my heart rate was way lower than normal during the repeated, vicious brass-knuckle beatings.
You know, now that we’re on the subject, that Trane outdoor central-air unit I got handcuffed to last August wasn’t terrible, either. But let me tell you, as efficient and effective as those systems are, they don’t do shit for you unless you’re inside the house. Man, it must been 110 degrees that week!
Yeah, those times were nothing like this Truman-era-lead-paint-coated-radiator-with-ammonia-filled-bucket-for-a-toilet deal you guys got me on now. But hey, I’m being rude. Your professionalism really couldn’t be more top-notch. The beatings in particular. Aces. Good work, especially around the kidneys and eyes. Big Jimmy has really done a lot to improve the morale and general gusto of his organization. Last time he had me handcuffed to a radiator, in an abandoned middle school, the goons he used would just as soon sit there and read Maxim as ball-peen you in the sternum. Probably got put on desk jobs, those slobs, am I right? Ha! Not really “collections” material, right? Ha! … But you guys, though! Forget about it! I haven’t coughed up blood like this since Big Ralphie’s guys handcuffed me to that ‘82 Ford Escort down at Dumpleton’s Junkyard.
Big Ralphie is in a different league altogether, though. Has you guys beat on creativity, no contest. Sorry, fellas, had to be said. One time, the man had me handcuffed to 13 prewar waffle irons that he chained together (personally, I should mention) beforehand just for the occasion. Not only was I super impressed but I also felt special. Man, I was like some kind of crazy ghost, banging around up in that church belfry with all those waffle irons and chains, getting beaten within an inch of my life! That Ralphie, he is a thoughtful, meticulous man. Big Jimmy could learn a thing or two from him.
No disrespect, though, no disrespect. Like I said, Big Jimmy has come a long way, and you two are a testament to that fact. He’s moved leaps and bounds past Moderately Sized Wilson, that’s for sure. That guy! What an amateur! Man, I don’t even feel like I owe him money. More like a student loan. When his guys handcuffed me to a radiator, they actually asked me if the cuffs were too tight! Ha! I don’t even know why I count that time in the illustrious four. I mean, I got a worse beating when I called that guy at H&R Block a pencil-neck dipshit!
Of course, tax evasion isn’t something we have to get into right now, as I can see you dudes are busy filling that tube sock with quarters, which—gotta be honest again here—seen it before. Painful, yeah, I’ll give you that, but not Big Ralphie painful.
Hey, guys, before you start in again, you mind passing me the ammonia bucket?
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