sexta-feira, outubro 24, 2008

Há todo um mundo de farmacêuticos zangados nos EUA. Conheçam o fantástico mundo de Jim Plagakis:

“Come on, asshole, do I look like a fuckin’ clerk? Where is the sign up front that says ‘Don’t look right, don’t look left, go straight back to the pharmacy and ask the guy in a white coat?’ You fuckin’ idiot.”

That is what I was aching to say. What I really said was, “I’m the pharmacist, sir. I don’t even think that this drug store sells 12 volt car batteries.” I was unlucky to be standing outside the pharmacy. My lunch break was just starting. I just wanted to eat my tuna and garbanzo bean salad in a pita bread and drink a bottle of water. The guy persisted.

“Every drug store sells 12 volt car batteries.” This asshole was drunk. The aldehyde stink coming from his mouth gagged me. He actually put his hand on my forearm and squeezed.

I spun and blasted this motherfucker on the side of the head. He went to his knees and looked up at me. There was a “what the fuck?” look on his face. I gave him a knee to the nose and had a thrill run up my body to see so much gushing, bright red blood. An ivory white tooth sat in the pool of red.

The store manager came back with a “what the fuck?” look on HIS face. I grabbed his throat. “If you don’t want some of the same, motherfucker, you’ll get your lousy ass back to your office.”

The battery guy was crawling away. I grabbed his right ankle and pulled him back. I had seen a cop show where the officer dropped his knee into a bad guy’s spine. So, I did it with a dramatic yell. There was a sickening crunch and I said, “Oh Oh”.

That is what I wanted to do. Instead I said, “It’s not my department. You’ll have to find someone else. This is the pharmacy. We fill prescriptions.”

He said, “How about I buy you lunch, Mister Pharmacist. We can talk business. Bring the Norcos.”

Enough is enough. This son of a bitch was going down. I swung at him, but had overestimated his state of drunkenness. He moved like a cat, but I dodged his girly girly fist. I assumed the position. Right foot back 6 inches, Fists at collarbone level. We eyed each other warily. I knew his weakness. He would throw a wild punch. I was ready. My daughter is a black belt in Taekwondo.

By now there was a crowd. Millie Cromby, the dentist’s wife eyes were lit up. She was breathing hard. Her nipples were hard underneath the filmy blous. She liked me and I liked her. I smiled. She smiled. With all this smiling, the battery guy had launched a lethal blow. I caught his wrist with my right hand, twisted to my left and, with a flat left hand, hit the rear of his right elbow of his straight arm. The strike made his arm bend in the wrong direction. There was a crunch and a yowl. I released the asshole and he fell like a wet rag to the floor. “Stay down, asshole.” He tried to roll over. “Stay down!” With a whimper, he embraced the floor.

I have wanted to do something like that for 44 years. It is so that when you vividly imagine something, the brain actually thinks it was real. A drug store fantasy. Ah, that felt good. Try it.


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