Wednesday, December 18, 2002

this is an old story, I am just reposting it for grins:


Larry The Parrot

All week people have been asking me to share the story of Larry the Parrot.

I won some contest on a local radio station, then emailed some pals and told them I won the contest by telling parts of the story of Larry the Parrot. So I thought I told EVERYONE the story, apparently I had not. Here goes.

In the late 1980's, when Mike the Bartender and I were still racing really crummy motorcycles, he was living in his house on Jefferson Avenue, with Tom the Box Head Cat and Larry the Parrot. Mike insisted his mother used to love Larry more than either of her sons, which I doubt, but strangely, Larry stayed with Mike. He got fed and played with, but was a rather old parrot who could only say two words. "FEED - Larry."

One time we came back from a long weekend at the races, and Larry was demised. Alan, Mike's roommate at the time had left the house to go stay with his girlfriend, a day trip turned into a weird drug riding weekend, Alan did not come home, the weather turned cold, the windows were left open, Sunday evening, Larry was no more.

NORMAL people would have buried Larry in a shoebox in the garden. Mike, however, well, uhhh. yeah. His previous roommate Miles was a ... Well, Mike put Larry in the freezer. In a Ziploc bag for freshness. Miles was a taxidermist, and Mike was going to take Larry to Miles and have him stuffed. The plan was to put Larry back in the cage, mother was aging, she would not notice, all would be okay.

EXCEPT, in addition to not being normal, Mike is a little, well, he is not lazy, he just doesn't really believe in the laws of time and space like most everyone else on the planet. A few days turned into a few weeks turned into a few months. Larry basically lived in the freezer.

This is not so strange, he WAS in a Ziploc bag after all, and he was frozen.

I was motoring along on my little Suzuki GT 185, leaving Mike's house actually, he was late for a dinner appointment, and I had given up and was headed home, minding my own business when some pizza driver turned left in front of me, I broke many of the bones in my left hand, my right collarbone, and my coccyx. (that's the little bone at the base of your spine).

And for the first time I can remember, I was semi conscious for the ambulance ride. To the Emergency Room. 40 feet away. Where they were eating, yes. PIZZA! That the guy had just delivered, before he made a left out of the parking lot and tried to put ME in the giant Ziploc bag and freezer for humans.

The ambulance driver did NOT put on the lights OR run the siren. I got gypped! I was between jobs, no insurance, the doctor told me "Our job is to stop the bleeding, anything more, and you MUST pay up front." So I handed them my credit card with the VERY good limit. I was going to get fixed. The nurses were nice, until I vomited all over them when the doctor cut open my hand to fix the bones.

Anyhow, a few THOUSAND dollars later, Mike comes into the ER to see me.

He got the message I had a nurse leave on his answering machine at the house. Sure, I can stay at his place for a while, he can give me a lift, "what's your name Nurse.....?"

He almost picked her up too! Then I gakked again.

So we go to his house, and realize, with pins in my left hand, and a sling for the broke shoulder on the right, BOTH my hands are tied up. This leads to all sorts of weirdness I do not EVEN care to go into. Fortunately the pain pills were great, and I got some swell sleep on the couch, AFTER closing the windows.

A few days later, Mike decides the thing that would really cheer me up would be to go out to a few bars.

We drove down to Paradise Nightclub and restaurant for some really exquisite pot roast, I kid you not, it is their specialty. Then Mike had a few vodka tonics. I was loopy enough from the pain killer. Which I realized why they gave me. Nothing to do with the hand or collar bone. The Coccyx (that little bone at the end of your spine) hurts every time it moves, when it is broke. Guess when it moves? When you sit. When you stand. When you go from sitting to standing. When you go from standing to sitting. When you walk. When you talk, when you breathe. But it hurts ESPECIALLY bad when you have to go to the bathroom. Number Two. I cannot begin to express the amount of pain. I did not want to eat JUST so I would not have to go poo.

But the pot roast was swell, and the pain pills made up for any drinks I missed out on.

After dinner, Mike decided we should go down the street to Mercado Caribe, a Jamaican bar/restaurant/bazaar.because his pal Michael E. Johnson and the Killer Bees were playing. This is one seriously fine band of Rastafarians kicking out some amazing jams. I stood at a table by the wall, with a soda pop, and 3 straws pressed into each other, end-to-end, to make a REALLY long straw I can reach without moving much. Now remember, I am loaded on pain pills, I have one arm in a sling, and one arm sticking out and up with pins stinking out of the fingers and hand. I am NOT a vision of loveliness. Nor do I care to be.

Mike comes and goes, other pals stop and chat, refill my glass, etc. then around closing, Mike comes over with two slightly overweight girls, a brunette and a blonde.

Well, the closer they get, the more I realize, slightly is a kind way to put it.

As they approach the table, I drop slightly entirely. these heifers are huge!

Mike introduces me, and STRANGELY, he is pointing out the blonde one as "mine". I politely decline and tell them I am not feeling too social. He pulls me aside and says play along, he wants the brunette, she has the biggest hooters he has ever seen. I can smell the rum dripping off him, he is saturated. A warm rum sweat intermingled with the sickly-sweet aroma of very expensive Jamaican silly cigarettes is the indicator that your pal has drank WAY too much at a Rastafarian show.

"yes Mike, but from your height, that is ALL you can see, down here, short person I can tell you, under them hooters, she is completely cylindrical, that is a BIG girl"

"Play along, as long as we get them to my house, I will be happy" he says.

Oh Lord, it is gonna be one of THOSE evenings.

We walk over to their car, ANOTHER giveaway we should have bailed. A P.O.S. Chevy Citation 2-door stacked FULL of garbage. One of the girls just moved to town, and has not found a place to live, how big IS Mike's house.

They give us a lift, I do not know how, to where Mike left his car. I will ride to his place with the blonde, he will take the brunette in his car. They walk over to his car, start it, pull 1/2 way out of the parking place, then it stops, goes into park and gets turned off as I see her head dive toward his lap.

"What are they doing?" the blonde asks. Well, at least she really is a true blonde. I do not explain, as I do not want to give her any ideas. We sit in silence a few moments, when the guy who owns the car Mike just blocked in walks up and tells ME that he needs MY friend to move the car.

"Sir, he seems to be pretty involved, I'd just wait a few minutes, it won't be that long, I promise you"

No, Bubba needs to go home NOW.

He walks up to Mike's car. Now remember, I WARNED him not to. Does anyone EVER listen to me? NO.

He knocks on the window, and starts talking about "move your damn car..."

When I see Mike, leaning back, doing what YOU KNOW he is doing, reach over to the glove box, pull out a .45, point it at the guy, and I can hear "GO SIT DOWN AND WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE, I AM GETTING A HUMMER FROM A GIRL WITH THE BIGGEST HOOTERS I HAVE EVER SEEN!" and strangely, bubba does as instructed.

Mike finishes, brunette re-appears, gun goes away, car starts and drives away, Bubba goes to his car, Blonde and I get back into Chevy and follow Mike to his house. We arrive shortly, and Mike is all over the brunette. I am telling him "Dude, I can SEE how big she is in this light, ewwww" He is undeterred. He has a plan.

He wants to boink with her in the back of his 1959 Cadillac in the front yard. Relive some high school fantasy memory thing. All I need to do is keep her friend occupied in the house.

GROSS! NO WAY, this is twisted and wrong.

Not even on a bad rum binge is this a good idea. But he goes outside, and I am trapped on the couch when the blonde turns into Miss Busy Fingers. "Please do not touch me, I am not at all interested in you" Does not stop her. I stand up and go outside. Mike cannot get the brunette into the backseat.

The 1959 Cadillac Coupe De Ville had doors that were almost 10 feet long.

And she will not FIT! HELLOOOO MIKE! This is what we call a "warning sign" he is undeterred, he will put some cardboard on the ground NEXT to the car, with her upper torso in the car, and her legs on the ground.

I go back into the house because it is VERY cold outside, and now I need to get rid of that soda pop. It is a tedious process one handed, but I was wearing sweat pants, not my usual 501 Levis, so that was a PLUS. When I get done in the bathroom, and come back out to the living room, the blonde has shed her shirt and is in what she probably thought was a truly seductive pose.

Strangely, it made me think I needed new tires. She looked like BIB, the Michelin Man. White, lumpy and with rings around her.

That's it, I am done. I will NOT be molested by an overly large, horny, homeless blonde. I am on pain killers, and I have a broken coccyx. I know nothing good will come out of the evening. Inspiration strikes.

"Say, have you met Larry?"
(and some of y'all were wondering what all this had to do with the parrot)

"No" she replied, "I just met Mike tonight, I just moved here this morning"

"Technically, you have not even moved here Ma'am, all your stuff is still in your car, but never mind about that, let me introduce you to Larry" I say.

"Is he horny?" she asks

"No, he is a bird"

and we walk into the kitchen, I open the freezer, and pull out the bag of Larry.

"That's sick, you are sick, what sick people keep a dead parrot in the freezer?"

"He's not dead, he's just westing. See the sign, this is a westinghouse"

It worked. She grabbed her shirt, bolted out the door, and tried to grab her friend who was involved in some strange half-in the car, half on the ground doggy sex with Mike. Who managed to finish JUST as the blonde grabbed her friend, hysterically screaming about dead birds, sick people, pins in hands, and needing to go right now.

and they left.

But Mike was done, so he did not mind so much. He did chastise me about moving Larry, and showing respect for the dead, then he staggered into the house, barfed and went to bed.

The next morning was really afternoon, and we got up, I woke Mike up and made fun of him for doing a really big girl. "but she had the biggest hooters I have ever seen" was his only defense. We walked outside, I pointed at the ground next to the cardboard, (something I still, to this day do not understand) and said "look, that is NOT an area rug, those are her underpants" and they were HUGE.

Dude, you could not even get her into the back seat of the CADILLAC. I have put really big ice chests and 5 people back there. She was HUGE!

He swore me to a seven year non disclosure period on that story.

Seven years to the DAY I walked into the bar he was working at, ordered a martini, asked him if he knew what day it was. He said "Friday" So I turned to a girl at the bar and asked her if she had ever heard the story of Larry the Parrot.

Mike gasps, "it has been SEVEN years????" he knew exactly what day it was then.

Okay, so anyhow, many people are wondering, what happened to LARRY?

And I will tell you.

Almost a YEAR later, still no stuffed Larry. Mike had not had a chance to get him to Miles the Taxidermist. And Mike's mom STILL did not know Larry was demised. There was a HUGE ice storm in Austin, it knocked out power, and the Westinghouse gave up the ghost. When the power returned, the Westinghouse did not.

What does a NORMAL person do? Well, we have determined that these are NOT normal people. He pulled the refrigerator out to the center of the kitchen to look at the motor, got distracted, we went racing, I do not know, but for a few months, Mike had a ice chest on the kitchen table for cold food.

Then Spring came, and he decided the Westinghouse was, indeed dead. So he taped the doors shut with duct tape (duck tape) so no one would accidentally open it.

Then Summer came, Alan left, a new roommate moved in. He was a jazz man, and happy just to have a roof. But after a while, even he wanted a refrigerator, so he began to harass Mike about it. Someone had a deal, someone knew someone who knew where to get a refrigerator that fell off a truck, and a new fridge arrives.

I happened to be there on date of delivery. The same truck will take the old Westinghouse away.

A smart man, a wise man, a sane man would have said goodbye to the Westinghouse.

I am not that man.

I HAD TO KNOW!

I whup open a knife, slice the tape, and open the refrigerator side first.

All the food is gone, the Tupperware is full of black goo. everything smells horrible and is crusty. There is something polychromatic coming out of the meat drawer. The smell is horrendous.

Then I open the freezer.

Ziploc bag

feathers

black goo

wee small bird skeleton.

poor dead Larry.

We told Mike's mom he got out one day, and flew away.

It was the kind thing to say.

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