Top of the morning to ya. Prof. Box here, wanting to tell you jokers about another groovy story of mine. Lemme just start by asking, has anyone ever stolen something? How about, has anyone ever had something stolen from them? Well this ones sorta a bit more like the former question rather than the latter. At least it would be, had I been a smidgen more successful.
There is probably nothing that grinds my gears up more than rich assholes who love to flaunt their wealth. I mean really, does putting your kid’s little red wagon up on 24 in. rims make you feel like a bowsss? Or does your ocean liner really need a fifth helicopter pad on it? Sure I’d like my dog to have her own Segway and personal trainer, but I just can’t squeeze that into my budget this quarter. Quite frankly, millionaire people can lick my neighbor’s poopshoot!
I get into my truck one Thursday afternoon, and drive to the Hilton Anatole in Dallas. I knew if there was some rich snob that had an X-box hooked up into their ride, then they would probably have a room at the top of that fancy place. I get there and a group of valets start playing rock-paper-scissors to see which one had to park old Betsy. I would feel pretty excited to be chosen with such a task as well. The kid who lost, begrudgingly walks up and sticks his hand out.
“Go ahead and check the tire pressure while you’re at it, sport.”, I say as I toss the valet my keys. You don’t get many opportunities for the good life treatment like this.
“Man, you outta just park this thing in a lot somewhere and burn it. I can’t believe people drive these old things!”, the valet said back to me, as he looked at the hand crank for the driver side window.
“Well there just went your tip, choadbreath!”, I replied. I guess if it’s not a Prius, it’s not worth driving to these tools.
I walk on up to the door, where there stood a doorman with a big smile on his face. His name badge said Hank.
“Good afternoon sir. May I trouble you to ask who rents out the top floor suite?”, I ask him.
“Mark Cuban. He’s been renting that place out for years.”, he said, as he held the door open for me.
“Great, thanks. Say…has anyone ever told you look just like a young Gene Hackman?”, I ask him in a friendly small talk sort of way. These hotel type people eat this sort of stuff up.
“Fuck off!”, he told me, as he slammed the door shut right before I could walk through it. Even the underpaid workers are asshats. This was going to be difficult I could see. The elevator guy didn’t fare much better.
“What floor will it be, sir?”, he asks me.
“Top floor. I’m going to the Cuban suite.”, I tells him. I give him one of those daring looks that only a rich crazy man could give.
“You a friend of Mr. Cubans or something?”, he asks me. What was with the third degree?
“Oh yeah, me and Mark go way back. We have lunch all the time when I am in town from Chicago.” Am I master deceiver or what!!
“Really, cuz he does stuff with friends all the time, and I have never seen you here before, Mr….uh what did you say your name was again?”, he asks, as he eyes me real hard like. Who does this clown think he is…Clint fuckin Eastwood?? Luckily, this boy scout always comes prepared.
“Defrank. Michael Defrank. Here, let me show you my license my good man.”, I say to him, as I reach in my pocket for my wallet. What Mr. Kojack doesn’t realize is that I have no wallet with me. Only a fool would carry identification on a mission like this. What I do have is a 2 million volt stun gun that my trigger happy finger can’t wait to jam in poor Charlie’s ribcage. And I use it swiftly and without prejudice to hotel workers everywhere. Just this mother trucker right here!
As we reach the top, I hit the lock button on the elevator doors and I quickly switch our clothes out. I imagine this going better if Cuban thinks I work for the hotel, and am not just some crazed impoverished man looking to extract my revenge upon our country’s highest tax bracket. I walk up to the door of the suite, and ring the bell. I grab my hotel hat and cradle it my arms like a baby and start petting it, just for added effect. The door opens.
“Excuse me, Mr. Cuban?”, I ask with the right degree of distraught in my voice.
“Yes that’s me. What can I do for you?”, he says to me. His teeth glistening like he brushes them with Evian water everyday.
“The main lobby just got a call. There….there has been a terrible accident involving your parents, sir.”
“What? My parents died four years ago. You must have the wrong person, son.”, he says back to me. Did not see that one coming.
“O..okay well no they aren’t YOUR parents exactly, but they are somebody’s parents. Anyways, it was such a horrific accident, and the doctors don’t think they will make it with out some really expensive surgery and stuff. You’re the only person in town closest enough to pay for that kind of surgery. Won’t you please consider coming down to help?” This will get him for sure.
“I…I don’t really know what to say. I am sorry for this terrible event, but I’m a busy man. I wish there was something I could do…”, he says back to me. Oh, but there is Mark. There is indeed!
“Hey look over there!”, I say as I whip out the stun gun and give him a good juicing with it. There is nothing like the feel of taking from the rich and giving back to the poor. Robin Hood must have been on cloud nine all the time! I start to drag his limp, unconscience body back to the elevator, when all of a sudden the place gets stormed by swat team agents. This was not good.
“What the hell gives!”, I yell as I’m being tacked and forced fed a piece of the burgundy carpet underneath me. I figured if I am going down I at least deserve some kind of explanation for this raid.
“It’s all over scum! Hank the door man called us and told us he suspected something bad was going to happen to Mr. Cuban today, so we got here as fast as we could. Your going away for a long long time!”, the apparent leader of the team said to me.
Oh what a bitch! I thought me and Hank were cooler than that, but apparently I was a huge misjudge of character. This was all your fault Gene Hackman.
I hope where ever they end up sending me, there is somebody there who was once a hotel doorman, so I can stomp their ass for all of this. That and I hope the food is tolerable.
Fin
