You call that a kangaroo? I call THIS a - fuck.
Kirk could sleep through all kinds'a weather. Rain, hail, snow, thunder, lightnin', you name it - he probably been unconscious in it. Came wit' the territory o' bein' an army vet, you either learned to sleep over the sound o' gunfire an' explosions or you went crazy and ran out into it.
Of course, he actually weren't no army vet at all. He was just pretendin' to be one. But he thought he was doin' a pretty good job of it, still.
Least the storm was over an' the weather was back to warm an' tropical, like it was goddamn supposed to be. Kirk couldn't be holdin' with islands all snowin' an' shit. Just ain't right. And his hut was back to a hut, too. Good thang. He din't like livin' like no eskimo, that was Snow Dogs, The Day After Tomorrow, March of the Penguins kinda bullshit. And hidin' in the snow got old once he realized he couldn't feel his motherfuckin' testicles one time.
He could feel 'em now, though. An' they felt good. He got two prospects on New Year: Sheba and that Val...Valerie...somethin-or-other, Claudia Black-lookin' chick. Yeah. 'Kay, so he was takin' it slow with Sheba, but the other one...damn. He wasn't too sure why he hadn't got it on wit her that night, but he could have and jus' didn't remember it. By the end o' the night he'd been pretty far gone.
Pity there wasn't no more alcohol left. He woulda liked to bring a bottle o' wine up to Sheba's and chilled wit her for an evenin'. Maybe all the way into the morning, like. Heh. Yeah.
Yeah.
Anyhow, women was the first thing on Kirk Lazarus's mind when he stepped outta his hut that mornin', 'cos somebody'd left a god damn basket on his doorstep. He stared at it. There was somethin' in it wrapped in a blanket, and he'd seen enough motherfuckin' orphan movies to know what this shit meant.
"Aw, fuck," he said. "I ain't even slept with nobody yet!" Sighin', he bent down to tug a fold o' blankets aside, then let out a yell and fell back onto his ass in shock.
God damn!
Ten minutes later he was in the Compound, blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms, eyes dartin' back and forth 'sif he was searchin' out for a Chinese motherfucker come roarin' outta a doorway. He probably woulda preferred it to what had actually happened.
What the fuck was he supposed to do with a baby kangaroo, was what he wanted to know. The thing was lyin' all peaceful-like in his arms, tail hangin' out, starin' up at him with big Joey eyes that reminded him o' someone, but he couldn't think who just now. He had to go find someone who knew how to take care o' animals. Or, failin' that, a book on kangaroos.
Kirk might be Australian deep down, but he wasn't no motherfuckin' Kangaroo Jack. No matter what that fudge-packin', ass-lickin', pussy-collectin', dick-cravin' Alpa Chino said.
Motherfucker.
Of course, he actually weren't no army vet at all. He was just pretendin' to be one. But he thought he was doin' a pretty good job of it, still.
Least the storm was over an' the weather was back to warm an' tropical, like it was goddamn supposed to be. Kirk couldn't be holdin' with islands all snowin' an' shit. Just ain't right. And his hut was back to a hut, too. Good thang. He din't like livin' like no eskimo, that was Snow Dogs, The Day After Tomorrow, March of the Penguins kinda bullshit. And hidin' in the snow got old once he realized he couldn't feel his motherfuckin' testicles one time.
He could feel 'em now, though. An' they felt good. He got two prospects on New Year: Sheba and that Val...Valerie...somethin-or-other, Claudia Black-lookin' chick. Yeah. 'Kay, so he was takin' it slow with Sheba, but the other one...damn. He wasn't too sure why he hadn't got it on wit her that night, but he could have and jus' didn't remember it. By the end o' the night he'd been pretty far gone.
Pity there wasn't no more alcohol left. He woulda liked to bring a bottle o' wine up to Sheba's and chilled wit her for an evenin'. Maybe all the way into the morning, like. Heh. Yeah.
Yeah.
Anyhow, women was the first thing on Kirk Lazarus's mind when he stepped outta his hut that mornin', 'cos somebody'd left a god damn basket on his doorstep. He stared at it. There was somethin' in it wrapped in a blanket, and he'd seen enough motherfuckin' orphan movies to know what this shit meant.
"Aw, fuck," he said. "I ain't even slept with nobody yet!" Sighin', he bent down to tug a fold o' blankets aside, then let out a yell and fell back onto his ass in shock.
God damn!
Ten minutes later he was in the Compound, blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms, eyes dartin' back and forth 'sif he was searchin' out for a Chinese motherfucker come roarin' outta a doorway. He probably woulda preferred it to what had actually happened.
What the fuck was he supposed to do with a baby kangaroo, was what he wanted to know. The thing was lyin' all peaceful-like in his arms, tail hangin' out, starin' up at him with big Joey eyes that reminded him o' someone, but he couldn't think who just now. He had to go find someone who knew how to take care o' animals. Or, failin' that, a book on kangaroos.
Kirk might be Australian deep down, but he wasn't no motherfuckin' Kangaroo Jack. No matter what that fudge-packin', ass-lickin', pussy-collectin', dick-cravin' Alpa Chino said.
Motherfucker.