spike the dealer assaults dr phil

Spike Assaults Dr. Phil
As you know or don't, Spike the dealer is a mean, nasty, petty oaf, who somehow, during his cab days, made a connect with a big dealer who gives him the most wicked weed in town for cheap as hell, which he in turn smokes a little of and then sells the rest. Mostly to me but also to this gay, bald, drunken computer nerd, Freddy, who I am introducing to you now, because in good time, he will be a part of this tale.


Spike has a bit of a gambling problem. When he drove cab he was always down at the off track betting, and when he retired and his wife bought a computer, he naturally turned to internet gambling.

Now, Spike is a good card player -- not out of any natural talent or developed craft, mind you, no, he learned the hard way, by losing a house, cars, a couple wives, etc... and he blames 'bad luck' for all of this mind you, not himself. Well, at least he did until the day he somehow became mentally entangled with the doctor Phil show... and started doing what he calls, 'Living the Phil.' This is appalling to me of course, being an intellectual who is doing his best to partake in the shit specking job of tugging heads out of asses.

For all of Spike's faults, you should know that I, Johnny Pain, have grown fond of this old fart. I can't help but respect someone who can hate all of humanity more than me. In this respect his years of cab driving truly helped him along the path toward seeing humanity as the disease it can be. His college of hard knocks included teachers who shot him -- once during a robbery, and once just for being what the shooter said was, "Just too fucking annoying to live." This odious fodness propels me to occasionally try to help him out, when I can. And seeing a human being become irrational by worshiping another's views to the exclusion of their own galls me any time, let alone someone who sells me wicked weed cheap who is in danger of getting so 'well' that he quits selling me said wicked weed cheap....

So, as you can imagine, with my best connect ever in danger of going over to the mind mushy ones who can't handle the world, let alone drugs, I have been thinking for days and days of ways to get him free from the grips of PHILLING. All of my mental mastication (thought I was going to write your favorite word, 'masterbation,' didn't you, dear readers -- jesus, you, you don't even remember what a sex life is like, do you?) were for naughtm because as it turned out, Dr. Phil would do the de-programming for me.

You see, Spike called their producer and said that he had kicked a 'serious gambling habit' by watching this ego maniacal looking boof, Doc Phil the human pill... And since they had no idea what they were getting into, the producer invited Spike, his wife, and a 'close friend who knows about the changes in him,' to come on the show.

Spike has no close friends, and doesn't want any either. He told me why once, saying, "Look, kid, I smell bad enough, without bringing in another human to stink the place up. You know what I mean?" There is only me and this other guy who buys weed from him, Freddy the gay computer nerd, who has huge black, factory like glasses that were hip once long ago, is on the piggo side, and though I like him I have to say, can appear kind of creepy. He kind of hunches over all the time and cocks his head about like a parrot. And his eyes, which are already on the bulgy side, go pure red when he smokes weed.

Spike asked me first, since I at least appear normal to the eye, and I of course told him, "Spike, man, you know where I am on this -- there isn't enough weed in the world to get me on the doctor phil show (which isn't true, I guess... I meant that spike doesn't have enough weed to get me on Dr Phil)."

Then he hit up Frank, who is unemployed at the moment and thus, as is his way when he is not at work, staying piss drunk on budweiser, promising Frank a case of beer and a half ounce -- which is more sticky bud than he's seen since he got fired after getting so drunk one day at work that he decided, for reasons that make perfect sense to me, to take a piss on his bitchy bosses desk...

The three of them drove down to the show, waited until their turn, and went on. Now, unbeknowst to Spike, his wife had also talked to the producers, and she had told them enough about Spike that Dr Phil had decided he would confront the old fart on his 'bad attitude,' and general hostility toward the world. They then called Freddy, who often spends time talking to Spike's wife, and had indeed decided to take her part (she doesn't like me -- for reasons best forgotten by all concerned . . . or at least until a few statues of limitations run out...).

Basically, Spike was bushwacked by all three of them telling him that his 'bitterness' came from 'post tramatic stress syndrome' from driving on the -- and yes, they actually said this, though it is hardly true -- 'mean, dirty streets of Chicago.'

Spike had been expecting this to be a show about how great he was for not gambling, and he was pissed off royal. He sat there for a few minutes quietly looking from one to the other with a murderous look on his face, stood up with a cup in his hand full of hot coffee, and then threw the scalding liquid right into Dr.Phil's face, burning him badly enough that he started crying and had to go to the hospital. They totally cancelled the show then...

Spike and Freddy and his wife were all hauled off to jail for a few hours. The producers of the show finally decided that pressing charges would be bad publicity, so they let them all go... I guess Spike drove to the nearest off track betting facility and lost a couple hundred (money he had, absurdly enough, taken along to the show hoping to take Dr. Phil to dinner and discuss how wonderful he was now that he was no longer gambling).

Now Freddy is banned from buying weed over there, and his wife is staying at her sisters for the weekend. Spike is happily drinking vodka, smoking weed and marlboros, and playing texas hold em when awake.

Dog, love him, I am glad he untied his chimp again. ... I mean, what the hell, he's happier in the subliminal thrill...