JIMBO THE BARTENDER TAKES A TURN FOR THE WORSE…..zuki wonders who let the dogs out

Good Morning Victims of Comstockery,

Several of you have asked me about Jimbo our beloved Bartender at the ‘Maggot.’ You may recall he suffered catastrophic injuries from being rammed while waiting for traffic to move. The texting 50-year-old woman has shown little remorse. Now it’s too late. It saddens me to inform you that Jimbo has passed away from his injuries.

His poor wife was inconsolable! I called upon Brent, Duncan, and Cush and promised her we’d take care of the funeral arrangements. I wanted to share the service with the two or three of you still reading this iconoclastic cod piece:

As we arrived at the East entrance to Jefferson County Land Fill, I was relieved to find the gate unlocked. Between the four of us we’d raised enough cash ($19.34) to bribe ‘Murph’ to leave it open.

Thankfully there was nearly a full moon last night that provided enough illumination to keep the company van’s lights off. Brent jumped out, opened the gate, and as quietly as the old van would permit, I drove in.

I’d never been there before and wasn’t sure where we should go. I desperately needed to make our way to the Southeast corner of the fill to carry out this truly macabre burial of old Jimmy. Driving by the sections where they’d separate junk from garbage, it felt as though we were headed the right direction.

I drove slowly, in a Southerly direction until I reached a fence. Everyone was nervous about having to explain why we had a week old body (wrapped in garbage bags secured with duct tape) in a van illegally on county property.

Duncan had brought a couple of candles in a jar and placed them near the area we had selected for Jimbo’s interment. The little bit of light they provided was just enough to keep us from stumbling around. Cush was supposed to have organized this ghoulish little party to save the expense of a formal burial, but he lost it and began sobbing. As he always is, it was becoming a bit too loud, so we asked him to wait in the van until the garbage grave had been dug. In spite of the porous soil, it was difficult to make headway because we kept digging up chunks of refrigerators or stacks of magazines.

“Damn it” Duncan whispered, “I hear dogs”. He was right. The sound of barking dogs seemed to be getting closer by the second. “Great!” I thought, “That’s all we need; guard dogs would certainly be followed closely by the security guards, and we’re most certainly busted.” Something had to be done quickly!

Everyone was of the same mind as we each grabbed one of his stiff limbs and began to drag his decaying shell back into the van. We’d managed to go a few steps when it was obvious we weren’t going to make it. Silhouetted by the moon, we could see at least three big dogs coming over the hill of garbage headed directly at us.

Time was up.

We dropped the carcass and jumped into the van closing the door just as three large Dobermans arrived. The dogs never stopped barking and continued circling the van. Then one of the dogs noticed the “Hefty” plastic bag of a shroud had ripped open during our futile struggle and began to sniff at Jimbo’s decomposing body.

Now the other dogs began to sniff, but they quit barking. “Oh my God,” I thought, “They’re going to eat him!” One dog was now tugging on an arm until it broke away, and off he went, carrying Jimmy’s arm in its mouth like a bone to be buried. The two other dogs were now fighting over Jim’s head. The biggest dog dug in and ripped a large section of face off distinguishable only by a nose.

This was not happening. As I suspected, we saw what appeared to be flashlights and heard men’s voices coming our direction. Thankfully the van started without a hitch so I hit the gas and turned on the lights for our get-a-way.

Hardly a word was spoken. Cush was again sobbing openly. “I never got to tell him I loved him”, he cried, holding his head in his hands. It was truly unfortunate that we never got poor Jim in the ground. He certainly deserved to be buried in a land fill, but we just couldn’t get it done.

Plus, I’ll never be able to listen to the song “Who let the dogs out” without being creeped out. R.I.P. James!