A Message from the Barnyard Lampoon:
Greetings, my fellow Americans. We here at the Barnyard Lampoon went against our better judgement and let our friend, Chuck Bond, write a guest column for the Lampoon. Chuck Bond writes out of Pittsburgh, KS. He’s known for being hairy and was at one point dating a stripper. While some of the following material is indeed censored (we have a rather large following among the retirement homes in the greater KC area) it is all his original writing. Enjoy.
A Post By: Chuck Bond
To Mustafa, Wherever You Are
I like to consider myself a well-learned, open-minded individual that never looks to violence to solve a problem. I learned even after 9/11, unlike most Americans, that not everyone from the Middle East is a terrorist set on ——- my ——– and blowing shit up. That being said if I see that son-of-a-bitch that goes by Mustafa, not making that up I truly believe his name is Mustafa, walking the streets of Pittsburg, Kansas again I’m going to get more American on his ass than a — fart and a 50 piece nugget bucket. What could cause all this anger and aggression you’re asking yourselves? Story time friends. Thursday nights down here in Pittsburg, the city I lovingly refer to as America’s taint, are the nights when everyone goes out and tries to forget the fact that they are stuck here for whatever reason. I’m convinced this town’s motto is: “Pittsburg, home of meth, stray cats, and broken dreams.” That being said, you can see how when people go out to party, they go out to PARTY. Nothing is better than waking up on Friday, not remembering any of your horrible decisions from the night before, and being strangely comforted by the knowledge that no matter what God-forsaken acts occurred it’s really ok because, hey, you’re in Pittsburg and worse shit has happened here, guaranteed. Ok so where does Mustafa come in? Hold your horses playboy I’m getting there. This last Thursday I strayed away from the usual routine of blacking out, making the public transport shuttle come pick me and about 10 other liquor missiles up at my house and take us to the bar, then screaming at townies at they fail miserably to sing karaoke. Instead I played power hour with one of my roommates for about an hour and a half then took more shots than Lindsay Lohan after a court appearance and wandered off into the darkness to find the other player in a recent sexting game. The roommates however stuck to the script and made it to the bar. On their way back to their car, one of them heard a “fuck you”, come from a group of Middle Eastern looking males standing in the street. Enter Mustafa.
Yelling ensues and after all the “Come at me bros” have died down and they get back to a friend’s house, sure enough the fidora wearing, scarf sporting Arab shows up to try to buy a certain green substance that’s frowned upon by society. Things go south. I can’t really go into detail about what all went down because I wasn’t there and to go off hearsay would be just plain wrong and immoral. All I know is the larger of my two roommates, also known as God’s gift to women, came home and was ready to start committing hate crimes.
Fast-forward with me now to Saturday, just two days after the initial contact with Simba’s dad (Editor’s Note: Simba’s dad is Mufasa). After a dangerous evening combining banquet beers and Hot Damn 100 we found ourselves standing in line at a local pizza restaurant. I turn to say something to roomie, who’s expression has turned from drunken joy, to what I can only imagine Chuck Sheen’s face looks like when the stripper makes a sudden movement and all the blow falls into the shag carpet. I figure out what he’s staring at is none other than infamous humus bandit from two nights ago. Now, I don’t like to judge people from appearance, but I’m really good at it. This guy had been described to me as trendy, but I was still caught off guard after seeing his leather fidora and scarf. Speechless, I just stood and stared. He must have been offended by the drunken, blank stares coming from me because he immediately began asking what my “fucking problem is,” in the most stereotypical Middle Eastern accent you can imagine. All of this was just way too good to be true. He completed the douchebag trifecta. He looked like a d-bag, thought he was hot shit because he looked like a d-bag, and had a mouth on him that spewed nothing but douche-like comments. You just don’t find that everyday. I’m not a very big person, but I am well trained in verbal assassinations. After tearing into him and my roommate inviting him to step outside, he began to realize things weren’t about to end well. So he does what any douche would do in that situation, found his biggest, fattest buddy to help escort him to his vehicle. The dumpy man came and apologized for his friend and walked outside with Mustafa to get him safely to his truck. About this time we were getting ready to go home so we also began making our way through the parking lot. Mustafa wasn’t quite finished. He turns to give one last, “fuck you” over his shoulder but was unaware we were walking the same direction and were only trailing his smelly ass by about 20 feet. Needless to say it didn’t take long to catch up. Mustafa quickly hops in a white dodge truck, starts it up and as we approach the vehicle before he even closes the door, he throws it in drive and floors it burning a little rubber coming right towards us. Almost immediately he veers right, coming close to overcorrecting and going straight into a row of parked cars. It doesn’t make sense to sit back and reflect on the what-ifs in life, but had that asshole crashed into three or four parked cars, I could have found a nice quiet place in the woods and called it quits because my life would be complete. Unfortunately this didn’t happen, and this is where things currently rest with my dark skinned nemesis. It’s sort of like a cliffhanger in a Hollywood movie except no one gives a fuck about the outcome. I’ll end with this: Mustafa, I hope I never see you again, the HIV bound life you’ll inevitably end up living will look like a dream vacation if our paths ever cross again. I hope you have an accident someday involving partial dismemberment, and I hope you know your breath stinks and you can’t read good.