It's Raining, It's Pouring, The Old Man Is Snoring

Sometimes it’s hard for me to determine out of J-Fed and Kiki which one of us is dumb and which is dumber. Today, it was definitely a toss-up. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

It was a dark and ominous morning as big black clouds loomed overhead. Thunder rolled and lightning crashed. It was another day of no work for the Fedmeister. By 11 a.m. he had called three times and wormed his way on over to the house to collect his change jar. He was short on cash and needed some money to go race his carts. I think he even plundered through our 5-year-old’s piggy bank. OK, so maybe he didn’t go that far, but I wouldn’t have put it past him.

As J-Fed skipped to his car, lugging the change jar formerly known as ours, I pointed upwards as the sky opened up and the rain poured down.

“Maybe you should save your sheckles, J-Fed. It’s been raining most of the day, and the track is going to be wet,” I told him. J-Fed stomped his feet and pouted like a whiney little bitch. He was going to the track tonight and that was all there was to it. I smirked at the thought of the Fedster driving an hour and a half up to the track only to be rained out. Karma sure was a bitch. Little did I know at that time of his little tantrum that the only person who was going to be rained out was me…

Hours went by and J-Fed never returned. He must have admitted defeat and taken refuge on his couch for the rest of the day, curled up with a nice warm cup of tea and the $350 he had pillaged out of our change jar.

It was later on in the afternoon when Kuku (my mom) pointed out that the skyline to J-Fed’s trailer was open. What did that mean? That meant that buckets of raindrops were drenching upwards of $10,000 in go carts. I didn’t go out of my way these days to help the Fedster, but I figured I would show the common courtesy that J-Fed so often lacked. Despite the fact I swore up and down I’d never call him again, I got on the horn.

“J-Fed, it’s pouring and the roof of your trailer is open. The side door is locked and I can’t get in to close the skyline. Your carts are getting soaked. Your brakes are going to rust and you’re going to end up hitting a wall at 90 miles per hour the next time you go to race. Then you’re going to be paralyzed for life, and I’m going to be the one stuck serving you ground up steak through a straw for the rest of your life…” I rambled on.

“Well, just pull down the back door and go in that way,” he yelled. I could barely hear him he had the volume on Court TV cranked so loud. Bastard. I told him I’d take care of it before abruptly hanging up on his ass. I stalked out to the trailer in the pouring rain. Right off the bat, I knew it was going to be a problem as I struggled with the locks on the trailer becoming more soaked by the second.

But that was nothing compared to my adventure once I actually got into the trailer. Immediately, I was knocked over by the 30-pound cart stand on wheels that had been lodged against the back door. As I attempted to regain my composure, I grabbed onto the wheel axels which were covered in oil. My hands looked similar to the ocean after the Exxon Valdez oil spill. No wonder he wasted so much money on go carting. Half of that was probably tied up in oil.

There was little room to get into the trailer so I had to wedge myself between the cart and the wall while teetering on one of the wheels and grasping repeatedly at the skyline at the same time. Thank God, I’d lost those extra 15 pounds due to the stress of J-Fed leaving me or I never would have been to fit in HIS trailer to save HIS go carts parked at MY house. Meanwhile, Kuku had crawled in the trailer for back up. I wasn’t sure exactly how she could help, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her that this was a one-woman job.

Finally, mission accomplished. As I went to exit the trailer, now soaking wet and covered in oil, I noticed a big puddle forming on the lawn and it was then and only then that I looked up to the sky and damned J-Fed to hell. You see, the other day he had moved that drainy thing that keeps the water from sopping the lawn. Obviously, he had forgotten to put it back under the gutter and now the front of the house was flooding.

The only thing that prevented me from driving over to his nice, dry, warm apartment and kicking the crap out of him was the fact that my hands were covered in oil and it would probably take me a good hour to get it all off.