Health & Fitness
Blog: A Fool In The Hills - Shorty & Morty's Hollywood Homeless Hood
"Maybe I fell out of her pouch and a poacher shot my legs off!"
On Mulholland Drive…
A ruddy-faced wealthy man – known in Krazytown as a 60’s TV star with money but no game - sat in his mansion on the hill knocking back his daily vodka shots while taking calls - maniacally laughing – “The rich get richer and the poor get poorer!” His girdle – needed to hide his food addiction – lay nearby over an expensive recliner. Hugh E. Nesser stumbled outside to take a leak on his perfectly manicured lawn – tripping over his aging toenails – when he saw the bulldozer. He cried out – “Shit!... F^^k! Don’t these people know who I am?!”
The hired help was gone until tomorrow and his current – much younger wife – was in Brentwood having a Botox sleepover with her girlfriends. Another thing they quit doing together – in three years of marriage – face fillers. Hugh E. had dumped his second wife for allowing their adult children’s kids to call him grandpa. He wasn’t old and would never die – his immune system was superior to all of mankind. The local pharmacist would scratch his head at that one considering how many prescriptions he filled – with Mrs. Nesser on the label – to cure various STD’s Mr. Nesser never transmitted to any particular one person. Viagra Falls was his middle name– his size – a personal shame. Hugh E. had many large eggs he asked others to swallow.
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Nesser placed a call to his buds – the cops – to report the lone bulldozer – he knew what was what – he just didn’t get why. He wanted to know this very god damned minute – who let an amateur do a pro’s job. Heads would fry and they better not lie. The insiders knew that tonight was pre-paid demolition time – to ensure his name labeled on all new benches replacing the signal – High Bench. Every damn new step implanted down any canyon – within a five mile radius of his home would bear his initials – H.E.N. – yes – it was his albatross and the smut magazines were relentless in using that damned moniker to mock him.
Hugh E. had laid out a hefty fee so the old money wouldn’t be honored – no one who did any real good in this town would get credit – not this time. No-siree – he would end his sixth decade – of being made fun of by true talent – by sticking it to ‘em. Hugh knew this would shove generations of hikers and tourists up their a$$es by hiking up and sitting on his name plaques! He paced – slamming more liquor back - how did that bulldozer get out on the street? Who put it there and why? Why? Why? WHY?!
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Hugh E. Nesser had fans – not run-of-the-mill fans that real actors had. His were obsessive – out-of-control and lost their bolts but lived-to-die-for-him – no-matter-what-kinda-fans. Maybe they inadvertently hired a fan? To hell with it – he would check the bulldozer himself. He owned several houses off Mulholland and although he hated looking at himself in the mirror – he sure as hell wasn’t letting his money get stolen by some johnnie-be-do-gooder! His nouveau riche status gave him the cops but the bluebloods had the class and control of the city and her residents. That pissed him off – how could a Tranny like Leah Lexington be invited to a high ranking business function in Krazytown and he wasn’t asked to be ringmaster? She wasn’t even a female yet and he loved controlling women – he knew he outranked Lexington in the kink department. He might just pay them a little surprise visit – after he located the missing dozer driver.
Nesser was lit and forgot his rug as he clamped a baseball cap on – slid into his running shoes and went to inspect the vehicle – cellphone and flashlight in hand. He even took his vicious dogs with him – off leash. The large boxers barked – sniffed and peed their way to the bulldozer then sprinted off. Nesser came up and peered inside seeing the keys in the ignition. He said to himself out loud – “What imbecile left the keys? I’ll have his job – his home – his wife – maybe even his li…” Cut off by the ronk of a police car alarm he turned and leaned against the rig – smugly twirling his index finger – his cap askew.
Two young officers got out of their patrol car – male and female. The black male cop asked – “Everything okay Mr. Nesser? Why are you driving a bulldozer this late at night?” Nesser couldn’t believe this idiot and paused – “Listen – lemme guess – Officer who doesn’t know his sh*t – I reported an abandoned bulldozer in the middle of MY street.” He stroked the rig suggestively and drippingly inquired – “Wanna be my collar?” The Hispanic female officer knew Nesser – intimately – but he laid so many women he didn’t recall that he had shamed her into playing naughty cheerleader with him and he wasn’t the coach. She used to be a fan – no more. Her glossed lips pouted – “Mr. Nesser – you been drinking tonight – ‘Spiffy?’”
“What the f^^k is wrong with you people?!” An enraged – curt and confused Nesser fell to the asphalt. He was quickly handcuffed as he yelled for his dogs that raced to him. They sat and whined – awaiting a command. Nesser’s cap had come off his balding head as he rolled onto the middle divider line – howling – “I know your captain your sergeants – every supervisor you have – so let me go! You pigf^^kers – don’t you know who I am? I’ve destroyed more lives than you’ll ever give birth to! Dogs!” The officers nodded in silent agreement to one another as the Hispanic female cop pulled out a can of pepper spray and sprayed Nesser – the black cop lifted his mace – the mail carrier trained boxers – bolted home.
Nesser spun around on his back with his fat stomach protruding. “AHHHH! A$$ho*es! Let me go! Where do you pigs think you are? A 3rd world country?!” The male officer took off his cuffs and the two officers smiled watching Nesser rubbing the pepper into his eyes wrenching in agony. The Hispanic female cop answered – “You got it – Ameri-CAN-a – baby!” No one would know what was said other than these three. Nesser had a private line – much like Batman – except the caves he owned reeked of bat crap.
Lights went out at the neighbors – people looked on through darkened windows and were happy that Mr. Don’t-You-Know-Who-I-Am got it from the cops for a change. Silently – the neighborhood praised in unison – retribution at last. Hugh E. was disliked by them all and he didn’t give a rat’s a$$. He didn’t believe in karma or god – he wasn’t even a decent atheist – he was a miserable millionaire intent on bagging billions and billions – there was no greater high. The more he made the less he gave or cared about anyone or anything. He knew the Golden Rule was really green – he married his first wife to get his card – European no more.
The two officers got into their patrol car and radioed in on a select channel – that Nesser needed cops who knew him after he tried attacking them with his dogs – clicked off the communication device and high-fived each other as they drove off into the land of the twin babies.
Shorty & Morty’s Shack somewhere in the Hollywood Hills… or nearby…
Celine’s euphoric laughter from rolling in circles around their used mattress – erupted into a squeal – “I haven’t had this much fun since we crashed the puppet addicts meeting!” Morty couldn’t get her to rest even after he had rinsed off and put her legs up to dry. Maneuvering the crawler was a necessary but difficult mess. She was like a sugar pumped child - “Let’s go back and ride the bulldozer again! Please… please…” The 4’6” dwarf held up a burrito he lifted off a vendor. “Not tonight – come on eat. I got your favorite – carne asada. “Pulleeze – Morty?” He placated her – “Maybe tomorrow night but it’s been a long day. The ER’s Demerol made you whacky – silly girl.”
He reminded her about Hugh E. Nesser living up top of Mulholland and how fortunate they were to escape his legendary tirades. “I don’t think he saw us cause if he did? We’d be on that TV auction show he bags big bucks with.” In her finest barker’s voice – “Come on folks – lemme see your hands! Who is going to win the most expensive prize – the midget or the woman with fake legs?” Celine tittered so hard she spit out some tea. Morty chuckled and corrected – “Dwarf. I think you’re gorgeous and they would take you.” “But you’re handsome and stronger than me.” She smiled.
After a few moments – she rolled up onto colorfully socked stumps – her serious large brown eyes inquired – Southern – “Do you think I’ll ever know where I come from?” Morty hopped up next to her on the bed with a bottle of tea – “It doesn’t really matter – no adoptions stuck with me as a kid.” Jersey best – “But I want to know.” She took a bite of food. “Everyone else seems to know where they came from or how they got here – even you know that your parents dropped you into an orphanage. I can’t remember squat.”
Her accents changed with her intonations and rhythms – Aussie – “Maybe my mum was a prossie or dyu think an elegant flyer?” – Morty – not one to hurt her feelings chose the latter and Celine informed him that flyer meant female kangaroo. “Maybe I fell out of her pouch and a poacher shot my legs off!” They both howled.
The two were glad to be off of the streets for another night and changed into their bed clothes – an option few homeless had and one Celine insisted upon. They might be homeless but together – never hopeless. They reclined onto scruffy pillows as she confided – “I had a dream at the ER that I was little and swimming on my back then running crazy through an open field – it was so real. I think it happened.” Morty turned to her – “Can you see where or who you were with?” Her eyes brimmed with tears she choked back – then sped ahead – “I didn’t have any legs then either and there’s a man but I can’t see his face and I don’t know what language he’s trying to speak to me in – but it feels – universally bad... Like knowing someone is suffering and just standing by when you can help change it and don't.”
Quick to the curve – “I think if you focus on when we met then your past won’t matter!” A puzzled Celine questioned him – “But if finding your real dad means so much then how come my feelings don’t matter?” Booby-trapped – “That’s not what I meant. I said it wrong. Shit. Okay… what I meant is… I love you and whatever you need I’m right here to help. I love you – Shorty.” Celine yawned and kissed his cheek. “Right back at ya – Morty.”
Morty’s thoughts churned as Celine drifted off – he was so lucky to have found a girl that he admired. Celine had to endure a lot more taunting than he did – and that was ginormous. When she would ask him if he thought she was crazy – he told her the truth. “Not even for a nanosecond.” Not even the day he saw her conversing with a dog as if it were a human.
Morty realized they both had been short shrifted in the love department– but this was now.
He sighed as he touched his beauty with the shiny heart and innocent soul’s hair and fell asleep holding her hand.
To be continued…
Last week’s story:
11. Tranny Trails and Bulldozers - Shorty & Morty’s Homeless Hollywood Hood
Short Stories/Interviews Continued:
10. Spielberg Visits Shorty & Morty’s Hollywood Homeless Hood
9. Shorty & Morty – Residents of Hollywood’s Homeless Hood:
8. Celine Gets New Gams – Jared A New Doll – Pikey Is In Jail – Morty A New Girl:
7. Pikey Pram Pusher – The Homeless Hood of Shorty & Morty:
6. Josh Jalil & Peter: The Camera Guy – Shorty & Morty’s Homeless Shooter:
5. Jared: Everybody’s Got A Bully – Even Hollywood’s Homeless:
4. Steven Huber: Composer Steven Huber Creates A Theme Song for Shorty & Morty:
3. Razor: Countin’ On The Homeless Cenus – Hollywood @ Steak with Shorty & Morty:
2. Peter: Running Young ‘n Homeless in Hollywood – Shorty & Morty:
1. Zippy & Kate: Two Left Feed in the ER with Shorty & Morty:
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