(I don't keep good records of things, but this was in some issue of Carbon 14 magazine, which is a fine glossy periodical full of smut and wrestling and whores and rock-n-roll.)
Even though Carbon 14 can be chock full of adult-oriented material, me being the father of two children and understanding the new-fangled nature of young families steeped in the filthy rock-n-roll environment of post-hip hop America, I know there’s kids toddling around well-kept apartments in bad neighborhoods and in ranch houses that came cheap here and there who have copies of the Carbon 14 laying around their folks’ house, because when you’re kid-friendlying up the house in the morning (which is around 10), cleaning up empty beer bottles and emptying ash trays is obvious, but censoring the literature left lying around is not so obvious. Well, I figured I’d kick in a little something for the kids this issue, so once they get tired trying to figure out what’s going in the Justice Howard pictorials or why the cartoon people in King Velveeda’s pages are poking at each other the way they are, they’d have something to read. You older kids read to the younger ones, because reading is basis for hope for a better future and shit. So here’s a story for you kids…
Once upon a time, there was this dude named Little Red Hendricks, who was a short dude, and he lived with his cousin and his cousin’s homeboy and his cousin’s homeboy’s girlfriend on a farm, where they worked as laborers and shared a dilapidated doublewide the old tobacco farmer kept on the property for his laborers. Except what had happened was, the old tobacco farmer had always been losing money lately, because the companies that bought his crops added cancer to it to exploit it for their own gain, and then the lawyers who look for crap like that to exploit for their own gain got wind of it and made money off the obvious, and what all this meant was that the fast-talking old-timey dude at the tobacco auctions didn’t have to talk fast for so long anymore because the prices were driven down. So the old tobacco farmer sold off his farm to agribusiness that was gonna grow genetically rockified soybeans for use in Funyuns, and Little Red Hendricks and his cousin and his cousin’s homeboy and his cousin’s homeboy’s girlfriend, who had lived in the dilapidated doublewide for at least like a year-and-a-half, moved to the nearby city, to sort of try and find some new work.
It was the beginning of the month on a weekend in the city, which had a big college right there where they moved at, so college kids had all moved to new apartments for coming back to college in August, and there was tons of awesome shit in trash cans or piles in alleys, because the college kids would just throw what they thought was crap away, not realizing one man’s crap is another man’s some awesome shit. It was Friday, and there really isn’t any use looking for a job on a Friday because it just means you didn’t find a job earlier in the week and all the good stuff they save up for the Sunday paper anyways, so Little Red Hendricks was walking through the alleys, looking for good shit to put in his new apartment that he shared with his cousin and his cousin’s homeboy and his cousin’s homeboy’s girlfriend that his cousin’s homeboy’s girlfriend’s aunt had paid the first and last month rent for them on a one-year lease. About two blocks from their new crib, Red found a sweet-ass four-piece sectional sofa in the alley, that had been reupholstered in black and white leopard print fabric. Red dragged it behind an alley garage and covered it with some plastic he found at a construction site dumpster down at the other end, and went back to his apartment to get some help bringing it back.
“Hey, I found a brand new-looking four-piece couch down this alley,” Little Red Hendricks told his cousin, Goosebird Hendricks. Goosebird rolled his eyes.
“Damn, Red, we already got that nice-ass couch in the living room we took off that ol’ farmer dude because he didn’t want to have to move it. We don’t need another couch.”
“I know that, Goosebird, but I thought this one would be nice for putting on the back porch so we could lounge back there and look out on the city and the alley and all that. Why don’t you help me move it down here?”
“Damn, Red, I’m fixin’ to walk down to that campus and watch the college girls walking by. I ain’t gonna help you carry that thing up here.”
“Alright, where your man at?”
“Bulldog? Oh, they’re in the back watching the TV.”
So Little Red Hendricks went to the back room to see if he could find someone to help him bring the sofa back to the apartment. Bulldog got his name because he was sort of fat and his face was all scrunched up looking because of that. He and his girlfriend, Kat, were sitting on the nice sofa they already had watching Montel Williams.
“Hey, Bulldog, I found this nice couch up the street in the alley. Can you help me carry it back down here?”
Bulldog looked over with eyes like a Chinaman. “Do what?”
“Can you help me carry this four-piece sofa I found in the alley down here from up the road?”
“Aw man, Red, I just got high. I ain’t walking up there and sweating and shit to carry some raggedy-ass couch you found in an alley, man.”
Red looked at Kat. “What about you, Kat? Will you help me?”
“Hell naw, Red. Jerry Springer’s ‘bout to come on.”
So Little Red Hendricks went back to the sofa, uncovered one piece, hoisted it up onto his left shoulder and toted it back to the apartment for the back balcony porch. Then he went back and go the second part of it, toting that one back as well. The third piece was a large center piece and heavier than the others, but Little Red Hendricks shifted it up onto his strong little shoulders and wobbled back to the apartment with it. Finally, he carried the last section home, and after that big center piece, this last one was light as a feather. It was while carrying this last piece home, he passed a flyer on a telephone pole for a plasma clinic nearby that paid $25 to a first-time donor. The clinic’s address was like fifteen blocks away, but $25 was $25. Red dragged the last piece of the sofa out onto the balcony porch in the back of the house, set it all up in place, and put two milk crates side-by-side in front of it for a table.
He went back downstairs where Goosebird was making a mayonnaise and hot mustard sandwich. “Hey, Goosebird, I saw a flyer where we can give blood and get $25 today. You wanna go down there with me?”
“Where’s it at?”
“Just past 9th Street.”
“Damn, Red, I ain’t walking all the way down there to give no damn blood. I don’t even like no needles. You know the government’s giving people diseases on purpose in places like that anyways.”
“Do what?”
“Yeah, for real. I saw that shit on TV one time.”
“Whatever, Goose, you’re acting silly. Where’s Bulldog?”
“They’re in the back, watching TV.”
Little Red Hendricks went to the back room, where Bulldog and Kat were still sitting.
“Hey Bulldog, I know a place we can both go and hit a quick lick for $25 each.”
“How long is it gonna take?”
“I don’t know, like an hour or so.”
“Where?”
“Down past 9th Street.”
“Hell naw, Red. I ain’t walking all the way down there. It’s hot as a mug out there.”
Red looked at Kat. “What about you, Kat? You wanna walk down there with me and make some money real quick?”
“Huh? Nah, Red. Springer’s on, and that Maury Povich dude is gonna come on next.” So Red turned to the door to leave.
Bulldog hollered out, “Hey Red, you gonna go down there and do that still?”
“Yeah, Bulldog. Why, you change your mind?”
“Hell naw, Red. I was just gonna see if you could pick me up a peach blunt on the way back.” Red just turned and kept on walking out. “Make sure you get a philly blunt, and not no white owl,” Bulldog called out behind him.
Little Red Hendricks walked all the way down to the plasma clinic, and waited around for a while, then answered all the stupid questions, and the nurse lady was even nice enough to pretend he brought in an ad from the newspaper for an extra ten bucks, so Red was gonna get $35. He sat in the main room and they hooked the machine up to him that took his white blood cells out and replaced it with some cold liquid, and they had cable on the TV monitors, which was showing Good Times, one of the later ones where J.J.’s sister was married to that light-skinned dude who did the cartoon voices all the time. Little Red Hendricks finished up fast, squeezing his palm in and out of fists the whole time, got his $35 in cash money, and walked home. On the way back, he asked some dude he passed where the nearest grocery store was at.
“Well, you got that corner store on 3rd, but if you walk on over past Main Street towards that big baseball field by the college, they got a big grocery store over there, with vegetables and everything.” Little Red Hendricks thanked the stranger, and went back to his apartment, where Goosebird was peeking out the kitchen window at the house next door.
“Hey, Goose, I’m gonna walk over to a store over by that big baseball field. You wanna roll with?”
“What for, Red?”
“In case I need help carrying something back.”
“Naw, Red. I ain’t your slave. Besides, I’m busy,” and he peeked back out the curtain, which was a piece of orange fabric that Kat had stapled over the window at the top.
Little Red Hendricks walked to the back room where he heard Bulldog and Kat laughing.
“Bulldog, I’m gonna walk over to the store by that baseball field. What’re you doing?”
He looked up with the eyes of a tired Chinaman. “I ain’t walking nowhere like that, Red. You must be crazy. I’m gonna sit right here on my big ass and watch Cops.”
“What about you, Kat? You wanna walk with me to the store?”
“We’re watching Cops right now, Red. You know we like to watch Cops.”
So Little Red Hendricks walked all the way over to the strip mall. He cut through a couple of alleys to make the trip shorter, where he passed a young, dark-as-night dreaded dude. Making eye contact, on a lark, since the kid looked thuggish but had gentle honest eyes, Red asked if the kid knew where he could get some weed. The kid already had him covered, so after Red promised he wasn’t the police, he bought himself a dimebag. At the grocery store, he grabbed a case of Natural Ice, and a peach white owl. He was gonna get some chicken from the deli, but he saw a Burger King across the street outside, so he just paid for his case of beer and blunt and went to the Burger King, where he got a Triple Whopper value meal, king-sized, and still had like seven dollars leftover. He walked all the way back to the apartment, waiting to eat his fast food and drink a beer on the couch he dragged home today. When he walked in the door, Goosebird was trimming his beard in the bathroom mirror, and smelled the food when Red walked past. He followed the smell.
Red walked through the back room to take the stairs up to the back balcony porch. Bulldog saw him walk through with the case of beer and jumped up to see what was going on. Kat cut off the second episode of Cops and followed as well.
Little Red Hendricks sat down on the four-piece sectional sofa he had dragged back piece by piece, tucked the case of beer beside the end of the couch, pulling out one can and popping the top, and took his king-sized value meal out the bag, ripping the bag open to dump his fries out on along with some ketchup. He saw Goosebird, Bulldog, and Kat standing at the door, surveying the scene.
“Who will help me eat this Whopper and drink up all these beers and smoke this blunt I’m about to roll, chilling out on this zebra-printed couch?”
“I WILL! I WILL! I WILL!” they all said together, excitedly.
“Oh no you won’t. Ain’t nobody help me carry this couch up here, and ain’t nobody go with me to the clinic, and ain’t nobody even wanna walk to the store either.” And Little Red Hendricks sat there comfortably, ate his burger, got high, and drunk as hell to boot, and didn’t share any of it with nobody.
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