Free The Drunk Logs by Steven Kuhn Page A

position he does not like at all. So all the bullshit that Jack Jack pulls, Lyedecker has to deal with it and continue to smile doing it.”
    “Why doesn’t Jack Jack’s father just stop paying?”
    “Because his father loves the son of a bitch, and he wants his old son back. It’s not too hard to understand, Matt. If you shut up, listen, and do what you’re told, you’ll be able to make a go of it on the outside. It’s pretty simple,” he growled, tilting his head back and spitting into the air. He lit another cigarette and wiped the excess mucus from his lips. “And, obviously, Jack Jack has not figured that part out yet. That’s why he keeps coming back. Either that or he’s going to be institutionalized…I don’t know?”
    I was speechless as the words from Sam began to sink in and I watched the disheveled Fie walk back to the hospital with help from the soaked nurse.
    So far have we all gone, that laughter at another was all we have left. It wasn’t to punish, but to forget for a little while that we were once there before , I thought.
    “Man, did you guys see that crazy shit?” said Shawn as he ran over from the pavilion.
    He was a short man, about 5′6″, white, with a stocky build. His hands were beaten from hard work and fighting, and his wrists were tattooed, I found out later, to hide the many times he’d forgotten about life. His old, torn, white high tops looked like they had seen as many miles as he had. His blue jeans were faded along with his green, short sleeve, button-down shirt. But his face was somewhat of an improvement; it slightly matched his worn hands and long, red hair.
    “Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been that good without Jack Jack’s performance,” Bobby said.
    “That’s true, but you know you got to watch out for a person like Jack Jack,” Shawn said with a southern drawl. “He’ll do whatever it takes to get people to laugh at ya.”
    “Like you never did anything to anyone or played a practical joke just to get a laugh?” Sam asked.
    “No, but I got plenty played on me. Like this one time, I was high on oxycodone, weed, and gin. And there was no way in hell I was going to make it home. So, I drove to my buddy’s trailer park to sleep it off. Well, I pulled into his driveway and fell out the car onto his front lawn. I was in no shape to move and it was a nice night, so I figured I’d just sleep it off in his front yard. Well, he came out that mornin’ to go to work, when he notices that I’m sleeping in his neighbor’s yard. So, he goes and gets a car tire and paints some of that cold tar on the threads, walks over and runs it on my back to make it look like a car drove over me.”
    The group struggled to hold back the laughter the best they could.
    “Well, I’m still passed out and he goes to work. I wake up later, because the neighbor starts cutting his grass and he’s cutting around me, burying me in all that shit. I mean, it was embarrassing, even the kids in the neighborhood stopped their bikes to stare at me.”
    The pressure became unbearable as everyone began to laugh.
    “It’s not funny. I had to go home. My wife and I were taking the kids to the water park. So, I get in my car, put on a shirt and go home, where my wife’s a little mad, ya know. But I told her I was just a little drunk last night and slept in my car at the bar. So we make all nice, nice, and go to the water park. There, we go swimming in the wave pool and stuff and I notice that everyone’s staring at me. So, I’m thinking, am I crazy, do I have something on me…but I don’t see anything. So, I go to my wife that’s laying on one of those benches, tanning, and I tell her to rub some lotion on me so I don’t get burnt. Well, she saw what I had on my back and figured where I was the night before…so.”
    “So, what did she do?” I said as I wiped away my tears.
    “She left and took the kids,” he said with a smile. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bad practical joke after