WIT AND HUMOR – A FUNNY SITE BY BOB WAYNE

The Party at Mad Jack’s is the story I wrote and submitted to Vita.MN magazine for their story competition. Thought you might enjoy it…

The Party at Mad Jack’s

By Bob Wayne

Mad Jack really knew how to throw a party. He should. There was one at his house pretty much every night. ‘Course, Jack rarely saw the end of any of his parties. Passed out or knocked out, partying rarely turned out well for Jack. But it never stopped him.

Last night was no exception. Mad Jack had a live-in girlfriend named Crazy Jane. I guess you might say they were a match made in hell. A lot of nights the two of them would get to fighting. Fighting wasn’t one of Jacks skill sets. He was a scrawny little guy and to add to the fun, Jane had a hell of a right cross. When the two of them took to tussling, she usually gave as good as she got.

I was in the kitchen swapping lies with Big Jim Went when the two of them came crashing through the door and slammed into the kitchen table. Jane had Jack by the collar and was pounding on his face with a wooden bowl. Jack was laughing his head off, both hands knuckle-deep in Jane’s hair. Jim almost dropped his beer trying to get out of their way. Jack pointed to Big Jim and yelled, “You’re next!”

Jim chuckled and set his beer down. “Jesus, Jack! You’re one fucked up dude. I’m twice your size and three times your weight. I’d eat you for breakfast, man.”

Jack shoved Jane back into the dining room and leaped after her, grabbing for her t-shirt. “Yeah, but it sure would be fun,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Jim just looked at me and shook his head. “That boy really isn’t right in the head.”

“How long’s he been like that?”

Jim picked up his beer and took a swig. “Rumor has it Jack’s a hell of a nice guy when he’s sober. Problem is, nobody’s seen him sober in ten years.”

It was about that time the doorbell rang. I night have answered it but I was a little occupied. I’d lit my shirt on fire leaning back against the stove and was busy dumping beer on it, trying to put it out.

It was the cops.

Someone told me later that they’d asked nicely if we’d quiet things down a bit; the neighbors were complaining. Unfortunately, some idiot told Mad Jack the cops were here. By the time Jack got to the front door, the cops were already on their way back to their car. Jack asked them to leave…

“What’re you pigs doin’ at my house? Get the fuck off my property!”

I gotta give the cops credit. They ignored him and got in their car. Jack decided they must have missed the message. He ran up to the car and yelled, “Get the fuck outta here, man!”

These cops were bloomin’ saints. The cop rolled down the window and said, “Look, buddy, just drop it and go back in the house.”

This wasn’t the response Jack was looking for. He hauled off and kicked the side of the car. Even saints have their limits. The cops charged out of the car like the running of the bulls at Pamplona. They grabbed Jack, threw him up against the car, yanked his arms behind him and cuffed him. One pulled the door open and the other shoved him inside, slamming it shut. Crazy Jane staggered out of the house determined to join Jack in the slammer. Somebody grabbed her and shoved her back into the house. The cop car roared off into the night.

Bye Jack…

©2009 Bob Wayne