Thursday, August 02, 2012

The Hunt For Brown October Pt. 2

I awoke early yesterday to get a fast start on my search for the elusive and dangerous Fausto Carmona.  With only about a 36 hour window to successfully complete my task, there was no time to waste on sleep.  Sure, it was my anniversary but my wife understood.  Crime doesn't wait for milestone holidays of marriage.  At 3 AM I delivered breakfast in bed to She$ (nothing) and was off.  I had to get to Home Depot before all of the good burro jockeys were picked over. With Hernandez's build and strength, he would be an early selection by any contractor looking for below minimum wage labor.

As the Money Mobile rolled into the Home Depot parking lot, it resembled more of a zoo of humanity than it did a home repair warehouse.  Mexicans swarmed my car like a herd of zombies; trying to get me to hire them for the day but I wasn't having any of that.  G$ hunts alone and his job required no manual labor.  After a thorough glance through the sea of brown, it was evident that Roberto Hernandez had not surfaced.  Damn!  I figured that the smell of roasted green chili peppers was a sure sign but it was a mirage as it was just Mark Schlereth being a uisance like usual.  I was running out of time and leads.  As I drove out of the parking lot, I "accidentally" clipped one of the leaders of the group of illegals who only identified himself as "Omar Vizquel".

I offered to call the police and get my insurance involved but he didn't want any part of that.  Being violent toward illegals truly is the perfect crime.  They can't do anything about it.  After admitting that he had no business being inducted into the Hall of Fame, Omar gave me a tip.  Actually, it was more like a riddle.  He told me to "follow my gut".  I told him to fuck off and left.

This was going to require my full attention so I called in sick to my regular job and just drove around for awhile trying to process Omar's clue.  It started to sink in that I may fail this mission and that was something that had never happened before.  I was up against the clock.  The pressure was on.  The pubic hair let me down.  Home Depot let me down.  Lucha libre was a dead end.  This fucker was going to skate and probably blow up the AEP building or something.

It was getting close to lunch time so I decided to stop for a quick bite.  I was in the mood for some authentic Mexican cuisine (as chasing them usually does that for me) so I followed my gut and headed to The Olive Garden.  No one employs more Mexicans in the kitchen than they do.  As soon as the hostess sat me, I could tell that something was askew.  Either today's special was burnt cat abortions or Fausto was here.  I should have known right away that he would be here.  Those people are ALWAYS here.

I slowly crept toward the kitchen; being extra careful due to my love of not being stabbed.  As I swung open the door to the kitchen, I was 20 feet and 12 Dominican "Italians" away from my prey.  He saw me right away.  He could tell what my intentions were.  I made my move to him and he flung a never-ending pasta bowl at my head.  It was surprisingly delicious.  I was going to need the jolt of carbs to continue this dance.

We both exited the rear of the restaurant and the chase was on.  Carmona and I both successfully performed numerous kick-ass parkour stunts through downtown and up High Street.  The homos in the Short North couldn't hide their erections at the sight of our wicked flips and jumps.  As I was gaining ground and closing in on Hernandez due to my ELITE SEC speed, he made a quick left heading west on Champions Lane.

I had him at the bridge.  He was stuck.  The police had set up a blockade there as a means to arrest Ohio State football players for doing their usual illegal stuff and Carmona had nowhere to go.  He was mine now.

"FAUSTO!", I screamed, "Do you want to get shot"?  I didn't have a gun but I did paint my hand with eye black while I chased him and used my superior white intellect to know that he would fall for it.  Then, the average pitcher threw ME a curve ball.

"I didn't kill my wife!  It was Devlin MacGregor and LENTZ!"

Why was he quoting The Fugitive?  Am I about to get blindsided by the one-armed man?  My confusion seemed to send him back to reality as well for his next question was sane.

"What do you want from me," Carmona asked.  "I'm not here illegally this time.  You can't do this to me!"

"I don't care," I replied.  "Your papers mean nothing to me.  I'm told that you shouldn't be here and I'm going to send you home NOW.  But before I do, you're going to answer some questions and admit to your crimes."  I continued to hold my finger gun at his head.  He still believed that it was real.


Carmona followed up by asking, "So we're doing A Few Good Hombres now?  In that case, YOU WANT ME ON THAT MOUND!  YOU NEED ME ON THAT MOUND!"

"No, Jesus, but I want you to admit that your poor hygiene caused a midge infestation and that was the only reason that Paul fucking Byrd was able to be the last pitcher to win a playoff game in Yankee Stadium!  That guy eats his own boogers for God's sake!"

"OK, I admit it," he professed, "But I had no choice, gringo.  Kidnappers said that they were going to kill my family of tomato picking royalty if I did not win that game.  Now they say that if I don't make it back to the bigs, they will rape my father.  You can't send me back!  You don't know what it's like to disappoint Ugueth Urbina."

"So are they going to murder/rape the Carmonas or the Hernandezs?  You know what, it doesn't matter.  I'll make you a deal: if you can strike me out right now, I will let you go.  Fair?"

"OK, white devil, let's do it...right here on CHAMPIONS LANE!"

Carmona proceeded to walk me on four straight pitches.  I was able to score three pitches later after he launched three more wild pitches into the river.  As I celebrated sweet victory (over the sounds of his pussy sobs) with 7 or 8 football players that had fallen into the police trap and were in the process of having their scholarships revoked, I failed to notice that Fausto had jumped off the bridge into the raging Olentangy.  He fell directly and ironically into GSaul's boat; dying on impact--his brain matter splattered all over GSaul's shocked face.  I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't hilarious.

In the game of bounty hunting, the only thing better than securing your target is to watch him perish.  When I received this case on Tuesday, my goal was to send Fausto Carmona back across the Rio Grande where he belonged.  Instead, I watched him die in the Olentangy but not before I drew an ELITE walk that helped me win the big game.  Plus, I was home well before Julie Chen hit the TV screen.  Today was a good day.  FIN.

And thus concludes my first and probably only attempt at Fausto Carmona/Dog The Bounty Hunter fan fiction.  I hope that you enjoyed it.


Grumpy said...

I laughed so hard I pissed myself. Do we return to normal tomorrow?

GMoney said...

Yep, my story telling days have ended. Fantasy Football Friday resumes tomorrow.

You may want to get that prostate checked out though.

Grumpy said...

That was sarcasm. I didn't laugh at all. I haven't laughed for two days now.

What did you get for your anniversary.

Rob Bolden said...

We're all going to stick together.

GMoney said...

I got a great 2 part blog post. It's not my fault that you suck. It never has been.

Anonymous said...


Grumpy has no sense of humor if he didn't like those. Today was one of my favorite posts at the Money Shot EVA! I want more G$ Bounty Hunter....I NEED IT!

That was awesome stuff.

Hey Seal...those Twins and Royals sure are hard to beat these days amirite?


GMoney said...

Thank you, Drew, I figured that my more intellectual readers would appreciate a dead Indian. We can't all complain about free content that isn't mandatory reading. Some of us actually enjoy life.

By the way, how cray cray is it that Common Man & The Torg are having Obama on today? That's a pretty impressive haul to get the President on. I will lose my shit if Torg does his ELITE Bobby The Brain Heenan impression for the Pres.

Grumpy said...

That Drew is the barometer for intellect explains a lot.

Roberto Hernandez said...

You think this is over El Bounty Hunter?! It hasn't even begun!!

Anonymous said...

Great, I'm trying to sell that damn boat and now I have brain matter and a dead body to deal with...


Anonymous said...'s not like he was going to set the bar of intellect so low that it would be someone who is a Steelers fan that is jealous that he hasn't been one of Ben's rape victims.


Brady said...

I feel like I just emerged from a two day bender. All I know is that I'm craving mexican food.

Anonymous said...

Some solid racism in this piece.

I don't care for Olive Garden. Nor brown people.


Prime99 said...

Roberto Hernandez is essentially your Giant Chicken, G$. Yesterday was strange, today you were locked in. Well done!

GMoney said...

Had to set things up, Prime, like every good novelist. I remember hearing the same criticism the last time I did a two parter (my story about mooning cars). Look, I told you that it was going to be different around here and something that I thought was a good idea. I stand by my decision only because I was able to imply that I was sick with parkour moves (which is an awesome visual).

Plus, what the hell else was there to discuss?

Dut's trying to weasel his way into me driving him back to Napoleon tomorrow night. I have in no way implied that I am willing to do this. Road head is mandatory though.

Anonymous said...

Dut has never turned down the opportunity to stuff a cock in his mouth. I'd ask for gas money or something instead. You know that you'll get both.


Anonymous said...

If you don't think the last two blog entries were ELITE, then you can go fuck yaself.


GMoney said...

Grass, Gas, or Ass--nobody rides for free

GMoney said...

Iceman dead?

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