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Oct. 5th, 2011
"Hey, Unga-bunga! Take Rocky Mountain High there and get the hell out of here!" the bartender apparently hadn't been in the best mood before I arrived, and I wasn't making things better by being there. Fuck him.
"Unga-bunga. Yeah, I haven't heard that one before." I swear, if I could go back in time, I'd throttle the people who came up with that Captain Caveman cartoon. Sure, they probably didn't intend to make a mockery of neanderthals, but hell, it wasn't until the mid-80s that ten of thousands of us got the fuck out of Russia. Goddamn commies. Third highest population of neanderthals in the U.S. is here in L.A., and I still get stared at like I'm a fucking Martian.
"Come ON, Carl. I don't have time for this shit." Carl was busy lying on the floor, giggling. Fuck. "What did you take this time, you hippie fucking pothead asshole?"
"I said outta here, caveman!" the bartender was practically frothing at the mouth. Probably an Orange County reject or something.
Goddamnit, an hour ago, I'd been asleep. It had been a long night, and I hadn't crawled into bed until 9 a.m. And it was a Saturday, so my girlfriend Rachel didn't have to work, so that was a plus. I did not need to hear from Carl today, much less take his ass home because he's too stoned to find his car.
I picked Carl up off the floor, and practically slung him over my shoulder. "You better not puke on me again, Carl. I kid you not. You will fucking ride in the trunk if you do." I left the bar and the hatred of the asshole staff behind. I set Carl down next to my car. "You gonna puke?"
"noooooo..."
"Are you sure?"
"yeeeeeahhhh"
"Fine. Get the fuck in." Carl managed, on the third try, to get in and buckle his seatbelt. I swear, if he wasn't a really good contact for when I needed to find any drug dealer in L.A., I wouldn't put up with this shit. I could be at home right now, ignoring my neighbors' stares at the 'caveman next door', and just relaxing for a fucking change. I still don't know what Rachel sees in me, but I'm not going to jinx it. Her parents aren't speaking to her, she gets a ton of shit from the neighbors about dating me... hell, the only person besides me who doesn't care is her brother, and I half think he wants to use me as part of some study.
"Woooooooooooo"
"Carl, don't even think about fucking with the radio. I swear, you put it on Skynyrd, I will kick your ass out of the car."
"Bad night?"
"Yes, Carl. I had a bad night. Some of us have to work for a living, unlike some pothead assholes who have a tendency to drive their cars into lampposts and mailboxes."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault. The guy drove out to Apple fucking Valley to visit his mistress. I don't know, maybe he's a Roy Rogers fan."
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Author's note: The first line of this popped in my head a couple days ago, and I just constructed an idea around it. A world where neanderthal man did not go extinct, and are still alive today. The unnamed protagonist, is of course, a neanderthal. And a private investigator.
"Unga-bunga. Yeah, I haven't heard that one before." I swear, if I could go back in time, I'd throttle the people who came up with that Captain Caveman cartoon. Sure, they probably didn't intend to make a mockery of neanderthals, but hell, it wasn't until the mid-80s that ten of thousands of us got the fuck out of Russia. Goddamn commies. Third highest population of neanderthals in the U.S. is here in L.A., and I still get stared at like I'm a fucking Martian.
"Come ON, Carl. I don't have time for this shit." Carl was busy lying on the floor, giggling. Fuck. "What did you take this time, you hippie fucking pothead asshole?"
"I said outta here, caveman!" the bartender was practically frothing at the mouth. Probably an Orange County reject or something.
Goddamnit, an hour ago, I'd been asleep. It had been a long night, and I hadn't crawled into bed until 9 a.m. And it was a Saturday, so my girlfriend Rachel didn't have to work, so that was a plus. I did not need to hear from Carl today, much less take his ass home because he's too stoned to find his car.
I picked Carl up off the floor, and practically slung him over my shoulder. "You better not puke on me again, Carl. I kid you not. You will fucking ride in the trunk if you do." I left the bar and the hatred of the asshole staff behind. I set Carl down next to my car. "You gonna puke?"
"noooooo..."
"Are you sure?"
"yeeeeeahhhh"
"Fine. Get the fuck in." Carl managed, on the third try, to get in and buckle his seatbelt. I swear, if he wasn't a really good contact for when I needed to find any drug dealer in L.A., I wouldn't put up with this shit. I could be at home right now, ignoring my neighbors' stares at the 'caveman next door', and just relaxing for a fucking change. I still don't know what Rachel sees in me, but I'm not going to jinx it. Her parents aren't speaking to her, she gets a ton of shit from the neighbors about dating me... hell, the only person besides me who doesn't care is her brother, and I half think he wants to use me as part of some study.
"Woooooooooooo"
"Carl, don't even think about fucking with the radio. I swear, you put it on Skynyrd, I will kick your ass out of the car."
"Bad night?"
"Yes, Carl. I had a bad night. Some of us have to work for a living, unlike some pothead assholes who have a tendency to drive their cars into lampposts and mailboxes."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault. The guy drove out to Apple fucking Valley to visit his mistress. I don't know, maybe he's a Roy Rogers fan."
---------------------------------------
Author's note: The first line of this popped in my head a couple days ago, and I just constructed an idea around it. A world where neanderthal man did not go extinct, and are still alive today. The unnamed protagonist, is of course, a neanderthal. And a private investigator.