Get this! With
Bruce Cheng.
Hello my fellow friends, it is good to be an
official contributor to this zine now. I
was very surprised on how well my last article was received by everyone.
According to the B and the Carcass, I am very punk rock and don’t even
realize it. It is an honor. Sank you very much prrrease come again! Anyway, first off I would like to say that sadly the “Win a
Date with Bruce Cheng” was not a joke, and according to Carcass, it is still
going on. So ladies, if you are
interested, because I know you all are, you can send in your letters and
pictures to the address on the zine. So
get this! It has been a dilemma on
what I was going to write about in this column of Get This.
I wanted to tell my story on how I ran into Lucy Liu the actress from
Alley Mc Beal at a fitting for Charlie’s Angels 2 and how we had a moment like
the ones we all wished we had in high school.
I didn’t even talk to her or say hi.
So if anyone knows her and can give me the opportunity to ask her out to
dinner that will just make my day. Right
now, by extreme threats by the B and Carcass, I am forced to tell you a true
story that actually happened to me in my youth.
It was a hot and humid summer back in 1985 where I used to live in the
ghettos of Ontario, California. Everyone
in my neighborhood kept their doors locked, windows shut, and baseball bats in
their hands. It was a very scary
time for my family and me because a dark and satanic evilness was lose on the
streets of Southern Cal. You might
be wondering who I’m talking about but none other than the AC/DC loving, Satan
worshiping, serial killer of all serial killers, The Night Stalker, Richard
Ramirez. My dad thought it was funny during that time to terrify my
brothers and me by wearing my mom’s best pair of pantyhose on his head and
coming into our bedroom super late at night with a butter knife in one hand
screaming, “I’m The Night Stalker! You’re going to die!” So after we
were done screaming and crying our nine year old brains out and trying to swing
a baseball bat to hit what we thought was the king of Latino serial killers, our
dad would just leave our bedroom laughing his head off like it was the biggest
prank he ever pulled on us. I
can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m going to take a gamble and say this
was just many of the reasons why I think my dad was and is crazy and why my mom
divorced him. Nine year old minds
are very imaginative, and it didn’t help when the police couldn’t catch
Richard Ramirez and my dad would be coming into our bedroom at random times
during the summer getting a good laugh. Well,
for a couple of nights, we didn’t see our dad and it was great, because all we
had to worry about was Richard himself. That
was until one sweltering day when at three in the morning, our dad ran into our
room white as a ghost telling us to get out of bed and go downstairs on the
double. My brothers and I thought
our dad was playing another joke, but for some reason, his face looked like he
saw something dark and evil. Well,
he eventually convinced us to go downstairs to see the darkness and evilness
that he saw. It was in the toilet
of our bathroom. With a quiver in
my dad’s throat he asked, “whose work is this?
I’m sorry for the butter knife and pantyhose bit, but this is not
funny.” He proceeded to tell us
how a few minutes ago someone knocked on the door and as he looked through the
peephole he saw what looked like Richard Ramirez running around the corner of
the house. His curiosity invited
him to go outside to see where he went.
As he was out in front of the house, my dad saw an unfamiliar brown
hatchback parked in front. He then
decided to write down the plates, and while he was taking notes of the car he
heard someone in the backyard. He
quickly ran into the house and noticed the downstairs bathroom light was on. Someone used the toilet and forgot to flush!!!
Then, my dad went outside again and our neighbor, who’s always working
on his muscle car late at night, asked my dad who that man was at our house
earlier. He was lurking around the
back and left in the brown hatchback parked in front of the house.
Our neighbor then told my dad he looked like The Night Stalker.
The worst fear sank into my dad’s heart, and he ran into the house to
see if we were all right or dead. As our dad told us this story, my brothers and
I were staring into the toilet. The
longest, darkest, evilest turd in the world was sitting there broken in two with
pieces of corn in it floating, and telling us, “I am the property of Richard
Ramirez.” We all thought this joke went too far. What was our dad trying to
do? Was he telling us that The
Night Stalker came over and dropped off the kids in our toilet and took off?
No pun intended, but what a bunch of crap.
Then, one of my brothers went to go flush the toilet, and my dad slapped
his hand and told him don’t destroy the evidence.
That is when things really go freaky.
As we all went back to bed, we told our dad it wasn’t funny for him to
come into our room earlier that night and pretend he was The Night Stalker
again. He then had this confused
look on his face, and said he had only set foot in our room once, and that was
when he woke us up. My brothers and
I laughed and then went to bed. The
rest of the night we were trying to sleep as our dad was still downstairs awake
shaking. The next morning, we were
up and our dad was still down stairs whiter than any Chinaman should be. We all
laughed and went to turn on the television to watch our morning cartoons.
The laughter stopped, because all of the sudden, on the local news, my
dad pointed to the television screen with eyes bulging like a round-eyed, he
said, “I told you so!” On the television was a brown hatchback with the same license
plate number that my dad had written down the night before.
The Night Stalker had just left Mission Viejo after he killed a woman and
stole her car. He left the car at a shopping center trying to get away from
a mob that recognized him. That
shopping center was only a half a mile from our house.
For a week our dad didn’t want us to use the downstairs bathroom
because he wanted to send the evidence to the police.
However, at the same time, he didn’t want the publicity and to be
laughed at that a serial killer took a dump in our house.
Plus, our dad was afraid he was going to come after us again and kill us
all. The End
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