Messed With the Wrong Dude!; a Baby Man tale!

A Baby Man tale!

                                         

     King Gorpher slide silently through the dark, stormy night like a hot ghost through butter.  He'd recently got out of prison and had been anxiously looking forward to resuming his chosen profession, ripping off rich b******s to improve his monetary status. 

 

 

     He'd had this house under surveillance for awhile now, after seeing a black BMW pull into the garage.  After the remotely-controlled garage door had closed, and after he'd watched as the lights on the shades covering what he'd decided was the main bedroom went out about an hour ago, he was going in. 

 

 

      His watch read '2.15' as he quietly approached the side window he'd already decided would be his access point, and upon arrival, he listened carefully for any noise coming from inside the house; all was silent and he smiled to himself and cut a small piece out of one corner, reached in, and unlocked it.  Then he slid the window up until there was enough room for him to slither through and soon was standing in the silent, dark room.  He pulled out a penlight flashlight and snapped it on, shining it around himself, revealing what looked to be a spare bedroom with not much worth stealing.  He opened the door a crack and shined the beam of light down the hall.  There, straight ahead was the living room.  All was still silent as he crept from the room and down the hall as quietly as he could. 

 

 

     Paintings that looked expensive and plenty of nice stuff that was probably worth plenty were caught in the beam's narrow arc of light.  He mentally rubbed his hand together and crossed the room to begin stealing things.  He was reaching as high as he could to take down an expensive-looking gold clock and was already figuring what it may be worth when a steely voice scared the s**t out of him,

 

     "Freeze, mother f****r!"

 

     He panicked and slowly turned his head, expecting to be confronted by a full grown adult, but amazingly, saw only a small baby holding a big gun.  The baby had stubble on his face, and as King watched, the baby grabbed a pack of cigarettes from a coffee table, shook one loose, stabbed it into his face unlit and added,

 

     "F*****g doctor told me I should quit; but I must have a major sucking reflex; force of habit!"

 

     King looked around for his parents but saw none, "Where's your mommy and daddy little fella?"

 

     "Mommy and daddy?  Maybe if I was 9 months or so, but I'm 38, and I'm if I hear one more 'why, you're just a baby!' comment I'm going to projectile-spew on my shoes!  Look, dick-wad, it's a glandular problem, okay a*s wipe?", and as the agitated baby man was waving the gun around dangerously, King replied,

 

     "Sure, sure, now be a good baby--err--fella and stop aiming that thing at me."

 

     Shorty Sandoval spit on the floor, scratched himself in a most unladylike fashion with his non-gun hand and replied, "I'll tell you what I'm going to do; I'll lower the gun and give you a chance; I'll let you go if you can beat me in a fist fight."

 

     King couldn't believe it; fight a baby?  He knew he'd win that easy, as look how much of an advantage he would have.  "Okay little guy, you're shitting me, right?  Look at you, and then look at m---".  Suddenly, he felt like singing soprano as the little munchkin teed off on his nuts  As he involuntarily bent at the waist from the unexpected punch, he was straitened up from a ringing blow to the face and saw stars, then nothing.

 

 

******

 

 

     "Chow time!" yelled the pot bellied jail guard as King began his first evening behind bars.  He had struggled and struggled to remember what had happened but to no avail.  He'd come to and the first thing he saw was the leering face of a policeman; a chuckling policeman.  He remembered keeping surveillance on a house, but beyond that, there was a big blank spot where his memory should be.  As he was marched in handcuffs out to the waiting squad car he heard all the policemen laughing.  He just couldn't understand it, or remember what had happened.

 

 

      He watched with distaste as a big mound of steaming s**t was dropped on his plate.  The chef, a huge dude with tattoos covering his arms chuckled and said,

 

     "Sorry, I know you'd prefer strained peas but this chipped beef will have to do!" and he guffawed mightily, like he'd just told the funniest joke ever uttered by man. 

 

     King stared at him, Tattoo Freak Arms met his gaze without flinching, and King decided discretion was the better part of valor and just waked away.  He spotted a empty chair sitting at an empty table and sat down and started running his fork through the liquefied s**t on his plate and decided he'd just have coffee.  He walked up to where a big urn of the stuff sat and poured himself a cup.  Then he made his way back and slumped down in his chair.  He was ravenous but there was no way he'd eat the crap called food in this place.  Five years of this?  As he sat and sipped his coffee he gradually became tuned in to the conversations his fellow prisoners were having around him.

 

     "...and he got lit up by about a 9 month old!" he heard, followed by waves of heavy laughter coming from all the inmates sneaking looks at him.  Man, the next five years was going to be hell! 

 

 

Reviews

[Marie]

Don't mess with Little People. Ever!

[Michael Stevens]

Amen Marie, just because a person is short of stature doesn't mean they're not a towering heap of b*****d!