Hurricane Boy


Tom Cruise is a fuckup. I know this as a absolute fact. How do I know? Because I learned it firsthand. I’m probably the smartest guy you’ll ever meet most likely so if I tell you something you can take it to the bank and cash it no problem. Thing is, even smart guys make mistakes… just look at that fuckup Tom Cruise.

See, it all started when the girlfriend and I were watching “Rain Man.” Her husband comes home in the middle of the movie so I have to sneak out through the doggy-door. But as I’m squirming I get this idea from that scene where Cruise takes his retard brother to Las Vegas to count cards and cheat the casino out of millions. My idea was simple: take MY retard brother to Las Vegas to count cards and cheat the casino out of millions. I’m crafty like that.

The only problem was I couldn’t afford a trip to Vegas. Also I didn’t have a retard brother. Or any brother. I have a sister who once put out a grease fire with her face, but that’s a story for another day. Since I don’t give up easy I drove over to the State School for the Criminally Retarded and snatched a supertard off the playground and threw him in the backseat of my car. I told him we were going for soft-serve ice cream and he said “Vanilla,” so I figured that must be his name. (No wonder he’s retarded.)

So Vanilla and I get to the local casino- Foxcrotch or something like that- and right away the trouble begins. One of the floor men spots Vanilla at the entrance and tells me that pets are not allowed on the premises. I assured the guy that Vanilla was housebroke but of course the idiot instantly proves me wrong. After housekeeping shows up with the wet/dry vac I explain to the floor man that Vanilla is my brother and that we were only here to count cards, cheat the casino out of millions, and then be on our way. The guy seemed cool with this.

Vanilla and I finally get to the Blackjack table and I explain to him that this is his time to crank up the freakgenius and earn us some dollars. Fucker just stared straight ahead and said “bieber,” whatever the hell that means. If he thinks I’m buying him a bieber he’s out his mind.

So the dealer starts dealing and we get 19, with the dealer showing a three. I ask Vanilla if we should hit or stick and the kid goes cowshit, throwing cards and chips into the air, spilling people’s drinks and running around the casino snorting and barking. By the time I find Petting Zoo he's at the roulette table, trying to catch the marble with his mouth. I strained my neck just watching him.

When I drag him back to Blackjack there are six security guards waiting for us and the floor man from before: betrayal, I know. Vanilla’s putting the aces down his pants, and these goons use their cattle prods and tasers to get us to leave- I spasm to this day. Van and I find ourselves out on the front curb, penniless and loveless, and at least one of us had thrown up the entire box of Double-Stuf Oreos I forced him to eat on the drive.

I was just about to slap him again when Vanilla looked at me and said something I never expected, something I’ll never forget. I sensed something inside him I never sensed before- a soul- and with a smile on his face and a true awareness he looked me in the eyes and said, “Brother.”

I had him back on the playground in less than twenty minutes. Oh and PS- go fuck yourself Tom Cruise.