Hello, we are coming to you live from an undisclosed location. This is a broadcast of the crossing guard tapes. What you are about to hear is true. This is an unauthorized account taken from the diary of Mike Limbo, an unwilling recruit for a deep state organization known as the Guards of the Realm. Mike is in hiding, his life is in constant danger and he needs your support. Help us get the word out. Join us as we bring you the fifth installment of the crossing guard tapes.
Speaker 3:August 18th 1988. I came home from Atlantic City totally broke and very hungover. Buddy gave me some pills that he said would prevent syphilis. Turns out they were really speed or some shit. All I know is I didn't sleep for three days straight, but I didn't get syphilis either. The pills must have worked. We must have driven up and down the strip hundreds of times, honking and screaming at the whores and all the other street vermin Scared the shit out of a bunch of old farts too. Man, they're fucking everywhere. It's a total blast.
Speaker 3:Atlantic City is a great place to visit. Who knows, maybe I'll live there someday. It's a party town and there's some pretty cool action happening around the clock. But for the time being I'm totally committed to my job In Atlantic City. You're just gonna have to wait. Pretty tired right now, but I kinda feel like doing something. Anyway. I can't sleep, not now. I tried calling Buddy but he's not answering his phone. So I don't know. This might be a good night to get to know my neighbors a little better that lady across the street, perhaps Little peeping Tom. Action is good for the soul once in a while. August 19th 1988. It's 5 AM and I still haven't gotten to sleep. Yet the alarm just went off and it's time to get up, since I have a meeting with Mr Jakeman this morning, today's already fucked. Guess it must be time to take another syphilis pill. August 20th 1988. I've been demoted again, this time to the very, very early morning shift at Hardaway Elementary. I've told Mr Jakeman how much I hate little kids over and over and over again.
Speaker 2:I hate little fucking kids.
Speaker 3:But no, he keeps setting me up with these shit jobs anyway.
Speaker 2:I fucking hate them.
Speaker 3:September 5th 1988. It's the beginning of another school year and the kids are all excited and happy. Everyone's wearing their new clothes and carrying their new book binders. There's electricity in the air. All of the excitement has put me in a pretty good mood. September 19th 1988. Well, the excitement that I felt on the first day of school is worn off big time.
Speaker 3:The kids at this school suck. They really are grades E quality. Personally, I wouldn't give a rat's ass if any of them got run over. Sometimes I don't even bother to get up to help them across, and when it rains out you can forget about it. I will be that guy you'll see standing under the nearest tree staying dry. The weather has been shit for the last few weeks, making the job a total pain in the ass. Going out after work has been a real drag too. Time to catch up on my reading Well, porn. That is September 25th 1988. The weather has finally let up some, and Buddy and me and some of the guys are going out tonight. After weeks of being cooped up every night, I'm definitely ready to go out and crack some heads open. September 26th 1988. This night we'll go down in history as a night to remember.
Speaker 3:After work, buddy and me and a few of the guys started off by bowling a few games at Brunswick Lanes the new Brunswick on Speedway, not the old south side Brunswick down in Spicktown. I'm not a racist or nothing. I mean, some of my best friends are Spicks. Spicktown just gives me the creeps. Anyway, buddy and I teamed up and we were unbeatable. We ran the floor so we didn't have to pay for drinks all night. We were lit up and going about a thousand miles an hour. He was getting pretty pissed off at us, since he considers himself to be a pretty decent bowler. He kept telling me to shut up. I kept telling him that his shoe was untied. I belched every time he was at the line setting up his shot. I would wait until he was just about to shoot and then I'd let one fly. Peaty got even with me, though On my last frame. He ran up behind me just as I was lining up my shot and poured a pitcher of beer all over my head. I turned around and shoved the ball at him and nailed him square in the chest and knocked him on his ass. He fell backwards and landed right on top of this huge guy in the next lane. The dude gets up and starts hammering the living shit out of him, didn't have a ghost of a chance. Buddy and I lit out of there in a hurry, leaving Peat and the other guys to sort out that mess. As far as I'm concerned, peat had it coming. He's always bragging to us about what a hot shit bowler he is. Well, guess what, peat, tonight you're just an A number one jump.
Speaker 3:The fun didn't stop when we got outside either. Buddy found an unlocked car and opened the trunk. He pulled out the tire iron and started busting out windshields as we tore through the parking lot I was laughing too hard to do anything much, but I managed to kick off a few rear view mirrors. For my part, we could hear the police sirens coming, so we kept running until we got all the way to read park. We hid in the woods there until things cooled out a little. The sirens had passed and were far away within a few minutes. Once the coast was clear, we ventured out from our hiding place. By then all those pictures of beer began to catch up with me, so I started looking for a place to take a leak. I found a nice bush to piss behind and discovered a couple old winos living in the grass getting drunk. Well, look what we fucking have here.
Speaker 3:Well you know how Buddy feels about winos Hi stinky. His dad was a pretty bad drunk, so he doesn't like them too much. In fact you could say pretty much doesn't like them a whole lot. First we smashed their wine bottles on some rocks and then proceeded to kick the stink out of them and God, there was plenty of that to go around.
Speaker 2:Run motherfucker. Oh, you can't, because I'm fucking stomping on you, Eww.
Speaker 3:Cry. After that we made them take their clothes off. It was pretty damn cold outside. You should have heard them begging us for mercy. A couple of pussies. He picked them up, one at a time, and threw them and their stinky clothes into the duck pond. At this time of year, the duck pond always has a thin layer of ice on it.
Speaker 2:Is it?
Speaker 3:cold. Is it cold? Maybe you could fuck it. Maybe a little pink ballerina suits would be fucking cool. I've never laughed so hard in my fucking life, though. To be honest, we should have thrown their clothes in a pile and burned them. What have been doing them a favor? Believe me.
Speaker 1:You have just heard the fifth installment of the crossing guard tapes. We are shutting down our transmitter now to prevent the deep stage from tracing our signal. And, dear listeners, due to the FBI's unrementing effort to recover the tapes, there is a risk that they could be monitoring our site. So be sure to keep a low profile when sharing, subscribing and liking. Until next time. Co-conspirators, stay alive and spread the word. The crossing guard tapes was written and produced by Jim Waters, featuring the voice talent of Tommy Nicolai, pat Waters, miel Kite and John Paul, with original music from Pendulum, incorporated Technical support and marketing. Courtesy of Jazz Garrel Wall.