He was a fucking asshole and a prick. Started back when he was running under the Senor Nasty flag, (pre-Smith days), back when he was a lowly ferry deckhand on The Dolph Briscoe. circa 08. (iykyk)
We shared many laughs, stories, and entirely waaay too many Miller Lites over the years and, yeah, we became pretty close friends. Once or twice a month, we'd get together and fish. and fish hard.
He was supposed to start treatments today, so I called him last night, went to voicemail, so, in typical dumbass style, I left him a message telling him, "Hey fucker, if you have any files, photos, or incriminating shit on your computer or locked-away someplace, you might want to forward that info to me before they start their voodoo-shit on your ass, so I can handle that in case, God forbid, you don't make it through. The last thing I'd want is for your wife or kids to discover is some nasty fucking pictures or videos of you and some fucking transvestites in some seedy fucking bayside motel doing whatever you sick-fucks do. Just throwing that out there if you need it. Ha! Call when you get the chance.
".
(Typical stupid shit that friends do)
His son returns my call, shortly thereafter and informs me of his passing.
Certainly was not expecting that
I mean, shit, he wasn't the epitome of 'healthy lifestyle' but there's not a single person reading this that would have ever bet that he'd pass away before El Gato. (
)
Yes, that's some pretty sick humor. That's also one of the things I'll miss most. We would always find a way to bring some humor into whatever the situation...there were no limits.
Cap'n Pants, you will be missed, my friend.
Mr. Smith 111
