Home > Opinions > OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth Contesting My Own Death Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth Contesting My Own Death Again

OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth Contesting My Own Death Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth Contesting My Own Death Again

November 2, 2015 Leave a comment Go to comments
Dick La Hoyt

Dick La Hoyt

So, let me tell you what these fucks down at the News did. They went ahead and published an article about your man Dick La Hoyt being dead. Put out a whole motherlovin’ obituary and everything, said I had been punched in the mouth at the Cabinet Rascal down off Route 71, god damn thing written by some clown in a red felt hat. Upset Tammy all to hell.

She’s calling up the tire shredding plant bawling her eyes out. “Dick’s dead! Dick’s dead!” she’s screaming into the phone at some foreman. “Naw, Dick ain’t dead. He’s right out there on the floor feeding a big cardboard box a’ triple treads into the shredder,” this dope tells her. I get on the phone with Tam and calm her down but then I realize I got some unfinished business with this clown down at the news. I take the rest of the day off and head straight the fuck down there.

“Where’s Ump?” I yell as I hit the newsroom floor. “Where’s that god damn horses’ ass?”

I’m met by editor-in-chief Marles Cundiff. “Dick, we’re looking into this– Ump’s on administrative leave.”

“I’m going to have his ass for lunch,” I say, trying to get around Cundiff. A bunch of other reporters are half-sitting, half-standing. I saw Brian Schropp and Brock Belvedere plunge down the fire exit.

“Dick, babe, calm it down. We’re getting to the bottom of this, alright?” Cundiff says.

“That ain’t good enough for Dick La Hoyt,” I scream out. “I want this sonuvawhore out on this floor RIGHT NOW!”

Well, Cundiff and I go back and forth for awhile with him just telling me the same old shit and me getting more an’ more upset and the reporters all trying to get me off the floor and the next thing I know BAM, I take one right in the mouth and I collapse into a chair.

Next thing I know, Cundiff is running a cold washcloth over my forehead. “You alright, Dick?”

“Who hit me? Man, I’ll rip him apart.”

“Just take it easy, Dick.” He starts running the cloth down on my cheeks and it starts to get a little too intimate for Dick La Hoyt, know what I’m saying? I rip it away from him.

I never did find out jack shit. But I will tell whoever it was that clocked me this– I’ve been punched in the mouth contesting my own death before and I’ll sure as SHIT be punched in the mouth contesting my own death again.

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