How I met the Green Hornet

Greg Thompson was quite the character. I met him in Spanish class my freshman year. I hadn’t signed with the house yet so he was just some crazy guy on acid in Spanish when we met.  A real tall scrappy looking guy with curly hair always tucked under a hat.

So we all had to pick out Spanish names, Marci became “Mercedes”, I became “Jaime” and so on. And so it becomes Greg’s turn to pick out a name. The bitch teacher, and I call her a bitch because she failed me, calls on Greg. 

“Gomez!” Greg yells in a squeaking high pitched tripping on acid voice. And he tripped acid during class at least four times a week, usually during class. 

“That’s a last name, Greg” the teacher says. 

“I want to be Gomez! I want to be Gomez!” Greg howls, he is almost livid that he can’t have his way. Teacher looking somewhat frightened gives in and lets him be known as Gomez. 

So I show up at the house that afternoon, still rushing the house, and I see Gomez coming down the stairs. “Jaime, Jaime!!!” he yells. 

So turns out Gomez is a brother in the house and wants to party with me…right now. We get in his car, a 1989 green mustang, with the license plate GRN HNT, as in Green Hornet. 

So we start driving down providence, smoking a bowl at about 90 miles an hour. It’s a 30 MPH street. I am holding the “Oh Shit” handle and he starts yelling, “Calm down smoothy! Its all good!” He starts calling me nicknames like Smoothy, Skillet, and other nonsense. Who the fuck is this guy?

We end up at some bar where we are the only white guys. He walks into the joint like he owns the place and starts dancing like Michael Jackson in the middle of the bar. There is no dance floor, per se, but he is tearing it up. At first, all of the brothers start looking at him, and then at me, like “we are going to kick the shit out of this guy, and you’re next.” Fuck, who is this guy?

So I go out to the dancefloor and try to get him the hell out of there and he stiff arms me. I am disrupting his rhythm and he is in a trance. “Step off Smoothie!” he yells laughing the whole time. I got middle age blue collar black dudes standing behind me muttering stuff like “Crazy white boy mother fucker.” I’m about to piss myself. I start moving to the door figuring its Gomez’s funeral. Two guys grab me, one of them says, “Where you going, white boy, you just got here.” So now I’m fucked. I am going to get my ass kick and probably have to fight for some guy I just met and don’t really know. 

The comments from the crowd moving in slowly start to change. Women are taking notice of his dancing and yelling, “Damn, that boy move good for a cracker.” I swear it was something out of a bad movie. So these black chicks start moving towards Gomez, about four of them, all grinding on him. Gomez is digging it, calling me to join him, I refrain. 

I ended up sitting at this table with these four older black dudes for about four hours. Doing shots of something that tasted like gasoline and throwing up twice in the bathroom, yet still going back for more.

At about 1 in the morning, and granted I got to this place at about 4 p.m, I stumbled outside and passed out on the parking lot pavement. I woke up a few hours later to find the bar was closed, the Green Hornet and his Mustang were gone and I would be walking home. 

As you know, I ended up signing with the house. And the Green Hornet went home with a few gals from the bar. Allegedly.


~ by thebooger on September 23, 2008.

2 Responses to “How I met the Green Hornet”

  1. That guy was fucking nuts. I saw him at a bar once. He was sitting in a booth ranting like beavis saying shit I couldn’t understand. He wouldn’t snap out of it.

  2. I met El Verde Hornet when I was rushing the house in 1991. We roomed together in Club Mead for most of the first semester our freshman year, me, Rosey, and GE. New wing 2nd floor last room on the left. Our sleeping area became known as the rat hole.

    El Verde Hornet became good friends with many of us but it soon became apparent that there was only so much of him that any one person could stand for very long. Our amigo loved to stir up a hornets nest for sure.

    Fast forward a couple of years and El Verde Hornet, Rosey and I lived at the corner of Rangeline and the Business Loop. Great neighborhood, we used to sit on the porch for hours and watch crackheads get busted by the cops. That’s if we weren’t shooting mice inside the house with our blowgun.

    One morning El Verde Hornet (EVH) woke me up at 6:30 and said the cops were getting ready to raid the house. I replied “what the fuck”. Apparently, EVH, had been on an all night cola binge and was having issues. I looked out the window and sure enough there were cops outside of the house but they were hassling a homeless guy. I told EVH that the cops are just hassling a homeless guy. Are you fucking retarded or something. He said, “No you’re fucking retarded, that’s an undercover cop!” he then proceeded to flush a lot of money down the toilet.

    After I got home from class that day EVH was sleeping it off. His grandma called and asked to talk to him. I told her that he was sleeping and that last time I woke him up he was not very happy. Her reply, “I don’t need some dumb mother fucker telling me I can’t talk to my Grandson. Go wake him up you stupid son of a bitch.” I went into his room threw the phone at him and said your fucking grandma is on the phone you dumb ass.

    I still liked the guy though.

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