TontoandFriends.com

The Awesome

[NOTE FROM "THE CHIEF" - The following is another installment in learning what our contributors have been up to while our site was inactive. - Tonto]

Hey.

Fuck you, Tonto.

Eat a piñata filled with broken light bulbs and shit until your bloody liver’s smiling at you in the winky water.

Let me just say that I fucking hate quitters.

Tonto screwed the pooch when he abandoned the site. Gone were the hot and gullible internet sluts with their love of a bad boy wearing whiteface. Farewell to the fear and respect that having a world-wide column of crime brought me.

Hell, the bitch didn’t even pay me for the last month I wrote articles.

I’ve removed corneas from people for lesser offenses. With a pair of chopsticks.

So, what’s a mime to do?

I figured Balboa has to have something in his shit-hole apartment I could hock to cover his debt. A stolen car and fourteen hours later, I’m knocking on his window with a brick and three pregnant skunks I’ve tied together.

Also, they were on fire.

The skunks and the brick break open the window. They start pissing, spattering their placentas around the room, and spraying their scent everywhere. Turns out, skunk spray is more flammable than napalm. Tonto’s wigwam goes up in flames, and it levels the whole goddamned city block.

Not what I wanted, but destruction’s lovely, nonetheless. I’m a performance artist, after all, and worn-out sacks of crap like Tonto are my medium.

But I got screwed. Turns out I wasn’t the only person looking for Balboa. CIA were on the scene in seconds. I didn’t even have a chance to toast some marshmallows on the open flames.

Now, any of your morons out there who’ve been paying attention know that me and the government spies go way back. They’ve been humping my leg ever since I sold my first kidney to a member of the Chechen mafia. I worked at lot with the FBI and CIA in order to knock off my jail time and take some of my enemies down. Just enough cooperation on my part so I could be there face to face with the bastards before the last breath pissed outta their lungs and the agents got to handle corpse detail.

But still, I hate these guys. There’s no style to what they do. Guns blazing, interrogation techniques straight outta a box of cracker jacks.

The CIA jumps on me; five guys whip out their pistols and slap me across my face like it’s a circle jerk. After they have their fun, they toss me in a car and knock me out.

When I come to, I’m naked, tied to a wooden chair. There’s a desk with a gun right in front of me. Room’s lit just enough to see the desk. I do a backwards somersault and break the chair. Fucks up my wrists pretty bad, but now I’m able to untie myself.

Suddenly, this asshole turns on the lights, and runs to grab the gun on the desk. Before he can reach it, I’ve wrapped a piece of the rope and a chair leg around his ankle, and flipped him in the air like a quarter.

He hits the ground. Hard. I run up to him, squeeze the rope as tight as I can against his thick government neck. Just before I have a chance to hear his spine crack, he groans: Chūnori.

I drop him. Hadn’t heard that name in years, and I won’t lie. It scared me. I’ve seen more terrifying things in an hour that most of you will ever experience. But, if that fucking psychotic clown was still alive, then this world was in for some pain.

While the CIA guy’s coughing, he pulls out a folder and hands it me. It’s all there.

Clowns are crazy people. As a whole, they’re undisciplined, weak. They tend to work best in groups. Despite all that crap about being scared of them, you could easily drop a clown to the floor with a feather and a basic understanding of the human respiratory system.

But kabuki clowns, they are the Green Beret of them all. Almost as determined and savage as a mime. Tell me how spending your whole life denying oneself the right to fucking blink is gonna make your head straight. It ain’t.

Chūnori and I went to school together, until about a year into the program. He was deported back to Osaka for slaughtering all forty-eight people who attended his final project for class. Said they had to die – it was the will of kyū - the Kabuki law that demanded art be ended with speed, to erase all that had been present. His father was a diplomat in France, so he walked away.

The man had no passion or understanding of art. He just liked killing people.

And that’s why they brought me here. The CIA couldn’t stop Chūnori, so they wanted to send a mime to do a fool’s errand; find this kabuki killer, and put him down.

I nodded my head, the doors opened, and I had no choice but to accept my fate...

(to be continued)

- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.

For more of Linus and his criminally fun exploits, check out our crime article archive.

By Tonto Balboa tontobalboa@hotmail.com

Editor and "Chief" tontoandfriends.com

And I thought Larry Holmes put me down for the count. Holy shit, was I wrong. As our loyal readers know, just about a year ago I embarked on a second career. Third, if you count my stint (stint being defined as 1992 - 2005) as a door-to-door salesman peddling the finest Indian Shit a bored housewife or stoned night class college student could find. Fourth, if you count a six-month run as a plasma donor in '88. Fifth, if you count my run as Editor and "Chief" of Tontoandfriends.com. I'm getting off the topic here.

And the topic at hand is: Where in God's Holy Name of Harold Have You All Been?! That takes us back to that career change thingy. I took up the art of professional wrestling and things were for once looking good for me right off the bat. I'd learned the basics of the headlock and the dreaded deadly chop. Then we were taught the pile driver.

A pile driver takes it names from the piece of machinery that impales the seafloor with beams of wood, metal, and anything else that needs to be pierced into the ocean. As the move pertains to professional wrestling, you simulate the pile driving with your opponents head going skull cap first into the canvas, rendering them in a state of unconsciousness long enough to secure a three count.

The details, like most of Dec 2008 - April 2009, are fuzzy but long story short: don't practice pile drivers on day three of professional wrestling class and don't ever practice them on a day where the only other guy who showed up is a midget.

In an instant I went from, "Are you sure this will be okay?" to "Ummm, Mr. Balboa, we need your birth name so that the hospital knows which insurance company to bill." One of the effects of being in what medical professionals call an "epic" coma is slight to moderate memory loss. Of course, I ended up on the north side of moderate and now I don't remember what my real name was. My driver's license says Tonto Balboa - a manager said I should do that two decades ago to "further the persona." Thanks.

So now I'm nearly six-figures in debt, several months of my life gone, a neck that barely works, and NO MEANS of earning an income... with the exception of this here website. They say in life one should count what one has instead of what one has not. I've got Schmooz, Linus, Vans, Melvin, Bustamante, Slocomb, and Stephany. Eh, I guess that's something, isn't it. Here goes nothing.  

- Tonto Balboa, real name permanently unknown, is a former prizefighter with a record of 48-10. He is best known for getting his ass royally whupped by Larry Holmes in Madison Square Garden. Since then, Balboa has toured the country as a salesman, attempting to cash in on his 1/64th Native American heritage, by selling Indian artifacts. After sustaining a neck injury by way of a botched pile driver from a midget while training for a career in pro-wresting, he returns to his fourth or fifth love - serving as Editor and "Chief" of TontoandFriends.com.  

NOTE: Want to catch up on some of our best stuff? Of course you do! Check our our local mime, Linus, as he satirically shows off some of his best crime writing. For the advice seekers, look no further than Melvin the Pirate and his outrageously popular Ask a Pirate column.