Goat Tales: Jimmy New York and the Deer

I worked for a contractor in Buda, Texas when I was 19. Mostly we did chain sawing and pressure washing but every once in a while we did litter pickup on county roads. Our boss would take any job that paid. I felt like a convict but hey, the boss bought us beer at the end of the day and for some reason, you find a lot of pornography on the side of the road. We called it “Trucker porn.” One of my co-workers was a beautiful slice of white trash pie named Jimmy New York. Jimmy was in my life for a year and the only thing I ever really knew about him was that he was from New York, and he said his name was Jimmy. He looked like Dennis Leary, only shorter and less healthy.

Jimmy randomly showed up at a party of mine and didn’t leave for a few days so my brothers and I took him to work with us so he would quit eating our food. He said he was twenty four years old but his liver said sixty. He scowled constantly and was usually killing his second tall boy of Old Milwaukee’s Best by eight in the morning. Jailhouse Tattoos covered his body. He had “Santino” across his back and “New York” across his belly. He also did more drugs than anyone I have ever seen, and I’ve seen some fried out fuckups in my day.

Anyway, ole’ Jimmy NY and I were walking down the road outside Llano, TX, picking up trash, when we saw a rusted out Ford P.O.S. coming down the road. Just then, a deer ran across the road and smashed head first into the side of the car. The car vomited up a dust cloud, swerved a bit and came to a stop. A frantic woman jumped out of the car worried that an animal had been hurt. Then a frantic man jumped out of the car, worried that his car had been hurt.

Jimmy NY and I ran over to see if we could help. The deer was slowly dying and in obvious pain. The woman looked up at us with hope and asked if we had a gun or a knife. I know we looked like we were doing community service, but who the fuck brings a gun and a knife to community service? Actually, I’m kinda surprised Jimmy NY didn’t have a gun or a knife. Anyway, we told her no.
So this lady starts waving her hands to the sky and chanting, “Go spirit. Go to heaven. Leave your pain behind.” I felt it was a little melodramatic but if it made her feel better, fuck it. Then Jimmy NY’s shirtless, heavily tattooed, Brooklyn accented ass has to throw his two cents in.
“Bitch fucks that deer! That’s good fuckin’ meats der. We gotta get this shit on a grill before it goes bad.”
The woman pretended not to hear Jimmy NY and kept telling the deer’s spirit to go to heaven. She was rewarded with…
“Fuck that shit, bitch. Go in my fucking belly!”

Then the deer died. Then Jimmy NY put his foot on the deer’s head and started trying to yank its antlers off because apparently, “Dude I can make a knife outa this fuckin’ thing!”
The whole thing lasted about fifteen minutes but you get the highlights. Jimmy and the lady are going back and forth with their own brand of hysterics while I’m looking at the husband like, “Sorry about my friend,” while he’s looking at me like, “Sorry about my wife.” Eventually the husband, bereaved of his rear view mirror and driver’s side door, and stuck in a highly uncomfortable position that he wanted no part of; dragged his inconsolable wife off and left us on the side of the road with the dead deer. Shortly after that, the work truck came to pick up us and our garbage. Jimmy New York almost got in a fight with our foreman because he wouldn’t put this pulverized deer carcass on top of the trash to take it back to the shop.

Later I almost got into a fight with Jimmy because I wouldn’t go back to pick up the deer and strap it to the roof of my station wagon, no matter how good deer meat was. The last time I saw Jimmy New York, he was throwing a cinder block at his roommate over of an argument about cocaine and a hooker. Man, I miss the good old days.
I have a bunch more of these stories coming so stay tuned.

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, [6]