It was a typical Sunday morning at Sal's Pizza & Adult Video, I got there around 7am for a little "eye-opener"...the prior night had been a rough one. I didn't remember much after the fight with the transgender Irish midget at the Thirsty Leprechaun (a drug deal gone bad...and not the first time that little faggot tried to rip me off), and I woke up behind the dumpster with a massive fucking hangover. I needed a drink to get myself straightened out, and Sal's joint was the only place open that early on a Sunday.

My lawyer, Shady Stu Goldberg, was already there when I walked in, sitting at his usual spot at the bar and chopping up huge lines of coke as he chatted casually with Sal. They both looked towards me and smiled. "Mornin' Cap" said Sal, as Shady motioned me over and invited me to take a seat next to him. Sal didn't need to ask what I wanted, he could tell just by looking at me...without a word he reached behind him and grabbed a handle of Jim Beam. "Ya wanna glass with dat, Cappy?" he asked as he slid the bottle in front of me. "Fuck no..." I replied as I lit a smoke, "but I'll take a PBR for a chaser." Sal happily obliged, digging a cold one out of the ice for me and cracking it open with his thick, calloused finger. I took a hard slam off the handle, and quickly washed it down with the cold, foul-tasting brew.

Just then, the door swung open. There in the doorway stood a disheveled figure; a small, prissy-looking chap in a rumpled suit, his hair a mess, shirt untucked and stained with vomit...I could immediately tell this was a man who had been drinking all night. He looked oddly familiar...I'd seen him before, but it took a moment to register...then I realized it was Shep Smith!

"Who do I gotta fuck ta get a drink in this fuckin' town?" Shep slurred with a crooked smile on his face, he was unsteady on his feet and held onto the door frame for support. I saw Sal reaching for his sawed-off 12 gauge under the bar; a man who's been drinking all night can be very dangerous, and Sal isn't the type to take chances. I told Sal to hold his fire, knowing the sound of a shotgun blast this early on a Sunday morning would surely draw the attention of the police, something that none of us needed. I told Shep to come inside and have a seat, pulling out the bar stool next to me and patting the torn leatherette cushion. He drunkenly stumbled across the room and plopped onto the stool...his smile suddenly vanished, and he began crying. Instinctively, I handed Shep the handle of Beam, and he took a healthy swig.

"I quit my fuckin' job!" he slurred as he stared at the floor, "I fuckin' fuckin' notice or nothin'...jus' up 'n quit!" Sal, Shady, and I all looked at one another...we knew Shep had abruptly announced he was leaving Fox News a couple of days earlier, but he hadn't seemed very upset about it when he bid farewell to his audience. Now we realized there was more to the story, and it sounded as if he wanted to get it off his chest. "23 fuckin' yearsh I worked there...23...thash a long fuckin' time!" he sobbed as he took another belt from the bottle. Shep started to explain that the other anchors had been fucking with him, including how Tucker Carlson gave him a wedgie every time he passed him in the hallway, and how Hannity had punched him and called him a sissy fag-boy one day when he'd caught Shep sneaking a peek at the urinal.

Just about then, Shady loudly snorted a line of Peruvian Pink Flake up his big Jewish honker, and the tell-tale sound seemed to catch Shep's attention. Shady looked up and noticed him staring at the lines laid out on the bar, "C'mon and try some of this shit, my man," Shady said with a huge shit-eating grin, "fuckin' guaranteed to lift your spirits!"

Shep staggered over next to Stu and clumsily took the rolled-up c-note from him, then proceeded to hoover two enormous lines of the potent white powder...he was going for a third when Shady stopped him. "Yo Shep, ya gotta go easy with this shit, let those two kick in and see how ya feel before ya do anymore." Shady cautioned with a friendly smile. "This ain't like the shit blow you guys do in fuckin' New York." Shep stared at Shady with a crazy look in his eyes, like the way a man who's been drinking all night and has just ingested a sizable amount of high-grade cocaine looks at you. "FUCK YOU! Ya little Kike fuck!" Shep slurred angrily as he leaned forward to do another line. I saw Sal reaching for his 12 gauge again, and Shady was slowly moving his hand towards the .40 tucked in his waistband...I feared things were about to get ugly.

To be continued...