Fruit Sniper Back On The Job?

Why am I up writing a fuckin' blog at 7:55am on a Saturday? That would be because I have neighbors that are inconsiderate assholes. This fucker next door is drilling fence posts since 7:10am! Of course it's right outside my bedroom window! It made me want to go back to the dark days, the days when I was a sniper, a hired gun if you will.

Two years ago, when I lived in NYC for a short time I was a sniper. I lived on the 3rd floor of a large apartment building and that's where I mastered my craft. I was the best shot in town, I rarely missed. I was called upon for jobs that nobody else had the stomach or the nerve to take on. I, ladies and gentleman, was a fruit sniper.


A Hired Gun Indeed..... 

It all started one cold winter day in 2003. I was relaxing in the NYC apartment one night when a guy parked his car outside below the building and decided to crank up the bass on his stereo and listen to a Jay-Z concert for 20 minutes while my building shook. As he finally pulled away I fired three orange shots striking the vehicle. I was like Lee Harvey Oswald in the Texas Book Depository, I cranked out 3 shots in 7 seconds with precision accuracy. The man got out of his car all pissed off and was looking up at all the buildings. That apartment was great, nobody ever knew where the shots came from. This became a craft. I kept a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter, near the window at all times. Anytime someone was really inconsiderate I fired. Lemons and limes for the small jobs, peaches and plums for the medium jobs, and oranges and grapefruits for the big jobs, depending on the degree of the offense. It looked like downtown Beirut some mornings as I walked to my car to go to work. Orange peels, lemon skins, smashed grapefruits everywhere. A site only for those with the stomach to handle it.

I took shots over power lines, at cars moving 30MPH, at parked cars, and around tree limbs. No job was too tough for the fruit sniper. I had no scope, no binoculars, I shot with the naked eye. I, ladies and gentleman, was performing my civic duty. I trained others to perform this craft. Local people, Canadians, you name it. I knew some day I would leave the neighborhood and this necessary duty would still need to be performed. My young apprentice was a Canadian boy named Eddie. He was in NYC visiting and I taught him my craft. He is keeping the streets of Toronto safe and quiet as we speak.

Needless to say, word got around. The streets were quieter, more peaceful now that there was a fruit sniper in town. Nobody dared to blast a car stereo, shout from a car, or honk a horn. We walked the streets with pride and we slept in peace with fluffy sheep hopping over a kiwi stained fence. I was a local hero. People from all over praised this mystery man each day for keeping their streets quiet. Kids drew pictures of what they thought the fruit sniper looked like. Many of them were of Carmen Miranda:


The Fruit Sniper, I think Not 

This morning the fruit sniper almost made his Long Beach debut. Lucky for him, today is food shopping day, and I am all out of fruit. Off to the boardwalk to run my morning anger away.