Spencer Hawes Visits Sacramento, Shows Off His Guns

No joke, man. Here’s the unedited version:

His gray T-shirt was soaked with sweat. His arms draped the back of the furniture, a cell phone clutched in his right hand.

Suddenly, the phone was alive in his palm, buzzing angrily to alert him of his incoming call. It had been set to vibrate. With a piercing gaze, Spencer leveled his eyes onto the phone’s display to check the caller I.D.

Unknown number.

His mind raced as he searched the corners of his groggy memory. The possibilities seemed endless…there was that tall, leggy blonde from the Chili’s in Natomas — or could it be the effeminate, stocky young man from the dentist’s office, calling to remind him of an upcoming appointment?

Hawes’ fingers nimbly and ably caressed the phone’s “send” key, answering the call. He swallowed hard, looking for the perfect words.

“This is Spence. Who’s this?” The words hung for what seemed an eternity. Finally, a voice on the other end, raspy and deep, grumbled in a mannish pitch, “This is Ailene…are we still on for tonight, Sugar Sack?”

Startled, Hawes threw down the phone, sending it in pieces across the freshly waxed hardwood floor. The burning in his stomach was coming up fast and hard to the back of his throat. The bathroom was too far, and the kitchen sink would just be too gross to clean up later. Without hesitating, he grabbed the trash can, and his partially-digested lunch met the bottom of the container with a dull spattering thud.

He awoke several hours later with a throbbing pain that seemed to only get worse with every pulse. He lifted himself slowly from the ground before collapsing once again. Just then, a familiar voice called from the next room.

“Hawes? Hey, Hawes?”

His lips were barely able to form the words, but somehow he forced them out, “Yea—Yeah…I-I’m over here.”

It was Sam Amick, the Sac Bee’s only genuinely talented sports writer. “Jesus! What the Hell happened?”

“What do you think happened, Sam?”

“Oh, shit, man. Not Ailene trying to booty call you again?”

But Hawes didn’t even have to answer for Amick to know the truth. The disgust was permanently etched onto his face. Amick begin to feel dizzy, the room circling him and his balance suddenly betraying him. He looked around the kitchen, his eyes darting wickedly. He knew his constitution was about to give way.

“Hey, Hawes, can you h-hand me that trash can? I think I’m gonna be…” He couldn’t finish his sentence before the flood of vomit began to flow heavily from his mouth, like a tropical waterfall, cascading thunderously into a pool far below.