Big Opie VIII came to Saint Manure from the bad dealership on the rough side of the tracks. He was let go for lack of sales. In other words, Big Opie VIII can't close a door. Maybe it's because he's always whacked out on prescription meds.
When we hired him, Big Opie VIII told the Douchebag that he couldn't pass a drug test because he is on doctor's orders to remain under a self induced coma.
The Douchebag demanded that Big Opie VIII tell him what the doctor prescribed. Though illegal to make this demand, the Douchebag made Big Opie VIII's employment contingent on this disclosure.
Once he got here, Big Opie VIII stood in front of the glass doors, responding occasionally to light and movement of big objects on the street outside. He has sold little.
Comic Book Guy was trying to sell an exceptionally attractive woman her first motorcycle. Big Opie VIII started to talk to her while Comic Book Guy was in the sales office trying to put a deal together on a Honda cruiser.
"I'm so excited about learning to ride," she said.
"I've helped a lot of new riders," replied Big Opie VIII, "You should start out on a sport bike like my Yamaha R1. It was just dynoed and it puts out 162.93 horsepower. I used to be a racer until I hurt my back in a high side at Daytona."
"I'm going to take the course and my friend is going to teach me too,"
"I hope your friend is as good an instructor as I am, because I've had six friends killed on motorcycles in the last few years. Maybe you should go for a ride on the back of my bike first. I used to be racer before I hurt my back."
Big Opie VIII stuck another morphine lollipop in his mouth and watched the woman leave. He was sure she'd be back to see him. They'd talked.
"Where'd my customer go?" asked Comic Book Guy, returning with an approval from the finance company.
"She said she had to go to work," said Big Opie VIII, "I'm going to fuck her when she comes back. She's hot."
Then Big Opie VIII clocked out and went home for a two hour nap and intravenous drip of narcotics.
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