Episode 105: Passive Dragonslaying
Sometimes, you really don't have to do anything at all but show a little initiative to solve a problem. I had the whole thing planned out in my head. Richie was going to be home, playing videogames as usual, Phoenix would be on one couch watching, I'd come into the living room and join the two and if Deb and Melissa were there, great. If not, no problem because one other thing would be there...my handy little Digital Voice Recorder. He wouldn't be able to lie his way out of the shit he was in with me.
The tension that had been coming about because as each would talk to him one-on-one, he'd go to the next person putting on an act and manipulating the situation. Even Misty identified him as an alcoholic loser sitting in my home. We decided to do what worked temporarily before. Corner him collectively and inundate him. This time, he'd be inundated with very forceful words from me and he'd be given three choices; attempt to "prove" something by trying to fight me, run like hell with his tail between his legs which was the most likely, or clean up his act...not fucking likely.
I'd come in and turn the TV off right in the middle of him playing Resident Evil 4.
"Dude!" he would say, "that was my game!"
"Actually," I'd say, "there's where your problem begins because, first, the console belongs to Deb and Phoenix. The controllers are mine since I bought them and they're on an indefinite loan to Deb and Phoenix who exercise sole authority over them until I step in which I'm doing now and since you're playing on MY fuckin' TV...I'd like to know what you're going to do about it. Nothing...that's what I thought. Sit there, get killed by a zombie and fucking deal with it because I'm here to tell you a few things. First, your life as you know it ends today. Second, you obviously can't control yourself or conduct yourself in a civil manner when you drink so that's out. That bottle of Jagermeister in the freezer now belongs to me for disposal or consumption...entirely at my discretion, of course. Third, you've wasted three weeks of my time so I'm opting to not teach you a fucking thing. You wanna learn about then hand-to-hand stuff? You have a long fucking way to go to change your fucking attitude. Fourth, your attitude is a fucking problem and I don't like it so that's going to change too. Fifth, I don't like the way you treat Melissa...neither does Phoenix and Deb. What this means is continued treatment of her the way you have been is going to cost you some fucking teeth if you don't knock it the fuck off and, as I see it, I have more people backing me while you only continue to back down so that's it. Wanna continue what you're doing? Pack your shit because you won't do it here. Your contribution to this household is nowhere near enough to keep this kind of activity up. Got that? Understand? Good! Then we have an understanding. Breach of that understanding will have you on the business end of three really bad fucking motor scooters who will take that bottle of Jager, drink it and bust it over your melon fucking head, got that? Good...this discussion is over."
Then I'd walk. No chance for him to speak. He'd get both barrels from me and that would be it.
Unfortunately, that never happened...he simply wasn't there.
I decided to do some laundry early and get some shit done waiting for him to show up and show his ass again.
So, I took the laundry to the laundromat and played a game of M.A.C.H. while the clothes were washing. Once that was done, I stuck 'em all into a dryer, pumped a buck and a half into it and kicked the machine on. I went to Dairy Queen to get something to eat, taking the laptop with me.
I Am Damien's Smirking Revenge...
As I was entering I saw this young woman leaving so I pulled the door open. It looked like her hands were full. Much to my surprise but not, Richie followed her, carrying the rest of her bags as she talked to him. My household has been a fucking wreck, he's been lying his ass off to me and everyone else AND he's cheating...I did what I do best...pretended to not notice a fucking thing as he looked surprised and hauled ass while I took in every detail. It's pretty easy to do when you hang around people who are always trying to circumvent rules on a near-daily basis. I've mastered it by now.
I placed my order and took a table, trying to call home. He was supposed to be at his mom's house, not hanging all over some other chick. At that point, I made my decision...he was out. I'd toss in a beating if he didn't just opt to go of his own free will. Not one call I made would get me through to anyone in the house. Something was wrong. I popped out the laptop and, with a little finagling, I jacked the Dairy Queen's wireless connection and signed onto Yahoo, praying to God someone was home and signed in. Melissa was using Deb's screen name.
I Am Damien's Raging Bile Duct...
I filled her in on the whole mess. Needless to say, she tried to convince me to at least hear him out. I informed her that one lie out of his mouth would be replaced by my foot shoved forcefully INTO it.
I ate, stewing, wanting so badly to put my CQC expertise to the test and show my roomies only one point proven...it works and it works everytime. I went back to the laundromat and put my laundry away. Then...it was back home.
I Am Damien's Thumb Over The Red Button...
When I got home, he wasn't there. Phoenix and I talked. We were going to get him to talk. I ended up positively identifying via photos on myspace who it was he was hanging onto at the time. This chick was only sixteen! He's twenty-two going on twelve.
Now...he's fucked.
Once he got in, Phoenix and I exchanged devious grins.
Heads, I win...tails, you lose...outta my way I'm comin through...
"We need to talk," I told him from across the room, "Who's the chiiiiiiiick?" I asked in my best Joker impression. Naturally, he lied and it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from snatching him up by his throat and going Spawn on his dumbass.
"Open eyes don't think twice when we crush...CRUSH! Crush 'em...CRUSH 'EM!"
"We also need to talk about you pushin' my fuckin buttons the other night," I said. He ignored me...that little scrawny fuck who had all kinda liquid courage flowing through his veins was fucking ignoring me! Oh HELL No!
Then, I turned my attention toward Phoenix and wondered aloud if I could still bench as much as I used to as easily...that's a decision I'm regretting now. That led to a discussion and, during that discussion, this little scrawny fuck is trying to get closer and closer to me. Not smart. We all know what it is he's doing. He's trying to get me alone. Not going to happen. Now that everyone is here, I no longer need the goddamned recorder. I have three witnesses.
He wasn't interested in what I had to say then, I have no interest in what he wants to do to resolve the situation now. Phoenix and I grab the weights and haul them outside onto the front porch. I stacked 80 lbs onto the bar for starters. The problem with this bar is that it's not one of those Olympic style bars and that's all it will hold unless you really push it and then, it will only accomodate 90 lbs. I haven't benched in a long time. Most of what I've done is body weight or low weight. As I'm holding one of the 20 lb weights in one hand, he's still up in close proximity of me. I flat out told him to fuck off.
I don't know about you but when someone I've pissed off is holding something that weighs 20 pounds and has the inclination to kick my ass, I don't know that I would be hanging around them much longer.
During my weight session, I suddenly hear Melissa crying in the living room. Richie left because no one will talk to him.
The situation seemed to be resolving itself. Impatient little shit couldn't wait for me to blow off some steam to which he'd been a major contributor. I was about to put him through Msgt. Cross' Boot Camp by blowing that 150 decibel whistle in his face each morning and put him through my workout (15-Minute Hell) and scream Sgt. Hartman lines at him through the entire thing like, "Are you gonna fucking die? DON'T DO THAT! THAT WOULD BREAK MY FUCKING HEART!" and make his life so miserable that he would want to quit. Knowing the kind of person he is, he would. He'd do that to himself. Granted, I haven't done my workouts in awhile but that doesn't mean I don't do them at all. He wouldn't last through one minute in The Bullring with me in the least. He didn't last through a serious discussion...he just left and now, he faces worse than me. He faces a pissed off stepdad and a pissed off mom with thoughts of slow and painful evisceration. Me? I'd have just beaten his ass but these two seek worse than that. Needless to say he's no longer welcome here.
Melissa seems to be doing better today tormenting me again.
Richie walked by the house today while I was on the phone.
He didn't even LOOK at the place.
Situation Normal...All Fucked Up. Mission: Accomplished
The tension that had been coming about because as each would talk to him one-on-one, he'd go to the next person putting on an act and manipulating the situation. Even Misty identified him as an alcoholic loser sitting in my home. We decided to do what worked temporarily before. Corner him collectively and inundate him. This time, he'd be inundated with very forceful words from me and he'd be given three choices; attempt to "prove" something by trying to fight me, run like hell with his tail between his legs which was the most likely, or clean up his act...not fucking likely.
I'd come in and turn the TV off right in the middle of him playing Resident Evil 4.
"Dude!" he would say, "that was my game!"
"Actually," I'd say, "there's where your problem begins because, first, the console belongs to Deb and Phoenix. The controllers are mine since I bought them and they're on an indefinite loan to Deb and Phoenix who exercise sole authority over them until I step in which I'm doing now and since you're playing on MY fuckin' TV...I'd like to know what you're going to do about it. Nothing...that's what I thought. Sit there, get killed by a zombie and fucking deal with it because I'm here to tell you a few things. First, your life as you know it ends today. Second, you obviously can't control yourself or conduct yourself in a civil manner when you drink so that's out. That bottle of Jagermeister in the freezer now belongs to me for disposal or consumption...entirely at my discretion, of course. Third, you've wasted three weeks of my time so I'm opting to not teach you a fucking thing. You wanna learn about then hand-to-hand stuff? You have a long fucking way to go to change your fucking attitude. Fourth, your attitude is a fucking problem and I don't like it so that's going to change too. Fifth, I don't like the way you treat Melissa...neither does Phoenix and Deb. What this means is continued treatment of her the way you have been is going to cost you some fucking teeth if you don't knock it the fuck off and, as I see it, I have more people backing me while you only continue to back down so that's it. Wanna continue what you're doing? Pack your shit because you won't do it here. Your contribution to this household is nowhere near enough to keep this kind of activity up. Got that? Understand? Good! Then we have an understanding. Breach of that understanding will have you on the business end of three really bad fucking motor scooters who will take that bottle of Jager, drink it and bust it over your melon fucking head, got that? Good...this discussion is over."
Then I'd walk. No chance for him to speak. He'd get both barrels from me and that would be it.
Unfortunately, that never happened...he simply wasn't there.
I decided to do some laundry early and get some shit done waiting for him to show up and show his ass again.
So, I took the laundry to the laundromat and played a game of M.A.C.H. while the clothes were washing. Once that was done, I stuck 'em all into a dryer, pumped a buck and a half into it and kicked the machine on. I went to Dairy Queen to get something to eat, taking the laptop with me.
I Am Damien's Smirking Revenge...
As I was entering I saw this young woman leaving so I pulled the door open. It looked like her hands were full. Much to my surprise but not, Richie followed her, carrying the rest of her bags as she talked to him. My household has been a fucking wreck, he's been lying his ass off to me and everyone else AND he's cheating...I did what I do best...pretended to not notice a fucking thing as he looked surprised and hauled ass while I took in every detail. It's pretty easy to do when you hang around people who are always trying to circumvent rules on a near-daily basis. I've mastered it by now.
I placed my order and took a table, trying to call home. He was supposed to be at his mom's house, not hanging all over some other chick. At that point, I made my decision...he was out. I'd toss in a beating if he didn't just opt to go of his own free will. Not one call I made would get me through to anyone in the house. Something was wrong. I popped out the laptop and, with a little finagling, I jacked the Dairy Queen's wireless connection and signed onto Yahoo, praying to God someone was home and signed in. Melissa was using Deb's screen name.
I Am Damien's Raging Bile Duct...
I filled her in on the whole mess. Needless to say, she tried to convince me to at least hear him out. I informed her that one lie out of his mouth would be replaced by my foot shoved forcefully INTO it.
I ate, stewing, wanting so badly to put my CQC expertise to the test and show my roomies only one point proven...it works and it works everytime. I went back to the laundromat and put my laundry away. Then...it was back home.
I Am Damien's Thumb Over The Red Button...
When I got home, he wasn't there. Phoenix and I talked. We were going to get him to talk. I ended up positively identifying via photos on myspace who it was he was hanging onto at the time. This chick was only sixteen! He's twenty-two going on twelve.
Now...he's fucked.
Once he got in, Phoenix and I exchanged devious grins.
Heads, I win...tails, you lose...outta my way I'm comin through...
"We need to talk," I told him from across the room, "Who's the chiiiiiiiick?" I asked in my best Joker impression. Naturally, he lied and it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from snatching him up by his throat and going Spawn on his dumbass.
"Open eyes don't think twice when we crush...CRUSH! Crush 'em...CRUSH 'EM!"
"We also need to talk about you pushin' my fuckin buttons the other night," I said. He ignored me...that little scrawny fuck who had all kinda liquid courage flowing through his veins was fucking ignoring me! Oh HELL No!
Then, I turned my attention toward Phoenix and wondered aloud if I could still bench as much as I used to as easily...that's a decision I'm regretting now. That led to a discussion and, during that discussion, this little scrawny fuck is trying to get closer and closer to me. Not smart. We all know what it is he's doing. He's trying to get me alone. Not going to happen. Now that everyone is here, I no longer need the goddamned recorder. I have three witnesses.
He wasn't interested in what I had to say then, I have no interest in what he wants to do to resolve the situation now. Phoenix and I grab the weights and haul them outside onto the front porch. I stacked 80 lbs onto the bar for starters. The problem with this bar is that it's not one of those Olympic style bars and that's all it will hold unless you really push it and then, it will only accomodate 90 lbs. I haven't benched in a long time. Most of what I've done is body weight or low weight. As I'm holding one of the 20 lb weights in one hand, he's still up in close proximity of me. I flat out told him to fuck off.
I don't know about you but when someone I've pissed off is holding something that weighs 20 pounds and has the inclination to kick my ass, I don't know that I would be hanging around them much longer.
During my weight session, I suddenly hear Melissa crying in the living room. Richie left because no one will talk to him.
The situation seemed to be resolving itself. Impatient little shit couldn't wait for me to blow off some steam to which he'd been a major contributor. I was about to put him through Msgt. Cross' Boot Camp by blowing that 150 decibel whistle in his face each morning and put him through my workout (15-Minute Hell) and scream Sgt. Hartman lines at him through the entire thing like, "Are you gonna fucking die? DON'T DO THAT! THAT WOULD BREAK MY FUCKING HEART!" and make his life so miserable that he would want to quit. Knowing the kind of person he is, he would. He'd do that to himself. Granted, I haven't done my workouts in awhile but that doesn't mean I don't do them at all. He wouldn't last through one minute in The Bullring with me in the least. He didn't last through a serious discussion...he just left and now, he faces worse than me. He faces a pissed off stepdad and a pissed off mom with thoughts of slow and painful evisceration. Me? I'd have just beaten his ass but these two seek worse than that. Needless to say he's no longer welcome here.
Melissa seems to be doing better today tormenting me again.
Richie walked by the house today while I was on the phone.
He didn't even LOOK at the place.
Situation Normal...All Fucked Up. Mission: Accomplished
posted by Lord Genocyde at 2:08 AM
4 Comments:
That "I am Damiens...." reminds me of one of my favorite movies"Fight Club".
You CAN'T reason with a drunk.You don't stand a chance.Your gona have to deal with him when he's sober.I HATE trying to talk over a druink person.They hear nothing you say,only their OWN voice babling a bunch of bull s***.
I wonder if I'm like that when I get drunk?
Nahhhhh! No way.But then again,I hardly ever,ever drink anyways.It just doesn't fit into my lifestyle these days.Hmmm
So dude got busted at the Dairy Queen.I bet he looked like a deer in the headlights when he seen you.hahaha
Deer caught in headlights doesn't cover it. I would say that the analogy of a human hearing that first nuke go off about two miles away from him would be the look I saw.
The bad part is that he was sober all night. That bottle of Jagermeister still sits in the fridge with my shotglass next to it. He knows he's no longer welcome here. He's got a dude that has no respect for him (me), a pissed-off stepdad (Phoenix), a pissed-off mom with homicidal tendencies (Deb) and a jilted girlfriend all in one house.
The most terrible thing...he has to work with the jilted girlfriend and pissed-off stepdad and his job is trying to force him to quit.
I say just fire his ass and be done with it.
I beg to differ on one thing...I can reason with him. I can't guarantee it won't be without him suffering injuries but I can reason with him.
and I ripped those "I Am" quotes from Fight Club. I TOTALLY dig that movie.
I thought you were more into girly films?
I Am Damien's Gloating Victory.
Oh yesss,I AM into girly girl stuff.But I also like a good ass kickin',throat cutting,blood spilling,wicked,evil,fucked up movie that gives me nightmares sometimes!!
eeey man, how you're doin'? Listen, you mentioned the "15 Minute Hell" programme of Cpt. Chris, how is it holding up? Can you place some pictures of your results?
Greetz, Mo
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