People threatening me, whether in person, by Internet, Telephone or Text Message, really piss me off.
And when I get all four, I just get pissed, and maybe out of cntrol.
Thursday night, I was so pissed, I lost it.
People who try and get in the middle of my Wildcat and I… I generally just don’t think they deserve to breathe.
But I don’t make threats.
[ This was a draft from August 2nd I should have posted. ]
Around this time two years ago, I went out a girl who was pretty fun. We went and had dinner, anded up playing darts for a while. Just an easy hang-out-and-have-fun kinda night. It was cool. It was actually the first date I’d had that wasn’t a total friggin’ disaster.
She was sweet, she knew how to laugh, and was a pretty damn good dart player, too.
I didn’t kiss her goodnight.
But she said she wanted to see me again. And so, we made plans to meet that Friday night…
Later that night, she called me to ask why I didn’t kiss her.
“I wanna take it slow,” I told her. “I don’t kiss… just, well, not until I get to know someone.”
“Aww,” she replied. “Did you like me and you’re trying to do the right thing?”
“I had a great time, and I’m afraid I went the normal route, we’d end up going too quick and screwing everything up. Ya know what I mean?”
“Absolutely!” she resonded, ecstatically. “I wanna take things slow, too.”
We made plans for Friday at 8PM.
Friday came around, and we were supposed to get together again. I was already working in West Knoxville, so I called her at 7:30PM and said, “Hey, you hungry? We could maybe leave a little earlier and go grab something to eat.”
“How did you know I as off work?” she asked.
“Uhhh, because we made plans to meet at 8PM?”
“Yeah… Uhhh,” she stammered. “I think I’m too tired.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I’m too tired. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow. We can go to Barley’s.”
“Well, okay. I was out here anyway, just thought I’d check.”
The same kinda thing happened twice more. I got a little pissed off about it. It didn’t make sense, especially after getting back online and realizing she’d blocked and deleted me from everywhere, wouldn’t answer her phone or anything else.
I chalked it up to nutjob, and did the Pirate Word for Healing — NEXT! (Kudos to the Pirate Chicks!)
So one night, a month later, I’m sitting at Catscratch Jane’s with Diva, Susan, Robyn, Becky, Mitzi and Niki — the pirate chicks — and who should call but my dear stand-up queen.
“Hey, Mark, I just wanted to see what you were doing!”
“Hanging out with friends… Why?” I asked.
“Well, I thought maybe we could go somewhere and hang out.”
It didn’t take much thought. “Nah, you stood me up a few times, and no, I don’t think so.”
Robyn, overhearing the conversation, got a little pissed off and grabbed the phone. “You stupid bitch! What the f$#& do you think you’re doing? I’ll kick your ass, you stupid bitch! You don’t f$#& with Mark Steel!”
I wrestled the phone back, but, of course, she’d hung up.
In June of 2007, dear psycho decided to contact me again via AIM instead of the telephone.
hey nark. how are ya?
Who’s this?
it’s [name deleted]. Just wonderin what yer up to.
Not much. Just hanging out.
sorry I did what I did a few months ago. wasn’t ready for a realationship. you scared me.
Howso?
you were different.
Howso?
i d’know. you were really sweet. i had too many things on my plate and you knew how to laugh. such a diversion.
Diversion?
fun. really fun. i just wasnt ready. and your hot.
Thanks. But… Okay, what do you want?
sorry if your busy i’ll let you go.
No, it’s cool. I’m not busy, just wondering…
well i broke up with my boyfriend. just wanted to hang out and maybe get to know you better.
Okay. Well, what, same place? Bailey’s?
tommorow night? around 7?
Sounds good. See ya there!
But I didn’t bother going. Instead, some friends and I sat around and laughed about it. Sure, it was childish, but it was funny. I figured, hey, it’s the least I can do. 
hey what happened to you tonight?
Huh?
you were supposed to be at bailey’s
Ahh, sorry. I’m just not ready for a relationship.
what?
Yeah, I have too many things on my plate. Take care!
asshole!!!
Thanks. G’nite!
Tonight, she called me. Asked if I wanted to meet her at Barley’s. I said, “Sure, you want me to pick you up, or meet you there, or what?”
“Well, how far as you?” she asked.
“Oh, it’ll take me twenty minutes to get there.”
“Yeah, me, too. So you wanna just meet there?”
“Yeah, let’s do that!” I told her. “Wait around the front door… if you beat me there, I won’t be long!”
After we hung up, I parked my ass on the bed and died laughing.
Haven’t heard from her since. Wonder if she got the not-so-subtle hint? *snicker*
Revenge is sweet.
[ This was a draft from July 28th that I should've posted. ]
She pops up from over two years ago to say, “Hey, I’m sorry about what happened two years ago.” Offers that the Wildcat and I can stay at her place since she has an unused upstairs with a couple bedrooms — a bargain at $200 a month. I declined of course, because the place is pretty far away and, well, the bottom line is, I just don’t trust her. I don’t know her, and after the way she acted two years, giving me an apology over Yahoo Instant Messenger really didn’t seem very genuine, anyway.
I fixed her computer via remote a couple of times. She’d check in to see if I was okay, coping ok. Left the Wildcat a couple of messages telling her how happy she was that we’d found one another. Said we deserved that.
But, much like she did two years ago, she falls into the “woman scorned” category because she decides, over Yahoo Instant Messenger, that she wants something a whole Helluva lot more than friendship.
And somehow, I’m a jerk, having said, “No. As you fully well know, I am taken, and you have no right to try and interfere in that. I really don’t appreciate that. I’m just not wired that way.”
After that, she had quite a few choice words…
Something the Wildcat said a few months ago suddenly came back into my head, because she was right. If I’m in a solid relationship with someone I truly care about, or even if I consider that I’m friends with someone, I am a little oblivious when they’re hitting on me until it gets pretty brazenly extreme.
This particular nutjob got extremely brazen.
So, I deleted and blocked her every way I knew how … including telephone. Since I haven’t even laid eyes on her in two years, and she was so psycho then, why the Hell did I even trust her to begin with?
Sometimes, I’m too forgiving.
Over the last year, I’ve made quite a bit of new business working on Laptops, thanks in no small part to Les Jones blogging about it. It’s easy, really, and most people just can’t be bothered fixing Laptop hardware problems.
But something’s been really irking me about it.
The availability of parts is putting a real kink in the works. Every part I try and order lately is actually out of stock, despite the vendors saying they have upwards of twenty-five. I’ll make an order, only to be replied, some four to five days later, that they’re out of stock. Thanks, asshats!
I had one laptop for a month waiting on a motherboard. I returned it, busted, last week to Cumberland Gap.
I’ve had one for two weeks now waiting on a cooling fan that never seems to show up.
These vendors are really pissing me off …
And who gets left trying to play clean up?
Yours truly…
There was a little doubt cast about how much my Wildcat means to me. It was said that I don’t mean what I say, that it’s all a cover, some sort of cruel joke. That I’m actually some sort of lying bastard who’s running around cheating on her, because apparently that’s the way I’ve always been.
I was dumbfounded that anyone could actually think such utter and baseless garbage, much less say it. And I wanna clear up any misconceptions once and for all.
I want everyone to know why I write very public, very personal things about my Wildcat.
It is because…
I want the entire world to know how beautiful she is.
I want the entire world to know how much she means to me.
I want the entire world to know how much I Love her.
I want the entire world to know how special she is.
She’s the only person who’s ever been able to heal me.
She’s loved me exactly as I needed to be loved.
She’s shown me more happiness than I’ve ever known.
Anyone who knows us has no doubts of that.
Hell is being without her.
Never having her again is something I won’t even imagine.
She is my Angel, my Inspiration, my Strength.
My Muse:
unworthy of your presence
unabated love
what you give me
is what god is made of
She’s been more a wife to me than the one I was married to.
The family that we have together is more my family than the one I was born into.
Anyone who tries to get between will be shut out, because she means more to me than anything else in this world. All the, “Sometimes love isn’t enough,” “Your happiness should not depend on anyone else,” and other such drivel — all from people who don’t know us, together — will be wasted.
The fact is, she is my best friend, and there is no one more important in my life than her. I have, and will, cast anyone else aside in favor of her, and I don’t give a damn how long I’ve known them.
That’s just the way it is.
Lighthouse Family: Question of Faith
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_YSmSVcv7c)
Lighthouse Family: Happy
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YubwXXYcTvs)
I would challenge anyone else to love each other as wholly and passionately as we love each other.
I love her. She makes me happy.
And that is all that matters.
It’s well known that Swiss Banks are havens for asshats who wanted to hide all their stolen, Nazi gold.
A few years ago, I broke a bit of code, using a Modulo 17 mathematical matrix, and created a way for Swiss Francs and Euros to be directly deposited into a certain company’s bank account. Mateo Meier, President and CEO of Artmotion Ltd., never bothered to pay me for that trouble, nor followed any specifications on the web design job project he was given to make up for it.
He owes me over two thousand USD, and a little more for the pain in the ass of collections. His design worked sucked, and seemed more like an Office Online Template rather than anything that was done in Photoshop like he said.
You’re a piece of crap, Mateo Meier.
May you rot.
I had a guy write me a bad check back in January. He made it good with another bad check. And another. Finally, when I got back to Knoxville and could rip him apart for it, he made it good. With another bad check.
Today, I followed him to two banks. I got my money.
“Don’t ever, ever, call me again,” I told him.
He gave me an extra hundred.
“I just want to make amends,” he said in the voicemail.
Some things, you just can’t undo.
In my opinion, I deserve more than a hundred for putting up with his ass for 15 years.
I’ve been working on cars a lot lately. Weird stuff.
There’re some youngsters who have some pretty good ideas, but they really don’t know anything about cars. That’s where I come in… and it’s kinda like butting heads sometimes… and since I don’t everything about every car, I do my own bit of screwing up, too…
But… if we can keep this project on track, man, it could be worth a small fortune.
Anyone wanna invest in an unknown, really kickass project, lemme know.
I got a used ‘96 Delco CD player off Ebay. After installing it, I found that the motor doesn’t spin. I stuck my original AM/FM/Cassette back in.
Tonight, I tore it down to the mechanism — after locking my keys in my car and using Jim’s Super Bar and a coat hanger to get ‘em out — and found that, sure enough, the motor is toast. That sucks.
Thanks, butthole! Appreciate ya!
Today, I went to Catscratch Jane’s for a burger.
“Mark! Where’s your Wildcat?” asked Shirley the bartender.
“Uhhh, in Kentucky,” I replied.
“Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “You all are still together, right?”
“Yeah, it’s just hard right now. I moved up there, and all Hell broke loose, so I’m back here.”
“I thought you moved…. Why isn’t she here? She loves you.”
“I know, and I love her more than anything in this world.”
“She needs to get her ass down here!”
“Yeah… It’s just hard right now.”
“Didn’t you all get married?”
“Nah, not yet…” I didn’t feel like going into those details.
“Listen, Mark, you two are in love. A blind person could see that. The next time you talk to her, you tell her to give old Shirley a call. We’ll straighten that out.”
“Will do.”
I paid for my burger and beer, and left thinking about it.
I miss you, baby. I love you. Maybe you oughtta call Shirley.
On April 11th, the Wildcat and I decided to move into a single-wide trailer out in the middle of nowhere. On the 12th, the landlord, Janna Napier gave us a sob story about how she’s lost her job, the bank had frozen her assetts, her vehicle had been repossessed, and the only thing she had was this trailer. She wanted us to take over the payments, and we agreed.
She said she’d be out by Monday the 14th. On Wednesday the 16th, she still didn’t have her things out. I went over, and helped her carry the rest of out. She left a ton of garbage, both in bags and in the floor.
The Wildcat was sick, so it took us a couple of extra days, and finally moved in on the 19th. It was filthy. There was water all over the kitchen and laundry room. Janna had said she spilled baby water over there, but even after cleaning it up, there it was. The fridge and appliances were covered in goo inside and out. The place had never been vaccumed or mopped. Toilets never cleaned.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” she said. “But I’ve been living with my boyfriend for the last year.”
On the 20th, the Wildcat was lying in bed while her daughter and I continued to try and clean and rearrange things. Here came our landlord, silent, not saying award, on the verge of tears. She just stood there in the middle of the place, looking like she was going break down.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
She shook her head. A long, uncomfortable silence passed.
“I’m broke,” she said. “I can’t pay the electricity bill, and I haven’t paid the mortgage for April.”
I gave her $320. I took the $183 Electricity bill and paid it online later that weekend.
“But it’s due again on the 1st.”
“I can’t afford that until I get paid,” I told her.
She whimpered away.
When I caught her sister outside later, I asked, “Is Janna okay?”
“Yeah, she’s like that when she misses her meds. She’s just… well… just Janna!”
And so, on the 26th, I found her behind her sister’s house, and in sight of her sister, I paid for May.
On May 6th, the air conditioning went out. I called her cell phone repeatedly to ask her about it. She wouldn’t return my calls.
Eventually, I went to her mother, Connie Hubbard, who worked in the Administration office at the Hospital. I told her the situation. Janna had apparently called her and told her about it. Connie assured me that someone who be there to look at it.
“Here’s our numbers,” I said as I gave them to her. “I work all day and she’s working nights. We need to schedule it.”
Nothing happened. Weeks past.
I called Janna on May 17th. “Janna, it’s been almost two weeks. What’s going on?”
“What do you want me to do about it?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
She hung up on me.
I got another Electricity bill, in the meantime, up to April 20th, for $48. I paid it, too.
I was pissed. I vented about that situation to a few people, including some of her family.
“Withhold her rent,” they said. “I would! There’s no sense in that!”
I went home to find AC water all over the hallway. I spent hours cleaning it up, and found that the overflow had been completely blocked because in all the time Janna had supposedly lived there, she never changed a filter. It took hours cleaning up the AC condensors and unplugging the overflow drain. But it was all no avail … the blower motor control unit was damaged after years of her neglect of the furnace. The water had shorted it.
On May 23rd, Janna showed up and brought me the mortgage payment book … which was actually an 8.5×11 sheet of paper with four check-looking things on it.
“We need out air conditioning fixed, Janna.”
“Ok, he’ll be out here tonight or tomorrow.”
On May 26th, I called her and left her a message that I would not be paying rent until she fixed the AC. Plain and simple.
No one came.
No one called.
Now, as we’re moving out, Janna is trying to claim that we never paid her rent. That we are two months behind. That we’ve destroyed her home by smoking and having pets that she didn’t agree to. Horseshit.
Problem is, I paid full price for partial month in April at $320. I paid full price for May at $320. I paid $241 (or thereabouts - I’m trying to remember off the top of my head) for her past-due Electricity bill. I helped her carry her things out because she just couldn’t do it by herself (she whined). We spent five days cleaning up her filth to the tune of NINE garbage bags full of garbage she’d left about the place. I spent four hours making sure the AC didn’t leak all over the kitchen, utility and hall floors again. I attempted to fix the blower motor, but it appears that the relay is bad from having water dumped on it for all those years.
I called Janna and explained why I don’t owe her, and she hung up on me. I called back and detailed everything, twice, to her voicemail.
Next, her mother, Connie Hubbard, called me to rip me a new asshole. She was rude and demeaning, and called me a liar the entire conversation.
“Do you have receipts? Then you didn’t pay it!”
After repeatedly attempting to defend what I was saying, eventually, I gave up.
“I am sick to death of you people from that town calling down here to wind me up when I haven’t done anything and you can fuck yourself, you cunt!”
And she’s threatening to sue the Wildcat and I — claiming that we lived there four months, when reality and simple math show that we lived there two months, and it’s taking us a couple more days to move out. It’s hard to do in that kind of heat with no AC.
And Connie Hubbard called last week and said, “Don’t worry about the two holes. Janna’s letting that trailer go back anyway.” Yet, this week, everybody’s calling and cussing me out and degrading me and calling me a liar telling me I have to fix the holes.
Mr Alan Osborne, benefactor of Ms. Napier, is seriously bitching the holes in the wall — and telling me the place was pristine when we moved in. Clearly, he never saw it. He’s going to get an estimate and sue me for the damage when he could just as easily pick up a patch kit and Clayton for $30 and have it installed in about forty-five minutes — and even match the crappy wallpaper.
What they are doing is clearly against the Landlord/Tenant Act. And again, friend of a frend, I trust too damn much. I am allowed, by law, to withhold rent when they’re not fixing anything. I’m also allowed to say, “It cost this much to keep the water from dripping and ruining the floor worse.” Wonder what my four hours is worth?
For a woman who may have never lived in the house, she sure managed to mess it up. Instead, she lives with a guy who takes care of her and her daughter. Now she’s claiming that we’ve destroyed HER house (where she hasn’t lived in over a year), and that she can’t afford to feed her child. What?
There was some MINOR damage (two holes in a 1×1 foot hold in the dry wall in the living room), however, that’s a $60 repair any way you look at it. Caused by extreme frustration. You try living in a trailer for a month with no air conditioning, you’d prolly get frustrated, too.
But I am sick to death of these nonconfrontational assholes now turning tails and kicking the Wildcat when she’s down. That is beyond reprehensible. And I will not allow that situation to continue when we’ve done nothing wrong to any of those useless bastards!
And so, Janna E. Napier and Connie Hubband get the Asshat of the Day award.
Two women who seriously Can’t Understand Normal Thinking. Janna’s money problems are not my problem. The fact that she’s lost everthing she had? Not my problem. I didn’t sign up to be a benefactor for someone who’s obviously so bad with money that she can’t buy her own child food to eat.
I believe that’s what Welfare and Family are for, dear. Except that it’d be a lie considering you’ve been being supported by one Alan Osborne for a over a year, now, wouldn’t it?
So you want publicity, ladies, there it is. You wanna lie about my character, I’ll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about yours.
Yesterday, Zacque and I went down to Knoxville Cigar Company to relax for a few minutes. No big surprise, I’ve been stressed, and needed a little time to sit down in an air-conditioned place with a big comfy leather chair. Rather, at least a place like that that wasn’t in the confines of a doctor’s office…
We decided to go across the street to DaVinci’s Pizza and grab a couple of slices first.
“Hey, fellas, whatcha need?” asked the rather large, oily man behind the counter.
“A slice of cheese, please.”
“Ahhh, man, I’ve got pepperoni coming out of the oven,” he added.
“No, I’d really like the cheese, thanks.” No emphasis added.
“Alright, Well!” he said annoyed. “II’m just trying to be helpful!” He seemed agitated.
Zacque ordered, “Two slices of cheese.”
“Ahhh, sorry,” I said. “I’ll take two, too.”
The fat man huffed.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Dave,” he replied dryly. “Want the special? It’s $1 more and you get a drink.”
“Sure,” Zacque replied.
“Six dollars,” the fat man said.
Zacque handed him six dollars. I handed him a ten and a one.
“Oh, man!” the guy started annoyed. “You are not taking my last five! This is stupid! I’ve only got one left! I can’t go the bank!”
“Ummm, sorry,” I said. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“Well, you can’t have it! I’ve only got one five! I told you, we don’t have anyone to go the bank!” he exclaimed.
Zacque helped. “Here,” and handed the guy two fives for a ten, leaving him one ten in the register. Apparently having only one ten wasn’t cause for alarm.
The fat man grasped for ones, shaking his head and mumbling the whole time. He now had three fives.
“So, can I get a five back now?” I asked.
“No! I told you there’s no one to go the bank!” he snapped.
“Jeez, dude,” I mumbled with a grin.
“Here!” he said sarcastically as he threw six ones in my hand.
“Mellow, man,” I replied. “Jeez…”
Zacque and I sat and ate our pizza silently.
At the end of the meal, I filled the plate with crushed red pepper and parmessan cheese. I drank half of my Dr. Pepper down and placed it carefully on the cash register where there was no chance of it spilling — leaned into gap where the receipts come out where it’d be nice and stable, and just a minor annoyance to move, and certainly wouldn’t cause any damage. I took the plate and placed it upside down on the counter.
It’s the least I could do given the guy was an asshole from the time we went in.
We walked out. A random passerby said, “Hey, did you guys enjoy your pizza today?”
“Not especially,” I said. “But that was mostly because of the asshole serving it.”
“Sorry!” he grinned as he walked on.
As we stepped into the road, the guy runs out screaming. ”What the fuck did you fuckin’ do that for you fuckin’ moron?”
“Sorry, man. I dropped it,” I replied dryly. I found it odd he should come out raising such hell for such a minor mess.
“Fuck you, you fucking retard! I’ll ring your skinny little neck!”
I turned around. “No, I really don’t think so,” I said calmly, smiling.
He stepped back.
I turned to cross the street, and fat bastard screamed, “You fuckin’ retard!” and shoved me.
I turned around again. “Dude, you really don’t wanna do that.”
As I turned and walk towards the cigar shop, Mr. Asshat decided to keep on screaming. One of the other local business owners came out to see what the commotion was. He crossed the street, and as I turned around, the guy’s pushing Zacque — someone who hasn’t done a damn thing. So here me and the aforementioned business owner go back across the street…
“You fuckin’ fucked up my register! Goddamn fuckin’ retard! Fucking threw shit all over my counter!”
“No, I didn’t! It’s in one spot, easy to clean!”
“What you did is wllful destruction of property!”
At that point, I got pissed. I stepped towards him, finger up. “And what you did is assault, motherfucker!”
He turned his attention to the other business owner. “Dude, come in here and look what he did!”
Zacque and I turned and crossed the street.
“That fuckin’ retard is never allowed back in here!” he screamed to my back.
I gave him a well-deserved one-fingered salute and walked into the cigar shop.
A few minutes later, the other business owner came into the shop.
“Dude, what did you do?” he asked.
“I put the plate of cheese right in the middle of his counter.”
“Why would you do that?” he asked, half laughing.
I shrugged. “I’m stressed, and the guy was an asshole from the time we walked in. I really don’t need that shit right now. He pissed me off, and that was the least destructive thing I could think to do.”
He laughed. “Did you also put the drink on his register?”
“Yeah, half full where there was no chance it would spill. Why he’s going on about me destroying anything is beyond me. That guy’s gonna have a coronary before the night’s over.”
“Yeah, especially if you guys go back over there!” he laughed. “He stepped back!”
After selecting the cigar of my choice, I sat down at the bar for a Guinness on tap. I felt so calm and peaceful. I started laughing.
“Mark, what are you laughing about over here?” asked the bartender.
“Ahh, Pizza Dave’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, that’s news?” he grinned.
“Apparently I ruined his day.”
Also apparent is the fact that I’m not the only person who has the opinion that Dave is an asshole. It’s just that most people seem to tolerate him a little better than I do.
Of course, there’s at least one other person on the Internet annoyed with him, too…
Actually, I’m worried about Dave.
Even though he’s an asshat, he’s still a human being. Well, in theory, anyway. And with an attitude like that where he thinks he can come out screaming abuse and shoving people when he could just as easily pick up a rag and wipe it off, it’s apparent that he’s got some rather serious health issues.
There’s plenty of evidence that physical problems can manifest in peoples’ behavior, and this guy, given his size and trouble breathing, seems to be a ticking time-bomb for coronary disease.
I would urge my fellow Knoxvillians to visit DaVinci’s Pizza in the Old City. If Dave’s working, I suggest that everyone turn their plates over on the table. This should give him some much needed aerobic excercise, as it would require him to do something besides scream and shove people, which is largely a stationary act.
In doing this, it would ensure that Dave actually has to come from behind the counter and move his arms in a circular motion a few times, thus giving him a bit better workout. This would probably cause him a little more shortness of breath given his slothful condition, but if it’s done multiple times a day, it may actually save the asshat’s life.
He should thank me.
I mean, I’m only looking out for his health.
*snicker*
As for my sense of calm from the incident, and why I didn’t turn around and kick the living shit out of the guy, there’s an easy explanation.
it was actually refreshing, given that during the last three months in that tiny little town where I was working for a Healthcare company, everyone is so non-confrontational that they’ll gossip and stab knives in each others’ backs, spreading the most insane and vicious slanders imaginable. There are never any questions, never any explanations, just filth and over-reaction.
It’s nice to be back in a place where people will actually attempt to do something about their problems rather than just bitch about them and make up vicious rumors in an attempt to discredit and ruin a person’s livelihood. It takes small minds and a lack of humanity to do what some of you people have done.
And so, for those who’ve partaken in recent events can share this Asshat of the Day Award. Myself, I can walk away with a clear conscience, knowing that I’m a better person, and certainly a better worker, than you people will ever be.
Talk’s cheap, people. I have a feeling that very soon, you’re all gonna learn some lessons the hard way. Karma can be a real bitch.
[ The following is angry. If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it. But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]
I have no brother, either.
After all that crap, mom coming in and trashing the place, breaking computers and beating on me because it’s “her” house (even though she lived in Indiana and I was in Powell keeping the place up and paying the fucking mortgage), my own Brother decides to turn on me.
He’s pretty sedate on this one. The subject matter is amazing, considering I didn’t write poetry. And if I did, how the Hell would he get it? That’s just bizarre.
I didn’t know he was even working at the time, but when I asked WTF he was on about, I was told he drove a dump truck. And things fall out of those pretty frequently, and people call in pissed. Me, I’m smart enough not to tailgate dump trucks and wouldn’t've called in anyway. Besides, I was working too much to bother with bullshit like that.
But hey, he was having “someone” come and evict me, even though I’m supposed to face “him.” That’s sort of ironic, really … getting someone else to do the dirty work? When the truth is, he came and put rubber cement in all the house locks, stuck nails under my car tires, and even had the audacity to come and let the air out of two of my tires while my car was parked at a client location! Got him on camera and everything!
And it’s amazing how he never thought that maybe I hang up when people who start cussing me out and hurling abuse from the time I pick up the phone.
After the court case, there was this one…
This is immediately after the Judge ripped him a new asshole for lying on the stand.
But I wonder who I was gonna murder?
Pretty cool! Sounds like it make a kickass book, and I have a great name for a lead character!
It’s kinda fitting that in October of last year, he got the same treatment outta Mom. He gave her money for a loan he’d made, and Mommy Dearest never bothered to tell my Father. She also tried to subvert his wife just like she did mine, and he called to whine.
All I had to say was, “See?”
In March, he called me to tell me his daughter was in the hospital. He didn’t say what hospital, what room, what town he was in, or anything pertinent. He just bitched that I didn’t call or care.
When I finally got hold of him a few weeks ago, all he could do was whine about all the things Mom was doing to him, since I wasn’t available as her target of choice.
I told him to suck it up and quit whining.
Just like he did me.
Except, uh, I didn’t sound like an inbred, paranoid hick when I said it.
I hope to never hear from Asshat, Jr. again.
