TheWeirdcrap.com offers an outlet for Bel Garion. Which is good because it keeps him off the streets.
|Tuesday, September 12, 2006
The Bride v.s. Old Fuck Bastard Part 2
As I mentioned in my last post, the Old Fuck Bastard came upstairs, knocked on my front door at about 11PM, and asked if my sister would like to go downstairs with him for a few drinks and some nice music… And as promised, this is what the Bride had to say to the Old Fuck Bastard downstairs after a few more drinks…
The Bride walks outside and halfway down the stairs to the landing, from which point she could look at the Old Fuck Bastard without getting too close. Her little brother stands on our deck looking down, running his video recorder on his PDA.
The Bride: “Who the hell do you think you are, coming to my door and asking one of my guests down for a drink? Are you aware that she’s not more than half your age? What in gods name made you think she’d want to come down and have a drink with you?”
Old Fuck Bastard: “…”
The Bride: “I’m tired of you harassing the women who come to my house!”
Old Fuck Bastard: “What are you talking about?”
At this point it becomes clear to my sister and I that the Bride did not just go outside for a cigarette, so we work quickly inside, hiding all of the knives, and the gun, mostly because we didn’t want to be on COPS.
The Bride: “They walk in my door, and the first thing they say is, ‘Who’s the creepy guy downstairs?’”
Old Fuck Bastard: “CREEPY?!?!”
The Bride: “Yes, Creepy! You leer at them and act suggestively. Every woman who has come to my house as a guest has commented on it.”
Old Fuck Bastard: “So, I’m not allowed to look at women? I’m a red-blooded American man!”
The Bride: “NO, you’re a Cro-Magnon!”
Old Fuck Bastard: “A Cro-Magnon?!?!”
The Bride: “Yes! You have absolutely no concept on how to treat women. You think being a man gives you the right to ogle them and make suggestive comments. Well it doesn’t! You’re a fucking useless drunk! I’m tired of your loud ass music and I’m sick and tired of dealing with you. You are never to come to my door again, whether you’re looking for dates, rides to the store or even a cup of fucking sugar!”
This went on for some time, at one point I stepped outside to look at what was going on, and maybe put an end to it. And then God spoke to me, his speech garbled with the sound of crunching popcorn, “You better not, she isn’t finished and I’m having a good time, so just turn around, go back inside and watch your movie.”
Weeks later the Old Fuck Bastard has been quiet as fuck. I suppose I’ll need to find someone else to complain about.