Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Chester and the Fuzz

     For those of you who have regularly read Big Dave and Company and are particularly perceptive, you might have noticed that I never say where I live.  I do this as sort of a safety feature for everyone involved.  I know that many of you know me personally, but this blog is open to be read by anyone in the world who cares to, and I try to make it so it's difficult to trace the people to the place.  I don't want some whacko showing up on my doorstep, or on anyone's doorstep for that matter.  But I am seriously thinking about calling out my current hometown because last night, as I made my way throughout the community, something happened that was so shocking and strange and wrong to me that it broke the camel's back.  It is the latest in a line of things that have happened to me around this one-horse town that has made me think that this place is fucking with me.  It was so shocking that I put aside the very nice post about the rigors of winter (you can read that tomorrow) to tell you about it through the literary device known as the obscenity-laced tirade.  So sit down kiddos, Uncle Dave has a story to tell you.    The United States Surgeon General recommends 30-60 minutes of moderate to vigorous physical activity every day.  In an effort to abide by this recommendation, and because I've got some weddings this summer that I have to look smoking hot for, and since I don't live on Morningwood Estate with my own physical gymnasium, lap pool, health fitness staff, and moving sidewalks, I was out taking a mildly athletic walk around town.  I had on all the accouterments, sweatshirt, sweatpants, hat (because it was cold), sneakers, and headphones.  First of all, The Fuzz was on me from the moment I walked out of my apartment, following me not-so-covertly from block to block, like I wasn't going to notice.  I don't know if they thought that I was going to deal drugs to the no one else on the streets at that time, or if they thought I was going to slash my own tires like someone did to me the other week, or if they suspected me of walking drunk.  But whatever. That didn't bother me a whole lot because many of the cops in this town are assholes and there is nothing else for them to do.  This guy was no exception.  I has just ditched him and was minding my business and winding my way between the giant puddles and super slippery ice patches, when I came around a bend and realized that I wasn't on the street I wanted to be on.  So I turned around and headed back to the last cross street so I could make my way to the next block.  I was about three houses back down the street when I met Chester the Child Molester.
     Chester the Child Molester is a stupid, arrogant, limp-dicked piece of shit.  He rolled up to me in his cream-colored 1984 Buick Riviera and stops in the middle of the street.  He rolls down his window and looks at me.  Now, I have been in this situation many times before.  Usually this type of behavior (behaviour if you are in the United Kingdom, South Africa, or Australia) signals someone looking for directions.  And since I was in a neighborhood with a somewhat strange street pattern that is hemmed in by a river and is only a couple of blocks from the downtown Central Business District, I was totally expecting "Do you know where _______ is?" to come out of Chester's mouth.  But that's not what came out at all.  What he said totally shocked me.  It shocked me enough that I didn't get all riled up about it until like 47 seconds after it was over.  He said "I want to know why you are walking down this street."
     Now granted, it was night, but it wasn't late.  It was about 8:20 pm local time.  And granted, I had just turned around rather abruptly in the middle of a block and was walking very slowly.  But I was on the wrong street and it was very icy.  But still?  Fuck that.  Take that question, and shove it up your stupid, incontinent ass Chester.  Who the fuck do you think you are to be asking me that question?  Huh?  Would you be willing to tell me that?  Why should I answer that question?  The worst part was that I was so shocked, so thrown, that I actually answered him.  It was like when you are trying to get answers from someone so you ask a lot of rapid-fire questions so they get into a pattern of just answering and then you throw in the one they don't want to answer and they just do it.  They aren't prepared and neither was I.  I stammered "Because I wanted to be on the next street over."  What I should have said was "I don't think that is any of your business." and continued on.  What I wanted to say was "Why don't you suck my right nut and fondle the left one while you do it, dick breath."  I mean, what's with that?  Who has the temerity to ask that kind of question in TINY TOWN at an appropriate time of the night?  I was actually surprised that he had the time to ask.  He was probably late to get home and put more gel into his hair, shine up the patent leather bomber jacket that he was wearing that made me think of that Jimmy Buffet song that talks about the "two-tone Ricky Ricardo jacket and an autographed picture of Andy Devine" so he could cruise to the bar and drink away the fact that his wife left him because she caught him in his office with a ten-year old boy who was conveniently wearing no pants and that he will never, EVER see a vagina again unless he goes to the strip club and meets a very, VERY desperate exotic dancer who is willing to marry him and then take him for everything he has left in the common law divorce.  With kind of busy agenda, I don't know where Chester found the time to question me about my motives.  But he did.
     You know what else is terrible?  Of course not.  Well, I will tell you.  The fucker didn't even live in that neighborhood.  I walked on and he drove on, then TURNED AROUND and drove right back past me, as I stared him down, and drove off towards downtown. So basically, he just pulled the same cracker jack maneuver that I had made that he apparently took exception with. After that I wandered around downtown getting more and more angry and wishing that he would drive back past so I could have words with him.  What I should have done was walked back to where he turned around because I probably would have found a naked, 23-year old Filipino sodomy victim staggering down the middle of the street.  Listen Chester, here's the deal.  I don't take the time to stop and inquire about why you are running around my neighborhood raping goats, you shouldn't be bothering me about why I am trying to drop a few pounds.  END OF FUCKING STORY ASSHOLE.
     The more I think about this strange, strange incident, the thing that I think disturbs me the most is the strange things that have been happening to me since I moved The Worldwide Headquarters.  I grew up in suburbia.  I have spent time in shitty neighborhoods on large American cities.  I have lived in a small city with a college and all the associated college shenanegans.  But I have never had the amount of truly strange and offensive things that I have had happen to me since I have been living here.  It's so odd.  I don't get it.  And I genuinely like living here but it's starting to wear on me.  Let's take a look at the greatest hits.  Since I have been here I have had, in order, my bike stolen, my car run into (although that was minor and the people were very apologetic and nice about it, so I guess we really shouldn't count that), fly infestation, falling down stairs, getting my tires slashed, having a drunk guy with a head wound want to cuddle with me, The Fuzz following me around town AND Chester getting all up in my business.  In six months.  IN SIX MONTHS.  So I did what any rational person trained in the sciences would do.  I called Mikealicious.  He's from here, so I thought he would know why this town is out to get me.  Unfortunately, he did not.  First off, he was gracious enough to apologize on behalf of his town.  Apology accepted but totally unnecessary.  Because I know it was nobody he knows that has been fucking with me.  His friends wouldn't do that shit.  And he didn't know about any sort of organized plan against me.  I checked the minutes of all the city commissions going back to before I moved here and none of the minutes mention a plan about fucking with my life.  So I am not sure what is going on.  I am, however, quite sure about how things are going to go from now on on my end.
     I am tired of this shit, and I am not going to take it anymore.  I am smart enough to know that when you move to a small town where everyone knows one another, you don't come in and make a big splash.  You come in, keep your head down, and do your thing until you are accepted.  You most definitely do not come in rocking the boat with both guns blazing.  But I am sick of it.  So from now on, unless you have a badge in your pocket or on your shirt, I am not going to let you fuck with me.  If you are bothering me or getting on my nerves I am going to let you have it.  I don't care if I am rude, I don't care if I am inappropriate.  I am fighting back.  I am definitely not going to let this town or its residents fuck with me anymore.  Hear that Chester?  You are on my shit list, right next to Dustin, and if you ever have the balls to even fucking look at me again you are going to get a face full of pissed off fat guy.  Hear that?  It won't be pretty.  And if you give me lip you will be eating your meals from a straw for the next three weeks.  I wish I had gotten your license plate because I would have reported you for harassing me for no reason.  But rest assured I know what your car looks like and I will be on the lookout for you, because I am pissed off.  I should just go up the the middle school at the end of the day, I bet you are there, popping Viagra because your tiny cock doesn't work anymore and trying to lure a seventh grader into your creepy car with candy and Saved By the Bell references.  Fucking useless asshole piece of white trash shit.  Go sit on a bike that's missing its seat. Or just go fuck yourself.  

1 comment:

KingBobb said...

So the nut comment......pretty much the funniest thing I heard all day.