OMG PART II [Liam]
(this is a continuation of a story i started many, many moons ago... sorry, been working on my portfolio. please see "I almost got stabbed at the laundromat" below)
as we come back from that intermission, let's review where we stand in the conversation right now:
Liam
Believes in pacifism, due process, and reasonable doubt.
Bald Fuckwad
Believes in being a bald fuckwad, prosecution without evidence, and the "that's not cool" platform.
See, this is interesting... because I don't know how he figured out that I in fact DO think it's *cool* to take other people's laundry out of dryers. I mean that puts my feelings in the mildest of terms. I think it is FUCKIN' RADICAL to unload coin-op dryers that may or may not be my own.
(artist's impression of how sweet I believed unloading dryers to be)
Boy was I wrong, and in need of correction.
So anyway, I'm gonna fast forward this a little bit, since I can't help but feel that this ultimately anti-climactic anecdote has probably started to stale in the intervening years since I first started this story...
Dude brings in his girlfriend, whose clothes apparently were messed with.
Before I start describing this woman, please consider that there's basically two possible ways this could go:
One- she's the better half of the couple. She's slightly embarassed to be at the center of some all-around ridiculous scene, and will defuse the situation in a curt manner without breaking the party lines of her goofy relationship. In short, she's irritated but reasonable. She has better things to concern herself with, and in the context of her busy work week and responsibly managed home life she sees this as a small enough bump in the road.
She'll chill her boyfriend out, try to seem the bigger person, and leave.
Unfortunately, this woman I am describing probably owns a washer and dryer.
"It was THAT dryer! That one there! Number... (looking at the number) number 14!"
...Two-
enter a frizzy-haired, high-strung, pink-faced, meth-blasted hag who ain't got a DAMN thing better to do with her sunday night than draw a line in the sand over an imagined transgression neither she nor her boyfriend was even around to witness.
(quick pause: if you glance over part one of this non-epic, you'll notice that earlier I was asked by a "skinny, dark haired dude with rather effete mannerisms" if my clothes were just sitting in the one dryer that wasn't running. He is, without a doubt, the person who moved the clothes. This is an extremely unimportant detail at this point. I don't know that I'm exactly a "stand-up guy," but a conscious decision was made at some point when this guy started getting agitated about his stuff that in all likelihood the most just resolution for his quest would be for him to withdraw from the situation and promptly go fuck himself. Furiously, and with a garden weasel if we are being specific. I can't imagine any Sunday night of mine being improved by 'complicity to an act of retarded vigilante justice.' Hell no.)
The bald guy, emboldened by the damning testimony of his girl, starts getting more in my face. Fortunately, another bald guy steps in on my behalf. A huge asian one, with a goatee. He happens to be cool. I'm not sure, but I think he's the bouncer at the local watering hole "Dragon Lounge" (I saw Paresh there, he told me to finish this goddamn story already)... at least the bouncer there fits the description and seems to recognize me from somewhere.
Anyway he puts down his kids' laundry, comes right up and says "It wasn't him. What you're saying doesn't make any sense."
With this, the two basically get their shit and leave, presumably to go multiply with their ugly asses so that years from now good will not prevail. The boyfriend guy makes sure I know it's "not cool."
Thanks, buddy. I'll be sure to write that down.
I thank bouncer guy for interceding on my behalf, and he tells me "I woulda had your back," which is like the coolest shit ever.
...I'm trying to picture the brawl that would have ensued, and the best I can do is me faking towards the man and then trying to hit the girlfriend with the full beer can I bought. She invariably overpowers me in a stimulant-fuelled rage, and the bouncer probably has to remove her. I could tell you all about the crushing suplex that follows, but my ramble alarm is definitely going off.
Anyway, thanks for reading.
next: getting threatened by a bum on the bus, and what YOU can do to protect yourself!
as we come back from that intermission, let's review where we stand in the conversation right now:
Liam
Believes in pacifism, due process, and reasonable doubt.
Bald Fuckwad
Believes in being a bald fuckwad, prosecution without evidence, and the "that's not cool" platform.
See, this is interesting... because I don't know how he figured out that I in fact DO think it's *cool* to take other people's laundry out of dryers. I mean that puts my feelings in the mildest of terms. I think it is FUCKIN' RADICAL to unload coin-op dryers that may or may not be my own.
(artist's impression of how sweet I believed unloading dryers to be)
Boy was I wrong, and in need of correction.
So anyway, I'm gonna fast forward this a little bit, since I can't help but feel that this ultimately anti-climactic anecdote has probably started to stale in the intervening years since I first started this story...
Dude brings in his girlfriend, whose clothes apparently were messed with.
Before I start describing this woman, please consider that there's basically two possible ways this could go:
One- she's the better half of the couple. She's slightly embarassed to be at the center of some all-around ridiculous scene, and will defuse the situation in a curt manner without breaking the party lines of her goofy relationship. In short, she's irritated but reasonable. She has better things to concern herself with, and in the context of her busy work week and responsibly managed home life she sees this as a small enough bump in the road.
She'll chill her boyfriend out, try to seem the bigger person, and leave.
Unfortunately, this woman I am describing probably owns a washer and dryer.
"It was THAT dryer! That one there! Number... (looking at the number) number 14!"
...Two-
enter a frizzy-haired, high-strung, pink-faced, meth-blasted hag who ain't got a DAMN thing better to do with her sunday night than draw a line in the sand over an imagined transgression neither she nor her boyfriend was even around to witness.
(quick pause: if you glance over part one of this non-epic, you'll notice that earlier I was asked by a "skinny, dark haired dude with rather effete mannerisms" if my clothes were just sitting in the one dryer that wasn't running. He is, without a doubt, the person who moved the clothes. This is an extremely unimportant detail at this point. I don't know that I'm exactly a "stand-up guy," but a conscious decision was made at some point when this guy started getting agitated about his stuff that in all likelihood the most just resolution for his quest would be for him to withdraw from the situation and promptly go fuck himself. Furiously, and with a garden weasel if we are being specific. I can't imagine any Sunday night of mine being improved by 'complicity to an act of retarded vigilante justice.' Hell no.)
The bald guy, emboldened by the damning testimony of his girl, starts getting more in my face. Fortunately, another bald guy steps in on my behalf. A huge asian one, with a goatee. He happens to be cool. I'm not sure, but I think he's the bouncer at the local watering hole "Dragon Lounge" (I saw Paresh there, he told me to finish this goddamn story already)... at least the bouncer there fits the description and seems to recognize me from somewhere.
Anyway he puts down his kids' laundry, comes right up and says "It wasn't him. What you're saying doesn't make any sense."
With this, the two basically get their shit and leave, presumably to go multiply with their ugly asses so that years from now good will not prevail. The boyfriend guy makes sure I know it's "not cool."
Thanks, buddy. I'll be sure to write that down.
I thank bouncer guy for interceding on my behalf, and he tells me "I woulda had your back," which is like the coolest shit ever.
...I'm trying to picture the brawl that would have ensued, and the best I can do is me faking towards the man and then trying to hit the girlfriend with the full beer can I bought. She invariably overpowers me in a stimulant-fuelled rage, and the bouncer probably has to remove her. I could tell you all about the crushing suplex that follows, but my ramble alarm is definitely going off.
Anyway, thanks for reading.
next: getting threatened by a bum on the bus, and what YOU can do to protect yourself!
1 Comments:
And I quote...
"I want to know about the "More on 36 Chambers Later" shit..."
Current Mood: Irritated...
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