Would anyone want to bang you? by phobia
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Ummmmmm...

I really appreciate the response and support that came in answer to my last post, but it was just a tad discouraging that so many of you think that I'm too soft-hearted for proper revenge.

So to prove I've got the minimals, here's a story from my college days, all the way back in 1998.

Skippy should appreciate this as it deals with my first foray into politics. Well, the first serious foray anyway. So without further ado, here's today’s edition of:

ADVENTURES IN BASTARDY!

I had a friend, we'll call her April, that was running for a seat on the school board of governors.

Problem was, there was a group of frat/sorority people running on a ticket and they had a person for every position. And they were going to win too. There was absolutely no doubt of that, because the head of the ticket got his rich family to throw a giant kegger every year for the other frats.

Without the frats, April didn't stand a Chinaman's chance in that election.

For some reason, I still don't know why, she made me her campaign manager. And it was on that very eve that I found our way in. The frat ticket had a person in every spot so we couldn't get in. Unless they were to lose someone from thier ticket...

I immediately began combing the school bylaws, Greek charters and student newspaper for any way I could get someone from the frat ticket disqualified from running for office. Well, not immediately, first we made a campaign sign for the student union building with tempra paint and an old bedsheet. That was also the night that April painted her titties blue and pressed them on our kitchen wall. As you can imagine, this quickly became our favorite party game and we soon had some 30 different prints in varying colors on that kitchen wall.

And one pair of testicles.

Fucking Pittman...

Anyways, I seem to have wandered off subject (gotta remember to find those kitchen pictures...), but one day I found my opening.

A girl running for the same position as April got pulled over for DUI. Well there was more to it than that, she got pulled over going the wrong way on High Street at 3 AM on a Saturday night. For those of you unfamiliar with the layout of Morgantown, High Street is the street that the majority of Morgantown's bars crowd around. Sure, there's a few in Sunnyside, but ick...

So, drunk, behind the wheel, wrong way on a one way street and right at LAST CALL, the very peak of High Street's pedestrian traffic, and she has the nerve to tell the reporter that she "wasn't endangering anyone".

Well that kinda rubbed me the wrong way. It's funny just how civic minded I can be when ulterior motives are involved. In any event, I had all I needed to set my plan in motion.

In the meantime, I had a debate to attend. A debate that was going to be broadcast live over the campus radio station. I watched as the frat party's supporters lobbed softball questions at their candidates and trashed on their opposition, all the while wearing t-shirts, I shit you not, with the names of the frat party candidates on them.

Finally it was my turn to ask a question. I don't recall my exact words, but I do remember two things, first I pointed out the T-shirt thing to the public listening to the radio and second I equated the frat party's tactics to the Rodney King beating because no matter what you're doing or trying to prove you WILL get quoted if you mention Rodney King.

And I did.

Twice.

Once in the Daily Athenaeum, the student newspaper, and once in the Mon County Register. I'm guessing it was a slow news day.

I made the papers three times that year. I once for the above incident in which I was dubbed 'unknown student in trenchcoat' once as 'unknown person or persons responsible for paintballing public buildings' and the last time I wasn't actually singled out but I started a minor riot at an anti-smoking rally.

Tear gas fucking sucks. Especially when you're puffing on a stogie.

Anyway, when the smoke cleared that certain student on the opposition ticket had dropped out of the race and completely out of school. Seems that somehow someone had clipped the articles about the DUI offense out of the newspapers and mailed them to the girl's parents.

Accidentally, I'm sure.

But her misfortune was our way into the student government. We redoubled our efforts now that a spot was open. We were determined and we kept our eyes on the prize.

Too bad we lost.

It wasn't even close either.

We lost heinously.

Serriously, not fucking close at all.

My point? Fuck, does that story really need one? I guess my point is that when I want to be I can be a world class prick (and a hypocrite, I admit). I don't like to be (most of the time), but when I have to be you better watch the fuck out.

That's it. See you in Hell.

You're gonna need a little background for this one.

We moved into my Grandmother's old house eight or nine months ago. Eventually we got a lawnmower when we needed it and Jay has been keeping the lawn rather nicely. Problem is, we have a fence. In the front and back it's a nice chain-link fence. On the sides it's a crappy wire fence that I hated when I put it up 20 years ago and I hate it now. But it's outside the house and given the nature of our neighborhood I give less than a fuck about outside.

About the only thing the fence does is provide a place that the lawnmower can't reach conveniently, thus allowing a nice border of weeds to grow around the property line. This wouldn't be a problem, but our weed-eater sucks a dick.

Once again, it's outside, like I give a fuck. As far as I'm concerned, the weeds just help block out the rest of my shit-hole surroundings, so I've just let them go.

I have bigger things to worry about right now.

This morning I get a phone call.

It's my Mom. She informs me that the neighbor lady called her and said she was going to call the people from the city code enforcement department to come over is I didn't trim the border of my lawn.

Here I am, a grown ass man, scarcely a month away from my 30th birthday, and the woman next door called my Mom to tell on me.

Did someone think I'd not had enough indignities dumped on me lately?

I mean, I've had problems with neighbors in the past being afraid to talk to me as I am big enough to be (in their words) 'intimidating', but SHE CALLED MY FUCKING MOM.

This is the same neighbor that I mentioned in my Tuesday, March 30, 2004 post that called my mother complaining that Nate has been calling her a bitch when he sits on the front porch drinking beer and smoking pot.

As I pointed out then, there are a few problems with this.

#1: If Nate had called her a bitch, he would have told us he called her a bitch. Then he would have had a hearty laugh about it. Nate's a loveable sort of bastard that way.

#2: He does occasionally sit on the front porch drinking beer and smoking, but he hadn't done so recently.

#3: So far as I know there has never been any reefer in this house. Yeah, hate to burst your bubble, but it's not exactly "Fear and Loathing" over here.

At first we thought that she must have heard Nate talking to someone about something else and just assumed that Nate was directing it at her. We also thought that perhaps Nate had smoked one of his clove cigarettes on the porch and as it doesn't smell like a regular cigarette, she assumed it was pot.

Now we believe that she's just fucking nuts. I should have realized it when Grandma gave me the keys to the house. She said "Watch out for the neighbor lady, she's fucking nuts". Then she finished off her Miller High Life. Grandma kicks ass.

By the way, if I haven't said it out loud, I'm sorry that I gave her as much credit as I did at the time Nate. I mean, I never believed you did it, but I did think there had to have been some misunderstanding and there clearly wasn't. She's just a fucking loon.

So I went out to do the trimming. It took forever as the fucking weed-eater is a bitch to start (took a half an hour to do that alone) and then you have to stop it and take the head apart every time you need more string because the feeder button won't work.

But I'm out there trying to do it. Jr., the neighbor lady's husband (well, I presume they're married anyway, I don't see any other reason anyone would live with that woman...) comes out to give me his usual spiel about how nobody's had it harder than he has and how he's better and smarter than everyone. I don't know what's more galling, the fact that I have to hear every time I have the misfortune of talking to him, or the fact that he seems to believe all of it.

I'd like to think that in seeing how hard it was to get any work done with my crappy weed-eater might have made him realize that I wasn't simply being lazy about it (I mean, I was, but there was a little more to it than that), but he honestly isn't smart enough to make a realization like that.

He was kind enough, however, to point out that even though I've had a 'tough time' medically speaking, that he's had it worse and more often than I have and he manages to keep his yard trimmed. He also pointed out that he did the edging for my Grandmother for ten years FOR FREE and he likes to see it well maintained. I resisted the urge to tell him that I like to see my neighbors fuck off and leave me the hell alone, but I resisted as I didn't want them to call my mother again, or worse yet, my Grandmother.

Ain't that a bitch?

His wife Cathy, on the other hand, simply came out to glare triumphantly at me a few times as I tried to work.

Anyways, it took a few HOURS to do a lawn the size of a postage stamp (the last eight feet of weeds I just pulled by hand as it wasn't worth trying to restart the fucking weed-eater to do them) and I feel like a total wuss to admit that I'm actually hurting from the effort, but it's fucking DONE. Probably for the last time this season. After all, winter is just around the corner.

I know it needed done, but it wasn't that bad. If they had just said something about it I would have made more effort. Hell, I talk to them in passing every few days or so and they never said a thing. Cathy did mention it to Jay, but it must have been right before she ratted on me as the call followed hard upon the word reaching me. All I can say is she must really need something in her life if she's going so far as to call my Mom on me. I kinda feel sorry for her. Only kinda though. The rest of me is already working on ways to make her life hell if she has the temerity to try this again.

And I know she will. She got results by doing it once, so she will do it again. Some people are painfully simple.




By the way, if you were wondering, the weed-eater is a Craftsman. Don't buy one.