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Monday, April 12, 2004

“I hates fucking rabbits! Look at his little faggot bunny ears! Check his pockets...”
- Gummo

“You know why a dog licks his own balls?”
“Because he can?”
“No, because, have you ever tasted a dog’s balls? They’re delicious!”
- Poor White Trash

happy Easter. apparently, out here in Pittsburgh, some Church set up an Easter egg hunt and had a dude ride in on a Harley dressed in a bunny suit and the adults acted like they were beating the shit out of him with nerf baseball bats or some shit so that they could show the kids that Easter is all about Jesus and that the Easter Bunny don’t exist. hmm. i think there's a moral to that story. it reminds me of a Cypress Hill song:

“How I Could Just Kill a Man!”

seriously, if you could kill one self-righteous fuck, and know for sure that you’d get away with it, wouldn’t you just have to do it? how about a whole Church load of them? imagine mowing down a whole field full of screeching zealots swinging nerf baseball bats at a motorcycle riding man-rabbit. actually, just add some 70s music and i have that dream every night.

oh shit, i forgot to talk about my Nemesis and Arch-enemy! and i kind of forget that Esquire article at this point. well, i’d have to say that my arch-enemy is that prick that broke my nose (and my arm) when i wasn’t looking and taught me the all-important lesson of the suckerpunch. here’s to him! i’d put his head through something if he was around but i'd still thank him for successfully getting me through every violent encounter with every drunk asshole since then.

drunk asshole: “what the fuck are you looking at!”
me: (squinting and looking past him at something in the distance): “huh? sorry, i just can’t believe that girl is doing that with all these people....”
(dumbshit turns to look)
POW.
me (running out the door): “Scooby Doo!”

so yeah, he’s my nemesis because (i’m remembering more of that article now) i wouldn’t want him to NOT exist. and if he was going to be killed, i’d have to save his life. the world is more interesting with him in it to hate. or something.

now the arch-enemy is a different story. you want that fucker to pay for his idiocy and crimes against humanity every single minute or every single day. and i guess my arch-enemy was named Doug. he was the brother of a good friend when i was growing up and he was a complete fuck. this douchebag was always challenging me to some kind of physical contest (keep in mind that he was like 3 years older. at least) and i would school him every time. when it came to Doug i was like the opening credits of the Six Million Dollar Man (“stronger, faster, smarter”) but he wouldn’t shut his fucking hole. i would hand his ass to him at every turn but, for some reason, my friend, who could recognize any other evil in the world in zero point two seconds, thought his big brother Doug was the fucking MAN. he would defend him no matter what moronic observation flew from his mouth, and he would pout whenever i would explain that leaving a pubic hair in the fridge to see if it would keep growing was a stupid thing to do. actually, now that i think about it, Doug’s pubic hair experiment might have been his finest moment. a few instances stand out in my mind:

once he shoved one of my other friends through a screen door for getting cookie crumbs on the floor, then laughed about it with his friends. once he was listening to Bob Seger “Main Street” at a skull-crushing volume and i told him to turn it down and he came over and started talking shit so i shoved him backwards over a reclining chair and he pulled the curtains off the wall. ha ha. once he tried to show us all how to suck a dog’s dick. okay, i made that one up. oh yeah, at this friend’s wedding, where Doug was the best-man, he started talking shit with me on the steps outside the hall and i turned around to respond and got man-handled by like five people even though i did nothing.

wait, this is good. one time we were all playing basketball (or our version of it called “Animal Ball,” where tackling was allowed) and Doug decided he had to play because he wanted to push us around. and after about an hour of this i got so frustrated that i bounced the basketball off my friend (Doug’s brother’s) face, sending his retainer flying out of his mouth and into the sky. i was sorry about that but dude, you wouldn't stop yapping and you sounded just like him and, when i looked up, all i could see was your brother's mouth.

hold the phone! the best incident was when Doug and his friend Bob challenged me and my friend Dan to a fight in his front yard (Doug never understood why challenging kids three years younger (at least) was such a no-win scenario for him. someone should have grabbed his head and explained, “moron, listen to me, if you win you look stupid, if you lose you look stupid, so quit talking shit.”

so anyway, Bob squares off with my friend Dan who was in perfect shape at the time (ran a Triathlon in Hawaii, set some sort of swimming record, worked out to Queen’s greatest hits like everyone should) and Dan quickly rolls him up like a treasure map and rubs his goofy face in the grass. me and Doug slap at each other's hands for a while, then i shove him into a row of bushes and punch him in the top of the head about two hundred times. he eventually climbs out and sulks over to where Dan is sitting on Bob’s back and laughing. he mumbles some nonsense about how i supposedly hit him in the nuts and that’s why he couldn’t get up and put a stop the cartoon onslaught of rabbit-punches to his cranium. they both walk away picking leaves and grass out of their hair and Dan and I ride our bikes home singing the Queen theme to Flash Gordon. and that should have ended it right? nope. for some reason my friend can’t believe that his big brother got whupped by one of us and me and Dan get so frustrated re-enacting the hilarious fight with Star-Wars figures or french fries or whatever is laying around, that we get the video camera from the theater department at school to film a rematch. for some reason that never happened though. i forget why. anyhow, last time i saw Doug he came in the bookstore i was working at like 10 years ago and he had this stupid 6th grade looking mustache on. he walked around the info-desk i was at like 5 times (he always walked too fast, talked too fast, i swear that faggot was fucking exhausting to be around) until he got up the courage to come over and say hi. he holds out his hand and i go to shake it and he squawks, “hey, don’t squeeze so hard dude! what are you trying to prove!” i shake my head in disgust and poof, he’s gone. just a memory in the air, like a whiff of Taco Bell squeezed out my ass into my car seat two nights earlier. and when i think back, i think the worst thing was the fact that my friend, Doug’s little brother, could never see what a fucking walking calamity, what i complete and utter fuckwit his bro was. i wonder if it ever came to him later in life, if he ever figured that shit out. maybe like one day when it's all quiet, he looks across the table at some family function and realizes that Doug wasn’t just feeding the dog under the table, he was actually trying to get the dog to lick HIS balls and BAM! everything i’d ever said suddenly makes perfect sense.

anyway. yeah. fuck him. i got fifty more stories about that cocksucker. sometimes i even use his name for computer passwords when i’m at a loss. so maybe i do miss him. just like Ben! anyone remember Ben. wait, now that i think about it, it can't be Doug. Ben. yes, Ben. He gets to be my arch-enemy because he got the last word.

i’m in a great mood though. you know why? i overheard this mom and dad talking to their tiny little daughter and they said, “you don’t want to be the flower girl in the wedding? don’t you want to be the flower girl in the wedding, honey?” and the little girl, about the size of a cricket, said:

“No. I want to be a dragon!”

::: david - 8:44 PM [+] :::
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