Death of an Asshole

(Please note that this post was written on May 18, 2004)

People have always dreamed of time travel. Go back in time, and visit an old relative who's long since passed; or go forward, grab the lottery numbers and use 'em to fatten the ol' bank account. My daydreams, too, are occupied with the idle fantasies of warping time. However, it's not money or truth that I'm seeking. No, I'll be going back in time five years, when a certain individual walks into Rolf's Groceries on a mission. But this time, he's getting no further than the front door. As he enters, he notices Rolf asleep on the floor. Before he can wrap his head around this, there's a flash of Japanese steel, and in the next instant his right arm is gone. Before he can start wailing like a constipated banshee, five more flashes light up the store. I'm not going to describe the resulting mess. The remains of the guy are then fed into all eight tumblers of the slush machines making a fairly disgusting mixture which is then deposited into a chum bucket. The chum is transported to the ocean and fed to sharks. The sharks are electrocuted, then served to the guy's family. After which they get thrown into cages containing horny silverback gorillas jacked up with cocaine. And finally, not only will I have prevented a foul deed from occuring, I'll also have sent a message loud and clear to anybody else who has the same designs. Now, you may be asking, what the hell did this guy do that's so heinous, so despicable as to deserve treatment like this? Did he rob the store at gunpoint? Did he throw a temper tantrum and knock over a rack? Oh no, nothing as trivial as that. This person came into the store that fateful day and suggested to Rolf that he should serve hard ice cream. And thus, the tenth circle of hell was born, and populated solely by me.

On a happier, and more tasteful note, I ran into one of my old co-workers from the gas plant I wiled away my summers in over five years ago. He is the man with no name; Kevin McNutt. He was there with a bunch of kids, who I believe were in a youth group he's running. I only managed to talk with him for a little bit, as he had to make it back to the church and I was getting swamped with customers. I gleaned some odd information from him; it turns out he's the only pipefitter left at the plant. What the heck's going on? When I was working there, there were pipefitters practically crawling out of the supervisor's ass. Now they're down to one. I heard they did some reorganizing since I left, but this is ridiculous. Anyways. Now that I'm four years removed from the school-yard antics that colored my summers, I can safely say that Mr. McNutt was one of my favorite people to work with. Anyone who can put up with my continual screw-ups is a decent guy in my books. It's kinda sad to note however that I didn't really feel that way the time. Every time I was assigned fixing the louvers (think gigantic venetian blinds) with him I thought that I was missing out on all the action with the other summer stupids. Oh, how my heart would sing when we had to go to the warehouse! Basking in its golden light! If I really had control over time, however, I'd go back and tell myself to let it go. Right after a little stint of unspeakable violence, as mentioned before. Compared to some of the crap I had to do and some of the assholes I was paired up with, this was pure gold. So what if I wasn't where the action was? Oh well, hindsight 20/20 blah blahbity blah. But back to the man himself. It should be mentioned that I haven't met a man more religious than he. Normally, this would not be a good combination, me and him. Yet besides the odd mention that I should really go to one of his church picnics, there wasn't anything churchy being shoved down my throat. There WAS the dissection of the Jesus mini-series playing at the time, but I'd rather not go into that. What is interesting about him being religious is that from the stories he told me he was the craziest, partiest mother ever when he was younger. Cripes, my friend Glenroy was with us once and you should have heard the stories they were bandying about. They were so raunchy I swore I could see the paint peeling off the pipes around us. What were they about, you ask? Well, they did swear me to secrecy. I guess it's been five years and the statute of limitations has expired, but still, these stories would probably mark them out as evil bastards for the rest of their natural lives. Thus, I shall remain silent on the matter for this point on. Or until someone sends me fifty bucks. Then I'm going to give out every last piddling detail. But anyways, let's jump back to December 2000, which was during what I call my Bleak Period. After an almost staggering display of continual fucking-up I ended up at my Dad's. Which is when he relayed a message from Mr. McNutt (and a Mr. Kirstein, but we're not talking about him) wishing me a Merry Christmas. This might not seem like a big deal, but at this point in time I was pretty much a wreck. I had done a damn good job of alienating just about every friend I had. Somebody wishing a pathetic wretch like me a Merry Christmas managed to get to even my black, crusted heart.

So, anyways, if you can hear me out there Mr. McNutt; SHINE ON, YOU CRAZY DIAMOND!!

"Just wait till tomorrow
I guess that's what they all say
Just before they fall apart"