Post by Prophet of Ash on Sept 28, 2011 19:42:08 GMT -5
WFWF Down in the Treme
9/28/11
2011_16: Condoms
RE: Randel Benjamin
Percy, I’m out of tape. Why am I out of tape?
He’s rummaging through his gear bag in the middle of the floor. It’s unusual that he’s getting his stuff packed up early like this. Strewn around shorts, various t-shirts, boots, kick pad covers, tube socks, knee and elbow pads, and various other gear lay everywhere, Phil with two open suitcases with basically nothing in them.
I’d guess because you used it all..
Well, I need more. Like ten rolls. White and black electrical. And some hand wraps. And a bunch of gauze. I’m out of so much stuff man..
I’ll go shopping later today.. We’ve got plenty of time before we need to leave. Do you need anything else?
Kool Aid powder, spaghetti noodles, tuna, protein powder.. Kylie’s allergy medicine is almost empty..
Is it prescription or OTC?
OTC. She gets the Equate brand that is basically Claritin.
Noted.
At this point, I’m wondering why I am now shopping for Kylie too. How did I end up this far down the totem pole, that Kylie out ranks me? And how did it happen so quickly?
Need anything else?
I could use some new jeans. It‘s starting to get cooler and I can‘t wear shorts for much longer, and only like 2 or 3 pairs of my jeans are still wearable..
I‘m not buying your jeans for you.. You need to go do that yourself.. Besides, I‘m going to the grocery store, not any clothing stores..
Get some pretzels.
Since when do you like pretzels?
I don‘t. Kylie does.
Kylie does what?
Everything.
?? ??
Well that was smoothly covered..
Percy, clean this mess up and get my bags packed. Deathmatch gear this week. Preferably the blue shorts. And then get the stuff I asked for, before you seal them. I’m off.
He makes a mess.. I have to clean it up.. The way of the world..
Where are you going? Why can’t you go buy your own gimmicks? Why are you going in such a hurry that you can’t clean up after yourself?
Because that’s what you’re here for.
I grab my car keys and start out the door. I see it‘s raining, so I make a quick U-turn to get a jacket and almost run into Kylie, face to face.
Where are you going?
I figured I’d tag along.
I don’t remember inviting you.
I don’t remember asking for permission..
You don’t even know where I’m going.
Didn’t ask, don’t care.. I just want to get out of the house. Tired of being cramped up. Besides, I’m almost out of allergy medicine, so we can stop somewhere and get it.
It’s on Percy’s grocery list. Seriously, just stay here. Go play Xbox or something.
Why can’t I go?
Fine, you can ride along.. But you’re just riding along.. And you better get a coat, it’s raining like hell out there..
I open the door and walk back inside. Percy is in the process of organizing all my gear into various piles. Shirts in one pile, shorts in another, socks all matching, kick pads laying near socks, boots already in the bottom of the luggage. I notice that my skewer sticks container is almost empty.
Hey Percy, get some more skewer sticks while you are out.
When was the last time you used the skewer sticks?
Never know, might come in handy on a rainy day.
Today is a rainy day. You’re not going to be skewering anyone today are you?
Uncomfortable silence and a glare..[/color]
You didn’t come back in here just to tell me to get skewer sticks..
No, we came to get our coats. It’s raining pretty bad outside.
We?
Kylie’s going.
Oh.
I grab my coat, my nice leather jacket. The one without all the pins and patches and stuff on it. I call it my classy jacket, when I want to show someone I’m not just street trash. Plus pin holes tend to leak in rain. I grab a random hoody for Phil too. He’s got so many, it doesn’t really matter which one I grabbed, I don’t think. I throw it to him. He inspects the hoody, then throws it back.
Problem?
Yeah, I’m not going out in public wearing a Trent Draven hoody. People may peg me for a homosexual.
Percy finds whatever he just said hysterical, literally rolling on the floor laughing, perhaps for dramatic effect, or perhaps it was really that funny.. I don’t get it at all. I hang the random hoody back up and grab a different one. This time, I ask first.
Got any problem with the Indianapolis Colts?
Do I own a Colts hoody?
Looking at it right now.
Absolutely no idea where that came from.. Percy, give the Colts hoody to Goodwill. And burn the Draven one..
Percy is continuing to laugh like a maniac. I really need to Google who Trent Draven is, to find out why this is so hysterical to Percy. I grab one of Phil’s own designs. A recent one.
Here, represent your own merch..[/color]
That’ll work. Percy, we’ll be back in like an hour or two.
Gotcha.
And out the door we go. The rain is coming down hard and I can immediately feel it saturate through my clothes. Phil fumbles with the door lock for a moment, but when he gets his door unlocked, he slides in, does the electric lock, and I am able to get some reprieve from the rain. Phil starts the car and we pull out. The radio is playing, but I don’t recognize the tune. It’s good.
Who is this? Is this the radio or a CD?
Last.FM. Pretty sure it’s Lars Fredrickson.
Can’t say I know him.
The jams of Lars Fredrickson are the only sounds we have as we travel down the highway. Mostly silence. I stare out the fogged up window at the rainy afternoon. Dreary and gray. It‘s so gross out. I guess we need the rain though, it‘s been so long since there was a good rain. All the grass is dead and dry and I can‘t imagine all the crops and everything did well this summer. But after last nights monsoon of a rain, I‘m about ready for it to just stop. I‘m fine with the rain, as long as the rain doesn‘t disturb me. But the one good thing about this rain is it‘s going to bring down the ragweed levels, so my allergies may finally go down. I‘m so grateful to be traveling and be out of the Midwest. The big cities on the east coast are an allergy sufferer‘s dream. Pavement doesn‘t have allegiants.[/b]
Hey Kylie, remember Crayola Crayons? How you could get the big box of 128 crayons that had basically every color under the moon?
Yeah.
Know what my favorite color is out of all those shades of colors?
No, what? Black?
I always liked Burnt Sienna. I never knew why, but I always really liked that shade of brown. I knew there was a reason why.. I just could never figure it out. It‘s fate though.
Fate?
I like the color because it is the exact color of your eyes.
The hopeless romantic..
Aren‘t you charming all of a sudden..
Kylie, I want something. Something from you. Something I don‘t know if you‘ll give me.
Anal? I’ll give you anal.
No, not sexual.. I need something from our relationship and I don’t know if it’s even something you can give. I need a mother figure, for my children. I need someone I know that Samantha and Hailee can look up to. A strong woman, but yet a friend. A friend if they need someone to talk to, they know they can come to. I need that in my life. I need that stability for me, and for my children..
I’m flattered.. But I haven’t even met your children. When you had Hailee last time, you made me go stay in a hotel for the week. And every time you go see Samantha, I’m stuck hanging out with Percy.
I’m easing myself into this..
How about now. I mean, we’re going to Samantha’s house now..
A time of discipline wouldn’t be a good time to introduce her to you. “I’m going to piss you off by punishing you, so here, forgive me and accept this woman in my life”.
Yeah, you’re probably right..
There’s no probably about it. I am right. I haven’t been paying much attention to the roads, but I really don’t have to. I could drive these roads blindfolded. I think I did once. This is my road. It used to be.. Now it’s my daughter’s. It always was her’s.. I pull up in front of Ashley’s house and stop the car. Kylie reaches for her door. I hit the auto lock button. She tries the handle, but realizes she’s locked in.
You know I can pull the little tab up and unlock it, right?
I figured it was easier to do that and say what I needed to say subliminally than to say it physically.
It’s a little degrading to be subjected to child locks, but I see your point.
Kylie starts fiddling with the radio as I make my way out of the car and towards the house. My house. Regardless of what Ashley changes on the outside, this is my house. I paid for it. I drew up the blueprints. I was kicked out of it. I knock on the door. See, that’s how you can tell it’s my house. Because anyone else would have approached and rang the doorbell, but I know the doorbell hasn’t worked since 2006. Samantha comes to the door. She simply sighs and opens the door for me.
We need to talk, Sam.
About what?
You do a little shopping about a week or so ago?
I do a little shopping all the time.
$200 online ring a bell?
Yeah. Why? You said you didn’t care how much I spent.
It’s not what you spent, it’s what you spent it on. You’re 15 years old. You shouldn’t be buying lingerie.
Ugh.
Samantha starts to storm away. It’s that thing where she decides the conversation is done, so she just puffs her breath and walks away. I’m feeling limber today though, so I cut her off at the pass.
Seriously Sam, I REALLY didn’t want to have this conversation. You think it’s easy for me to imagine you prancing around in front of some teenage boy in skimpy little panties? That I bought?
So that’s what it’s all about? You think I did it to impress some boy? I did it because I want comfortable underwear and I’m tired of wearing 3/$5 Walmart granny panties.
Then try boxers. Go for more fabric. Not less.
She tries to pass me again. I make a step to the left and cut her off.
Just give me the credit card. It’s simple enough. You remove the credit card, you hand the credit card to me. I destroy it. I was stupid to think you could handle it responsibly to start with.
And I was. I thought it’d be easier to give Samantha a credit card to buy food or clothes or whatever she needed that Ashley wasn’t giving her than to shell out cash all the time. Kind of like a blank check and that card did have a $500 limit. What damage is $500? Especially to me, in 2011. If she wants to eat a bunch of cheeseburgers instead of Ashley’s cooking, I can’t blame her. If she wants to go to Hot Topic and buy a $100 pair of pants, cool. She can be the popular kid at school because her dad has money. It’s an advantage I would have killed for in school when I was wearing either pants bought at a garage sale or hand me downs from my brother or a cousin.
Perhaps all the hardships I went through is what made me who I am today, but I don’t want Samantha to grow up to be me. Hailee either. I’m a miserable self destructive mother f*ck. I hate myself more often than not. But I’m successful and I’ve got some cash, so my daughters are going to be taken care of. Why is this an internal argument? My young teenage daughter spent $200 on lingerie. This deserves a punishment, not an internal argument.[/b]
Ugh. I thought you were cool too
There’s a broad stroke of the brush between “cool” and “let your daughter dress like a porn star”. Frankly, I’m not going to let you dress like a porn star because I’d rather you not end up on a movie set sucking dick for a few hundred dollars to fund whatever drug habit you’ve developed. You’re better than that.
Man, what the hell are you talking about?
Standing in this house, this dream house that I designed from the bricks to the shingles with a woman I loved at the time.. Sure, the interior has changed a little bit in the last few years, but it’s still the house I custom built and the house that I paid for. But yet, it’s not the house I live in. Somehow, in a divorce, I end up booted out of my own house. I end up having to call to get into this house. It’s bullsh*t frankly. I do for my daughters.. I do better than any father my daughters have never wanted for anything. How many high school freshman do you know that carry $500 in cash in their purse and have their own car, paid?[/b]
Look Dad, if it’ll make you happy, take the credit card. I don’t need it. I only use it for stuff I don’t want Mom to know I have anyways, and I’ve got boys that will buy that stuff for me now anyways..
Excuse me?
I’ve got them wrapped as much around my little finger as I do you…
She unzips her purse. She starts ruffling around the gum, breath mints, and other crap that is in an early teenage girl’s purse. You know, candy, tampons, nail file, condoms, ink pen.. Wait, back the f*ck up.. I don’t even hesitate. I reach in and grab the Trojan condom.. Well, if only it was a Trojan condom, and not an empty wrapper..
Dad, I can explain that..
Wrapped around your finger huh? This how? This your little mind control device over the little teenage boys? “Here, you go buy me a McDonalds value meal and I’ll strip down to my sexy panties and suck your dick”. Seriously Samantha.. Seriously? You’re going to pull THIS sh*t? this the type of sh*t you’ve been using the credit card for? Sh*t you want to hide from your mom? ASHLEY, get your ass in here, we need to talk RIGHT NOW.
I try to avoid talking to my ex wife at all costs most of the time. The bloom is off the rose and the relationship is over. More often than not, she sickens me. I don’t want to see her, much less talk to her, but sometimes things have to be sorted out, with both parents.. Especially when one parent is clearly slacking at their job as a mother and letting the teenage daughter run wild like a god damn whore. She comes into the corridor. In all her bleach blonde, sweatpants wearing, t-shirt two sizes too small showing off her tits but also her growing belly.. Some people would call her a milf. I’d just call her Ashley.[/b]
What? What do you want?
I just throw the condom wrapper at her. It flies part of the way.. But it gets caught in the air, kind of does a spiral, then flies backwards. Well, it was a good idea dramatically in my mind. Point is proven either way. She leans down and picks it up.[/b]
An empty condom wrapper? This part of the “equipment” you’ve been using to “train” that “student” of your’s?
She even does the air quotes. How obnoxious do you have to be to actually do the air quotes to show that you’re being sarcastic, especially with a statement like that?
No, I found it in your daughter’s purse, when I came to take back my credit card, after she spent $200 on Victoria’s Secrets with it..[/color]
Oh? She’s my daughter? When she f*cks up and you find a condom wrapper in her purse, she’s my daughter, but when she does good at school and gets a good grade or when she gets a good part in the school play, she’s your daughter. I see how it is. You’re the good guy that cuts a 14 year old girl loose with a credit card and tells her to have fun, I’m the bad guy when said 14 year old girl’s hormones are running wild and she ends up pregnant.
I’m not going to end up pregnant. I’m not even having sex. And I didn’t buy that condom. They gave them to us at school and me and Scarlett blew it up into a balloon to see what it looked like. Seriously, you think I’m some whore?
If it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck and it has feathers like a duck..
And looking at my oldest daughter, she’s turned into quite the duck. I never understood the fascination with skinny jeans, but I see why the teenage boys encourage them while looking at my daughter, the jeans looking painted on her body with her expensive little underwear sticking out.. That tight Panic at the Disco t-shirt showing off her flat stomach and growing bosoms.. Yep.. Definite duck.
Now you’re going to call your daughter a whore? You’re going to look her in the eyes and call her a whore?
Like mother, like daughter.
You know what, you can take your f*cking credit card and you can shove it up your f*cking ass. And while you’re at it..
She pulls off all of her bracelets, the expensive bracelets that she’s told me she has to have. And she flings them at me.
You can take all your jewelry, all your clothes, and all your money, because I’m not like that cheap whore you’ve got out in the car. I’m not like Percy. You can’t just throw money at me and use it as an out to treat me like garbage. You’re a miserable human being Dad and if you didn’t have money, no one would talk to you. Your “best friend” only hangs around you because you pay him to be there, you pay him to be your personal f*cking babysitter because you’re not enough of a well adjusted adult that you can manage to clean up and drive yourself. Seriously Dad, grow the f*ck up.
And with that hissy fit, she storms off. Up the stairs she goes and a slam of a door later, she disappears. And I’m left alone with my ex wife in “her” house. Yes, I did the air quotes even though this is just my mental narration. Ashley stares at me. A blank, yet angered stare on her face.
Was it really worth it? To piss her off like this? Over a few bucks?
It’s not a matter of the money Ashley. If she came down right now and said “Dad, give me $1000”. I’d take her to the nearest ATM. Money isn’t an issue. It’s a fact that she thinks she can do anything. That’s a dangerous ideology. No one is invincible. Everyone has their weaknesses.. You want to be called “Grandma” before you turn 30? “Grandpa” isn’t a name I’m particularly thrilled with either, not at this stage in my life. So we’ve got to get this train back in the station and get the rioting passengers under control, at least for a few years.
In this case, passengers are hormones.
So you’re saying you don’t believe her? That her and Scarlett were just fooling around?
I believe that she was fooling around. I don’t believe that it was with Scarlett.
So you’re calling her a liar? In the worst case scenario here, she’s having sex but she’s smart enough to use protection.
Protection fails Ashley. You should know that. A condom with a hole in it is what caused this whole f*cking problem at the source about 15 years ago. You really want Samantha to believe what you did. “Oh, we’re using a condom, we’re safe, nothing will happen”. Pop, your life is ruined. Pop, you have a baby. Pop, you’re married. Pop, you’ve got a divorce.
Pop, get out of my house.
Pop, I wrestled in barbed wire and light tubes to pay for this f*cking house. Pop, I’ll have scars for the rest of my life that paid this place’s mortgage.
Pop, I don’t give a f*ck get out of my house
Pop, upside your face.
Okay, maybe I didn’t say that last part. Maybe I just did it. Because my hand hurts and Ashley is falling. And now she’s on the ground. I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that last part. This is going to be a fun one to explain. And there’s that damn flash again. What the hell is that flash? Before I’ve got domestic abuse charges placed on me, I leave. Not before gathering up my credit card, however.
Handicaps are funny things. Some people, like Hutton Brown, have physical handicaps thanks to injuries. Some people are physically handicapped because of choices they make, like obesity. The choice to eat nothing but garbage like hot dogs and cakes and chicken.. Some people have mental handicaps and do things that cause harm to themselves. They do things that they know will hurt them so. Not talking about Trace Demon and his insistent need to prod at me until I eventually just shoot him point blank in the face with a sawed off shotgun, either. I’m talking about myself.
I have this addiction to violence. I can’t control myself when it comes to the macabre. I see standard items and I think of ways I can use them to mutilate someone. A car key.. A great shank. A women’s purse? A blunt swinging object as well as a means of strangulation. Something as common as a potato chip can be a dangerous weapon in the hands of someone who knows how to use it correctly. You drive the end of a potato chip into someone’s eye socket, it’s going to take their eye out.
I think that’s what makes me more effective with weapons than most people because in my eyes, everything is a weapon. Anyone can look at a table, a ladder, a chair, a chain, or fire as a weapon. It’s easy. It’s been hammered into your skull since the day you first seen wrestling. Anyone can look at a strand of barbed wire and see it’s potential to cut, or look at a light tube and see the potential of shattering it over and opponent. When was the last time you seen someone bludgeon an opponent with a cigarette lighter? I have ways of doing it. I’m not talking about lighting someone on fire, either.
That’s my handicap.. I see these things.. The common objects.. The uncommon objects.. The strange objects.. And they are all weapons to me. They are things I can use to attack an opponent. In a standard match however, these weapons aren’t allowed. And this week.. These weapons aren’t allowed for me.
To get into the mind of Hutton Brown, I had to get into the mind of a handicapped. A one armed man, the direct route of handicapping, didn’t do the trick for me to gain the psychological insight of the wounded animal. The animal who knows what he needs to do to kill and sees it in front of him, but he’s unable to do anything about it because of the constraints put upon him. If this was a standard death match, Randel Benjamin wouldn’t stand a chance with me. He knows it. He knows that I could cut him to ribbons. But where’s the challenge in that? Where’s the challenge of doing something you know you can do easily? This isn’t a time trial and I don’t have anything to gain by seeing how quickly I could destroy this obese slob.
But walking in with a handicap.. Him using all these objects.. And me unable to do anything but bare handed warfare.. It’s a true handicap. So I’ll be able to gain insight into what Hutton Brown is going through, with the arm as injured as it is.. I’ll be able to gain the insight I need to destroy him.. And to move on to bigger, better, and badder things.
9/28/11
2011_16: Condoms
RE: Randel Benjamin
Percy, I’m out of tape. Why am I out of tape?
He’s rummaging through his gear bag in the middle of the floor. It’s unusual that he’s getting his stuff packed up early like this. Strewn around shorts, various t-shirts, boots, kick pad covers, tube socks, knee and elbow pads, and various other gear lay everywhere, Phil with two open suitcases with basically nothing in them.
I’d guess because you used it all..
Well, I need more. Like ten rolls. White and black electrical. And some hand wraps. And a bunch of gauze. I’m out of so much stuff man..
I’ll go shopping later today.. We’ve got plenty of time before we need to leave. Do you need anything else?
Kool Aid powder, spaghetti noodles, tuna, protein powder.. Kylie’s allergy medicine is almost empty..
Is it prescription or OTC?
OTC. She gets the Equate brand that is basically Claritin.
Noted.
At this point, I’m wondering why I am now shopping for Kylie too. How did I end up this far down the totem pole, that Kylie out ranks me? And how did it happen so quickly?
Need anything else?
I could use some new jeans. It‘s starting to get cooler and I can‘t wear shorts for much longer, and only like 2 or 3 pairs of my jeans are still wearable..
I‘m not buying your jeans for you.. You need to go do that yourself.. Besides, I‘m going to the grocery store, not any clothing stores..
Get some pretzels.
Since when do you like pretzels?
I don‘t. Kylie does.
Kylie does what?
Everything.
?? ??
Well that was smoothly covered..
Percy, clean this mess up and get my bags packed. Deathmatch gear this week. Preferably the blue shorts. And then get the stuff I asked for, before you seal them. I’m off.
He makes a mess.. I have to clean it up.. The way of the world..
Where are you going? Why can’t you go buy your own gimmicks? Why are you going in such a hurry that you can’t clean up after yourself?
Because that’s what you’re here for.
I grab my car keys and start out the door. I see it‘s raining, so I make a quick U-turn to get a jacket and almost run into Kylie, face to face.
Where are you going?
I figured I’d tag along.
I don’t remember inviting you.
I don’t remember asking for permission..
You don’t even know where I’m going.
Didn’t ask, don’t care.. I just want to get out of the house. Tired of being cramped up. Besides, I’m almost out of allergy medicine, so we can stop somewhere and get it.
It’s on Percy’s grocery list. Seriously, just stay here. Go play Xbox or something.
Why can’t I go?
Fine, you can ride along.. But you’re just riding along.. And you better get a coat, it’s raining like hell out there..
I open the door and walk back inside. Percy is in the process of organizing all my gear into various piles. Shirts in one pile, shorts in another, socks all matching, kick pads laying near socks, boots already in the bottom of the luggage. I notice that my skewer sticks container is almost empty.
Hey Percy, get some more skewer sticks while you are out.
When was the last time you used the skewer sticks?
Never know, might come in handy on a rainy day.
Today is a rainy day. You’re not going to be skewering anyone today are you?
Uncomfortable silence and a glare..[/color]
You didn’t come back in here just to tell me to get skewer sticks..
No, we came to get our coats. It’s raining pretty bad outside.
We?
Kylie’s going.
Oh.
I grab my coat, my nice leather jacket. The one without all the pins and patches and stuff on it. I call it my classy jacket, when I want to show someone I’m not just street trash. Plus pin holes tend to leak in rain. I grab a random hoody for Phil too. He’s got so many, it doesn’t really matter which one I grabbed, I don’t think. I throw it to him. He inspects the hoody, then throws it back.
Problem?
Yeah, I’m not going out in public wearing a Trent Draven hoody. People may peg me for a homosexual.
Percy finds whatever he just said hysterical, literally rolling on the floor laughing, perhaps for dramatic effect, or perhaps it was really that funny.. I don’t get it at all. I hang the random hoody back up and grab a different one. This time, I ask first.
Got any problem with the Indianapolis Colts?
Do I own a Colts hoody?
Looking at it right now.
Absolutely no idea where that came from.. Percy, give the Colts hoody to Goodwill. And burn the Draven one..
Percy is continuing to laugh like a maniac. I really need to Google who Trent Draven is, to find out why this is so hysterical to Percy. I grab one of Phil’s own designs. A recent one.
Here, represent your own merch..[/color]
That’ll work. Percy, we’ll be back in like an hour or two.
Gotcha.
And out the door we go. The rain is coming down hard and I can immediately feel it saturate through my clothes. Phil fumbles with the door lock for a moment, but when he gets his door unlocked, he slides in, does the electric lock, and I am able to get some reprieve from the rain. Phil starts the car and we pull out. The radio is playing, but I don’t recognize the tune. It’s good.
Who is this? Is this the radio or a CD?
Last.FM. Pretty sure it’s Lars Fredrickson.
Can’t say I know him.
The jams of Lars Fredrickson are the only sounds we have as we travel down the highway. Mostly silence. I stare out the fogged up window at the rainy afternoon. Dreary and gray. It‘s so gross out. I guess we need the rain though, it‘s been so long since there was a good rain. All the grass is dead and dry and I can‘t imagine all the crops and everything did well this summer. But after last nights monsoon of a rain, I‘m about ready for it to just stop. I‘m fine with the rain, as long as the rain doesn‘t disturb me. But the one good thing about this rain is it‘s going to bring down the ragweed levels, so my allergies may finally go down. I‘m so grateful to be traveling and be out of the Midwest. The big cities on the east coast are an allergy sufferer‘s dream. Pavement doesn‘t have allegiants.[/b]
Hey Kylie, remember Crayola Crayons? How you could get the big box of 128 crayons that had basically every color under the moon?
Yeah.
Know what my favorite color is out of all those shades of colors?
No, what? Black?
I always liked Burnt Sienna. I never knew why, but I always really liked that shade of brown. I knew there was a reason why.. I just could never figure it out. It‘s fate though.
Fate?
I like the color because it is the exact color of your eyes.
The hopeless romantic..
Aren‘t you charming all of a sudden..
Kylie, I want something. Something from you. Something I don‘t know if you‘ll give me.
Anal? I’ll give you anal.
No, not sexual.. I need something from our relationship and I don’t know if it’s even something you can give. I need a mother figure, for my children. I need someone I know that Samantha and Hailee can look up to. A strong woman, but yet a friend. A friend if they need someone to talk to, they know they can come to. I need that in my life. I need that stability for me, and for my children..
I’m flattered.. But I haven’t even met your children. When you had Hailee last time, you made me go stay in a hotel for the week. And every time you go see Samantha, I’m stuck hanging out with Percy.
I’m easing myself into this..
How about now. I mean, we’re going to Samantha’s house now..
A time of discipline wouldn’t be a good time to introduce her to you. “I’m going to piss you off by punishing you, so here, forgive me and accept this woman in my life”.
Yeah, you’re probably right..
There’s no probably about it. I am right. I haven’t been paying much attention to the roads, but I really don’t have to. I could drive these roads blindfolded. I think I did once. This is my road. It used to be.. Now it’s my daughter’s. It always was her’s.. I pull up in front of Ashley’s house and stop the car. Kylie reaches for her door. I hit the auto lock button. She tries the handle, but realizes she’s locked in.
You know I can pull the little tab up and unlock it, right?
I figured it was easier to do that and say what I needed to say subliminally than to say it physically.
It’s a little degrading to be subjected to child locks, but I see your point.
Kylie starts fiddling with the radio as I make my way out of the car and towards the house. My house. Regardless of what Ashley changes on the outside, this is my house. I paid for it. I drew up the blueprints. I was kicked out of it. I knock on the door. See, that’s how you can tell it’s my house. Because anyone else would have approached and rang the doorbell, but I know the doorbell hasn’t worked since 2006. Samantha comes to the door. She simply sighs and opens the door for me.
We need to talk, Sam.
About what?
You do a little shopping about a week or so ago?
I do a little shopping all the time.
$200 online ring a bell?
Yeah. Why? You said you didn’t care how much I spent.
It’s not what you spent, it’s what you spent it on. You’re 15 years old. You shouldn’t be buying lingerie.
Ugh.
Samantha starts to storm away. It’s that thing where she decides the conversation is done, so she just puffs her breath and walks away. I’m feeling limber today though, so I cut her off at the pass.
Seriously Sam, I REALLY didn’t want to have this conversation. You think it’s easy for me to imagine you prancing around in front of some teenage boy in skimpy little panties? That I bought?
So that’s what it’s all about? You think I did it to impress some boy? I did it because I want comfortable underwear and I’m tired of wearing 3/$5 Walmart granny panties.
Then try boxers. Go for more fabric. Not less.
She tries to pass me again. I make a step to the left and cut her off.
Just give me the credit card. It’s simple enough. You remove the credit card, you hand the credit card to me. I destroy it. I was stupid to think you could handle it responsibly to start with.
And I was. I thought it’d be easier to give Samantha a credit card to buy food or clothes or whatever she needed that Ashley wasn’t giving her than to shell out cash all the time. Kind of like a blank check and that card did have a $500 limit. What damage is $500? Especially to me, in 2011. If she wants to eat a bunch of cheeseburgers instead of Ashley’s cooking, I can’t blame her. If she wants to go to Hot Topic and buy a $100 pair of pants, cool. She can be the popular kid at school because her dad has money. It’s an advantage I would have killed for in school when I was wearing either pants bought at a garage sale or hand me downs from my brother or a cousin.
Perhaps all the hardships I went through is what made me who I am today, but I don’t want Samantha to grow up to be me. Hailee either. I’m a miserable self destructive mother f*ck. I hate myself more often than not. But I’m successful and I’ve got some cash, so my daughters are going to be taken care of. Why is this an internal argument? My young teenage daughter spent $200 on lingerie. This deserves a punishment, not an internal argument.[/b]
Ugh. I thought you were cool too
There’s a broad stroke of the brush between “cool” and “let your daughter dress like a porn star”. Frankly, I’m not going to let you dress like a porn star because I’d rather you not end up on a movie set sucking dick for a few hundred dollars to fund whatever drug habit you’ve developed. You’re better than that.
Man, what the hell are you talking about?
Standing in this house, this dream house that I designed from the bricks to the shingles with a woman I loved at the time.. Sure, the interior has changed a little bit in the last few years, but it’s still the house I custom built and the house that I paid for. But yet, it’s not the house I live in. Somehow, in a divorce, I end up booted out of my own house. I end up having to call to get into this house. It’s bullsh*t frankly. I do for my daughters.. I do better than any father my daughters have never wanted for anything. How many high school freshman do you know that carry $500 in cash in their purse and have their own car, paid?[/b]
Look Dad, if it’ll make you happy, take the credit card. I don’t need it. I only use it for stuff I don’t want Mom to know I have anyways, and I’ve got boys that will buy that stuff for me now anyways..
Excuse me?
I’ve got them wrapped as much around my little finger as I do you…
She unzips her purse. She starts ruffling around the gum, breath mints, and other crap that is in an early teenage girl’s purse. You know, candy, tampons, nail file, condoms, ink pen.. Wait, back the f*ck up.. I don’t even hesitate. I reach in and grab the Trojan condom.. Well, if only it was a Trojan condom, and not an empty wrapper..
Dad, I can explain that..
Wrapped around your finger huh? This how? This your little mind control device over the little teenage boys? “Here, you go buy me a McDonalds value meal and I’ll strip down to my sexy panties and suck your dick”. Seriously Samantha.. Seriously? You’re going to pull THIS sh*t? this the type of sh*t you’ve been using the credit card for? Sh*t you want to hide from your mom? ASHLEY, get your ass in here, we need to talk RIGHT NOW.
I try to avoid talking to my ex wife at all costs most of the time. The bloom is off the rose and the relationship is over. More often than not, she sickens me. I don’t want to see her, much less talk to her, but sometimes things have to be sorted out, with both parents.. Especially when one parent is clearly slacking at their job as a mother and letting the teenage daughter run wild like a god damn whore. She comes into the corridor. In all her bleach blonde, sweatpants wearing, t-shirt two sizes too small showing off her tits but also her growing belly.. Some people would call her a milf. I’d just call her Ashley.[/b]
What? What do you want?
I just throw the condom wrapper at her. It flies part of the way.. But it gets caught in the air, kind of does a spiral, then flies backwards. Well, it was a good idea dramatically in my mind. Point is proven either way. She leans down and picks it up.[/b]
An empty condom wrapper? This part of the “equipment” you’ve been using to “train” that “student” of your’s?
She even does the air quotes. How obnoxious do you have to be to actually do the air quotes to show that you’re being sarcastic, especially with a statement like that?
No, I found it in your daughter’s purse, when I came to take back my credit card, after she spent $200 on Victoria’s Secrets with it..[/color]
Oh? She’s my daughter? When she f*cks up and you find a condom wrapper in her purse, she’s my daughter, but when she does good at school and gets a good grade or when she gets a good part in the school play, she’s your daughter. I see how it is. You’re the good guy that cuts a 14 year old girl loose with a credit card and tells her to have fun, I’m the bad guy when said 14 year old girl’s hormones are running wild and she ends up pregnant.
I’m not going to end up pregnant. I’m not even having sex. And I didn’t buy that condom. They gave them to us at school and me and Scarlett blew it up into a balloon to see what it looked like. Seriously, you think I’m some whore?
If it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck and it has feathers like a duck..
And looking at my oldest daughter, she’s turned into quite the duck. I never understood the fascination with skinny jeans, but I see why the teenage boys encourage them while looking at my daughter, the jeans looking painted on her body with her expensive little underwear sticking out.. That tight Panic at the Disco t-shirt showing off her flat stomach and growing bosoms.. Yep.. Definite duck.
Now you’re going to call your daughter a whore? You’re going to look her in the eyes and call her a whore?
Like mother, like daughter.
You know what, you can take your f*cking credit card and you can shove it up your f*cking ass. And while you’re at it..
She pulls off all of her bracelets, the expensive bracelets that she’s told me she has to have. And she flings them at me.
You can take all your jewelry, all your clothes, and all your money, because I’m not like that cheap whore you’ve got out in the car. I’m not like Percy. You can’t just throw money at me and use it as an out to treat me like garbage. You’re a miserable human being Dad and if you didn’t have money, no one would talk to you. Your “best friend” only hangs around you because you pay him to be there, you pay him to be your personal f*cking babysitter because you’re not enough of a well adjusted adult that you can manage to clean up and drive yourself. Seriously Dad, grow the f*ck up.
And with that hissy fit, she storms off. Up the stairs she goes and a slam of a door later, she disappears. And I’m left alone with my ex wife in “her” house. Yes, I did the air quotes even though this is just my mental narration. Ashley stares at me. A blank, yet angered stare on her face.
Was it really worth it? To piss her off like this? Over a few bucks?
It’s not a matter of the money Ashley. If she came down right now and said “Dad, give me $1000”. I’d take her to the nearest ATM. Money isn’t an issue. It’s a fact that she thinks she can do anything. That’s a dangerous ideology. No one is invincible. Everyone has their weaknesses.. You want to be called “Grandma” before you turn 30? “Grandpa” isn’t a name I’m particularly thrilled with either, not at this stage in my life. So we’ve got to get this train back in the station and get the rioting passengers under control, at least for a few years.
In this case, passengers are hormones.
So you’re saying you don’t believe her? That her and Scarlett were just fooling around?
I believe that she was fooling around. I don’t believe that it was with Scarlett.
So you’re calling her a liar? In the worst case scenario here, she’s having sex but she’s smart enough to use protection.
Protection fails Ashley. You should know that. A condom with a hole in it is what caused this whole f*cking problem at the source about 15 years ago. You really want Samantha to believe what you did. “Oh, we’re using a condom, we’re safe, nothing will happen”. Pop, your life is ruined. Pop, you have a baby. Pop, you’re married. Pop, you’ve got a divorce.
Pop, get out of my house.
Pop, I wrestled in barbed wire and light tubes to pay for this f*cking house. Pop, I’ll have scars for the rest of my life that paid this place’s mortgage.
Pop, I don’t give a f*ck get out of my house
Pop, upside your face.
Okay, maybe I didn’t say that last part. Maybe I just did it. Because my hand hurts and Ashley is falling. And now she’s on the ground. I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that last part. This is going to be a fun one to explain. And there’s that damn flash again. What the hell is that flash? Before I’ve got domestic abuse charges placed on me, I leave. Not before gathering up my credit card, however.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Handicaps are funny things. Some people, like Hutton Brown, have physical handicaps thanks to injuries. Some people are physically handicapped because of choices they make, like obesity. The choice to eat nothing but garbage like hot dogs and cakes and chicken.. Some people have mental handicaps and do things that cause harm to themselves. They do things that they know will hurt them so. Not talking about Trace Demon and his insistent need to prod at me until I eventually just shoot him point blank in the face with a sawed off shotgun, either. I’m talking about myself.
I have this addiction to violence. I can’t control myself when it comes to the macabre. I see standard items and I think of ways I can use them to mutilate someone. A car key.. A great shank. A women’s purse? A blunt swinging object as well as a means of strangulation. Something as common as a potato chip can be a dangerous weapon in the hands of someone who knows how to use it correctly. You drive the end of a potato chip into someone’s eye socket, it’s going to take their eye out.
I think that’s what makes me more effective with weapons than most people because in my eyes, everything is a weapon. Anyone can look at a table, a ladder, a chair, a chain, or fire as a weapon. It’s easy. It’s been hammered into your skull since the day you first seen wrestling. Anyone can look at a strand of barbed wire and see it’s potential to cut, or look at a light tube and see the potential of shattering it over and opponent. When was the last time you seen someone bludgeon an opponent with a cigarette lighter? I have ways of doing it. I’m not talking about lighting someone on fire, either.
That’s my handicap.. I see these things.. The common objects.. The uncommon objects.. The strange objects.. And they are all weapons to me. They are things I can use to attack an opponent. In a standard match however, these weapons aren’t allowed. And this week.. These weapons aren’t allowed for me.
To get into the mind of Hutton Brown, I had to get into the mind of a handicapped. A one armed man, the direct route of handicapping, didn’t do the trick for me to gain the psychological insight of the wounded animal. The animal who knows what he needs to do to kill and sees it in front of him, but he’s unable to do anything about it because of the constraints put upon him. If this was a standard death match, Randel Benjamin wouldn’t stand a chance with me. He knows it. He knows that I could cut him to ribbons. But where’s the challenge in that? Where’s the challenge of doing something you know you can do easily? This isn’t a time trial and I don’t have anything to gain by seeing how quickly I could destroy this obese slob.
But walking in with a handicap.. Him using all these objects.. And me unable to do anything but bare handed warfare.. It’s a true handicap. So I’ll be able to gain insight into what Hutton Brown is going through, with the arm as injured as it is.. I’ll be able to gain the insight I need to destroy him.. And to move on to bigger, better, and badder things.
