| SHITTY SHANE |
| He's so shitty. |
| Why he's so shitty Shane is the name of possibly the most fucked up person I have ever met. His father was a preacher, who lovingly referred to me as "the Immoral Pagan Girl". (I am neither immoral, nor pagan). Shane himself had this incredible ability to get inside your head. Now, when most women say shit like, "My husband was mentally and emotionally abusing me so I had to kill him" my thoughts are,"Stupid bitch, should have gotten out of there sooner." However, having known Shane, I can perfectly understand. The Abuse As I said, mental and emotional abuse abounded between us. The physical abuse wasn't really notable, except for the time we were fighting and threw me down, stepped on a dead bird with his shoe, and then stepped on my head with the same shoe. That was pretty fucked up. But mostly it was emotional stuff, which was his main strength. He looked like a big loser, so people tended to feel sorry for him and be nice to him. (Who wouldn't feel sorry for a pimple-faced pencil neck?) Once you started being nice to him, he'd gradually start giving you "helpful advice". This advice eventually turned into insults, which were accepted in the form of advice. For example, you could bitch about how all the available men out there are pigs (or something to that effect), and he would initially respond with, "Yes, well you can do better than that." Eventually, however, as you began to trust him, this same type of complaint would be answered with, "Well, you should probably find a way to deal with it because you can't do any better than that." The Clincher Lucky for me, he finally got tired of training me and gave me an ultimatum. "Ditch all your friends and stay with me, or I'm leaving you." (This agreement included that I not speak to or even make eye contact with my friends ever again.) So naturally, I chose my friends and got the hell out of that relationship, before it was too late. His cohorts Shane's best friend was a loser by the name of Brandon who was even less attractive and more manipulative than Shane himself. Brandon was so unattractive, in fact, that he married the first woman who would date him. I believe they are currently running a website offering to swing with other "adventurous" couples. Brandon can be summed up nicely into one little anectodal story. One day, Brandon drove to my house (which is about an hour and a half away from his). He then locked his keys in his car. Ok, that happens. So he drove all the way back to his house to get his extra set of keys, and then all the way back to unlock his car. He then promptly locked BOTH sets of keys in his car, and ended up calling a locksmith to break in for him. What an idiot. The Fun Part Here's where it gets good. After the break up I asked him repeatedly to never speak to me or my friends again. (He had been harrassing them via telephone, email, and unannounced housecalls) It took over a year of me alternately politely asking and demanding that he leave us alone before he finally did. Now, in the relationship world, if you behave like that for that long, you can expect some sort of revenge. (Especially when you're dealing with chicks) His parents live just a few houses down from my best friend's house, and he tends to summer at his parent's house. This, of course, allows for some ridiculously easy, childish, and intensely satisfying acts of revenge against him. Sweet Revenge Some of our little "hate crimes" include peeing in his air vents, lighting firecrackers in his yard and inside his mailbox, throwing every bit of trash into his crappy, dead-grass lawn, setting up a bag of water-logged oreos on his front porch, and attempting to run his cat over with my car. Best Prank Ever July 3, 2001: It was a Friday night and particularly hot and balmy. Two shadows, shrouded in darkness, crept down the street and planted an open-faced cow's heart in Shane's mailbox, leaving the mailbox door cracked just a bit. The beauty of their plan was that because it was a Friday night, and the next day was the 4th of July, the mail would not be picked up until the following Monday. Hence, the gorey mass had 3 days to sit in the summer's heat. And, because the door had been left open less than an inch, it wasn't enough to alert anyone that something was wrong, but it was enough to let all the flies in the tricountry area in to colonize and leave their writhing, maggoty progeny behind. Speaking of Stinky Meat.... Chrissakes, take me home. |
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| Don't you wish you were this cool? |