So after almost four months of dealing with all the defective DNA that walked in and out of that place, when a friend called me up and said there was a vacancy in the building he lived in, I fucking jumped at the chance. Literally. Of course, this led to some funny stories, and by funny I mean the kind that make you shake your head in amazement that the human race has managed to last this long. Judging by the shining examples that presented themselves at this place, we should have died out centuries ago, because no race can become this stupid overnight.
First up, remember the fat guy in the orange shirt? Yeah, so I�m sitting there one night, about a week before I move. I�m in my kitchen packing some boxes up, and there�s a knock on the door. You know where this is heading, right? Yeah, it�s the rocket scientist himself, Mr. I-repeat-myself-every-fucking-time-I-see-you in the flesh. I open the door, and the first thing I see is a fucking orange sweatshirt! Dude! BUY SOMETHING ELSE TO WEAR! Stop spending your entire paycheck on booze and get some decent fucking clothes! And what is the first thing the Great Pumpkin says? �Hi. I�m the guy in the orange shirt.� Duh? Perhaps this seems like a revelation to you, genius, but I had also figured it out, immediately upon opening the fucking door. Maybe it�s because I�m simply not an idiot, or maybe God spoke to me and told me who you were, I�m not certain which. But at any rate, I had already figured that particular mystery out. But hey � thanks for the help anyway, you witless crotch monkey.
And why did the brilliant one decide to come and knock upon my door this night? He had heard I was moving and was sorry that it had come to that. Fucking what? Is this guy for real? He was concerned about hard feelings, or somesuch nonsense, and just wanted to let me know that he didn�t hold a grudge. Well y�know what fuckstain? I DO! Let me make this perfectly clear for you, and all the other halfwits over there; I FUCKING HATE YOU! You are retarded beyond measurability, and there is no cure. He tried to talk to me like we were going to be buddies or something. Again, let me be perfectly clear; I WANT YOU DEAD! That�s gonna put kind of a strain on any possible friendship, don�t ya think?
I had a lot of people staring at me when I went out to put boxes in my car to take them over to the new place. There were also some muttered words under people�s breath, but no one seemed to want to say anything directly to me. I don�t know why, and I don�t really care, but it is interesting that only one idiot had the balls to address me directly. Yeah, he was already drunk out of his mind, which seems to be his natural state, and not very bright to begin with, but he alone had the stones to say something. Y�know, after spending a month and a half saying something from across the street just as I entered my apartment, and then only loud enough for me to know he said something about being the guy in the orange shirt, but not loudly enough for me to catch all of it. But eventually he alone out of all of them finally grew a set. Kudos to the Great Pumpkin.
Then of course there was the unfortunately named Joe, who lives down the street from the bar and works there, or at least shows up there every morning to throw cigarette butts and other trash across the street. You might remember I mentioned him before � he�s a complete fucking retard. Wait, that might not help all that much, since pretty much EVERYONE is a complete fucking retard. But if you go back to the other story about the bar, you will see that I did mention him.
And now he gets another mention in this new rant, because he, (GASP!) once again said something so incredibly stupid that I have to marvel at his ability to walk upright. It was the last day I was there, and my dad had showed up with his truck to help me move the larger items, furniture and such, that wouldn�t fit in my car. So there we were, loading the couch into the back of the truck, and this fucking dunderhead looks across the road and says, �So ya movin� in or movin� out?�
It took me a moment to realize that yes, he really WAS talking to me. Now, keep in mind that I have yelled at this imbecile several times, as well as dump a rather large handful of cigarette butts all over his car while he was watching me. Once again, see the first story about the bar for details on that. We were putting the couch cushions in the same exact car that he used to kick garbage under, and the ass bandit who owns the place actually introduced this guy to me when he was trying to buy me off with a few free watered down drinks. And he sits there about 20 feet away, in broad fucking daylight, and asks me if I�m moving in or moving out? All I could think of was a quote from Hank Hill on King of the Hill, where he says, �Every time I think you�ve said the dumbest thing ever, you keep talking.� I think that pretty much sums it up. This guy is an Idiot with a capital I. Not to mention a capital D, I, O, T, a couple of Q�s, a Z, and a few other random letters thrown in for good measure. Yes, he is so stupid that we had to add more letters just to capitalize them to get the point across. That, my friends, is pretty goddamn stupid.
So anyway, I just stare back at the mouth breather, and say, �Uh, moving OUT.�
�Oh. Where ya going?� Yeah, like I�m going to tell him where I�m moving to. I�ve just spent the last four months yelling at him and cursing his boss and causing as much trouble for the place as I could, since they were doing the same for me first. And now he wants to act like we�re old friends, and we�ll be sure to keep in touch no matter how far apart we are. What the fuck IS it with the people from this place? They can�t really all be this moronic. It has to be an act, at least for some of them. Because the law of averages says that with this many complete idiots in one place, at least a few of them would have had to accidentally kill themselves in some spectacularly stupid fashion. Like accidentally flushing their own head down the urinal, or eating one of the neon signs on a dare, or drinking Budweiser or something similar. But no, they�re all still alive. Not even a fucking drunk driving incident where their truck ends up impaled on a utility pole and they are found several days later in the middle of a field being sodomized by a herd of deer who are taunting the corpse by saying, �Yeah, who�s hunting season is it NOW, bitch?�
Back to the retard, and his enormously boneheaded question, �Where ya going?�
�Away from here.� What, I was supposed to be polite to the assbag? I don�t fucking think so. I thought I had made it perfectly clear that I fucking HATE these people. We are NOT going to be buddies, or even acquaintances. In fact, other than to say rude shit to you, I don�t really think I�m going to acknowledge you at all. I want you dead, and as with the Great Pumpkin mentioned above, I think that will maybe slightly hinder any possible friendship we might develop.
And the best part of the story is that I STILL see the motherfucker every day, because I now live in the house behind him! As if I needed any more proof that I am the Universe�s crapper. I don�t think he�s seen me here yet, but I know it�s just a matter of time. And when he does, if I see even one of those pricks from Waterloo�s only gay bar, or hear any noise outside or anything, I will simply kill them, no questions asked.
Okay, when I said that was the best part of the story, I meant the best part concerning that particular idiot. The best part is yet to come. Y�see, I know the guy who�s living in that apartment now, he�s the brother of a friend of mine. One day the owner of the bar saw him outside, and went over to introduce himself. Then he told him that he hoped he wasn�t like the last guy who lived there, �cause that guy was a jerk!
So now I�M a jerk because I didn�t appreciate my lawn being redecorated in beer bottle and cigarette butt. I�M a jerk because for some odd reason I actually wanted to park in front of my own home when I got home from work. I�M a jerk because I wanted to sleep at 3:00 on a Saturday morning, since I had to go to work, and loud drunks made that quite impossible. I�M a jerk because I was simply there when drunken idiots decided they needed to yell and gesture at my home, simply because I didn�t want to leave all the drapes shut at all times. I�M a jerk because I complained about some drunken sack of useless backed into my car one night after achieving his natural state.
That was all sarcasm. I�m sure most of you picked up on that. The truth of the matter is that the owner of Waterloo�s first and only gay bar is a worthless piece of shit. And it has nothing to do with him being gay, it�s just because he�s an asshole. Actually, that�s not really fair to all the other assholes out there. But I�m just gonna stick with that for now, with apologies to all the other assholes who might be reading this. Yes, I know he�s far worse than you are, but I�m very tired, and that�s the only word I can think of at the moment.
Anyway, none of it is really my problem any more, since I am no longer there. I do feel sorry for my friend�s brother, having to deal with all those shitstains, but I DID warn him, after all. And I still get to drive by and empty MY ashtray in his parking lot, and get rid of a few empties there now and then. Because, as I have stated here many times now, I FUCKING HATE THOSE PEOPLE, and they deserve it. And the retarded old guy needs something to do when he�s waiting there for an hour every morning, since he still can�t seem to get the time right.