What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Crazy Is


If you had the displeasure of standing next to me at my place of work (a bar), you noticed my uncanny ability to attract lunatics. I welcome their company because ordinary people require too much creative energy on my part to make them weird enough to write about. Last night was an all-star night as I checked more than once for a full moon.

“I hate my husband. He calls himself ‘Big Daddy’ and treats me like a child.”
“Oh?”
“He gives me an allowance. Can you believe that? Twelve-hundred dollars the first of the month.”
“I wouldn’t mind a Big Mommy giving me an allowance.”
“I mean, really, what am I supposed to do with twelve-hundred dollars?”
“Bread pudding would be a good start.”
“I’m over it. I’m leaving him.”
“All right.”
“In fact, I’m over men. Men just want my body. Well, they can’t have it. I’m tired of it.”
“But …”
“I don’t need men. No more men for me. That doesn’t mean I’m going to be a lesbian either.”
“Perish the thought.”
“I’m skinny, huh? I have to watch how much I drink. I should eat.”
“All right.”
“Look at my belly,” she demanded as she lifted her shirt exposing her ribcage coated in saggy, post-natal skin.
“Yes, you are skinny … in a fit way. You must do lots of sit-ups.”
“I love protein.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Don’t you?”
“Bacon.”
“What about it?”
“I love bacon. Bacon has protein. Which protein were you referring to?” he said hopefully.
“I drink Muscle Milk.”
“Love Muscle Milk?”
“What?”
“Um … don’t you love Muscle Milk?”
“I do. I also love fish tacos. My friend and I are called ‘The Double Ds.’ Did you know that?”
“What an odd nickname.”
“It’s because we both have names that begin with D.”
“Naturally.”
“Well, we both have large boobs too.”
“I can see that.”
“I might be getting drunk. You know what? Fuck Big Daddy. I’m not going home to that prick.”
“All right.”

At this point one of my friends entered the bar and approached. I gave him my best stay-the-fuck-away look, but he noticed the boobs instead of my warning.

“Yo, Vito, what’s happening? Happy belated birthday.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“Who’s this?”
“This, my friend, is one half of the famous Double Ds. She loves protein and hates her husband.”
“Well, then it’s an honor.”
“I have to pee. Be right back.”

I jogged to the restroom and sent him a warning text: “Dude, this chick is bat-shit fucking crazy. Run away!”

There was no escaping her. We had to wait until her bladder gave us an opening. Once she hit the restroom, it was assholes and elbows as we bolted to the next asylum.

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