The Harbinger

All around me, the permanence of asshole engulfs me. From the old lady too self-indulgent in her newfound way-too-young-for-her boytoy at the Snotopic, to some effeminate alternateen engaging in obsequious treacle to his compadres in cheep booze…I’ve seen and smelled it all.

Let’s start off with the police officer who wanted to sue for being injured on a call. Come on, is that any worse than someone suing for being impugned on public airwaves? Oh wait, one answer questions the other. Never mind. Both are repugnant. Let’s just forget her, save she gain any sort of “don’t taze me bro” fame from it.

At the glorious Emerald Hen with the vainglorious Uberbastard, we encountered these three youths set to wanton destruction of popular convention, bully for them. Only, they had an aura of bullshit about them that set off our moron detectors when they walked in. For me, it was the guy sitting next to me at the bar fully enraptured over his buddies’ stories of hunting and gathering that would make the modern Neanderthal (not to be obfuscated with the hit comedy Caveman…soon to be released on fungi spoor) blush or kill, depending on the topic. He fawned over his friend’s assumed achievements in killing critters for sport, not food, until the point of flagellation over the perceived unacceptable behavior in wishing to chug his mate’s cock. At one point the Uber set off my choke-y button and I beset upon him by the query to Heather, the best breasted maiden of said den.

Me: Heather, do you have a bat here?

Heather: Yes, I do…why?

Me: I wish to impregnate Uber’s head with an idea that women are not to be tortured with his erratic and confused thoughts.

Douche: Impregnate? Don’t you mean impart? Infuse maybe?

Me: No, I mean impregnate. Why?

Douche: I’m trying to wrap my head around the definition to see why you’d use that.

Me: Don’t concern yourself with things you don’t quite understand.

Douche: But…

Me: Move on.

So he does, for the moment. Then I hear him utter presumably under his breath…

Douche: Impart. I know you meant impart.

I ignore this at first. Then he says something I cannot ignore.

Douche: They literally forged the show from hatred of their audience.

Me: No they didn’t.

Douche: You listened?

Me: I didn’t have to. You cannot forge an actual material from hate. You can forge material with hate in mind, but you have no idea what ‘literally’ means, do you?

Friend of Douche: Yes he does. He’s embellishing by using the word. It’s a perfect usage.

Me: Its use is not in question so much as the intention is. Unnecessary use of a word that is not a modifier. You can say ‘they forged the show from hatred of their audience’ without using the colloquial misuse of a word that implies the exact opposite.

Friend of Douche: Shut up.

Uber: Watch it Clive.

So this went on unnoticed by anyone else for a while. Then original douche says ‘impregnate’ again with incredulous intent. I have to say something else.

Me: You’re still harping on that? What, you want every word you know to have one meaning and one alone that has something to do with breeding when you so clearly are not worried about that yourself?

Douche: What do you mean?

Me: You’re half mad over your mate there and all the way for the other one blowing smoke up everyone’s ass. So it’s no surprise that you think ‘impregnate’ cannot mean ‘imbue’, ‘impart’, or otherwise. How about ‘bash your skull in’…does that make it better for you?

It’s now that he shuts it. I wonder later where the animosity originated from. Uber informs me that when the biggest of the idiots walked in like he nesciently owned the place, he asked a simple question.

Douche Two: What did I miss?

Uber: Apparently the entire 80s.

So, yeah. I rescued a snake last week. It was a rattle snake that had lost its rattle over by the Fashion Square Mall. I saw him wriggling by the exit/entrance. Ana and I got out of the car and tried to guide him off the path of idiots without the wherewithal to drive and breathe at the same time. I turn on the hazards and steer the car toward the middle of the ramp. This lady almost walks right into the snake and I tell her about him, being a poisonous snake and all. She laughs, then looks. He strikes somewhere near her and she allows the notion of her impending mortality to sink in. We escort her across the thoroughfare and set off to saving the reptile. Then this car approaches and I try to make it pull wide. Stupid bitch does not allow for that. Now, I love animals, but I am not about to turn my back at close quarters to a poisonous snake, so I give it wide birth. The stupid old bitch of course goes around me and cuts hard to the right, running over the snake’s tail. He’s alright, just injured and really mad now. I curse at the stupid bitch who paid no attention to me at all. I mean, for all she knew, that was my pet snake escaped from my car which was clearly in her fucking way. No rattle, no coiling at that moment means she’s just a dumb blue hair whose reaction time has slowed down in double proportion to her husband’s sexual attraction to her, despite the little blue pills he wastes on the little insecure female pharmacist.

We manage to save the snake and release him into public domain. He struck at me and spit venom at me, but my two foot plunger was all the room I needed.

What?

Am I supposed to feel bad that I released him into a public area? It’s not like he was in a playground.

As a matter of indisputable fact, I let him loose in Baldwin Park. Lord knows there’s more snakes per square foot there than any other point currently in Orlando. So if anything, I made his life competitive.

Gary is
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