Five (Not So) Tiny True StoriesSubmitted by DaBeast at 2008-09-26 16:47:39 EDT
Rating: 0.21 on 14 ratings (14 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Now, technically, I’ve already done this ( see: http://www.ubersite.com/m/118415 ) but I wanna play, too. So, here’s a few things.
1. When I was 12 years old, I saw a German shepherd rip the throat out of a six year old girl named Misty. The dog’s name was Satan (a gift from his abusive former owners that believed the only good guard dog was an insane guard dog) and the little girl had tried to pet him while he was munching Alpo. Satan growled at her to warn her off and she had responded by kicking him in his jinglies. Thus, the dog responded and then calmly went back to his kibble. I did nothing to help the child. If she was stupid enough to kick a dog that outweighed her by a hundred pounds in his hairy cajones, then I felt that she deserved whatever she got. (Note: Misty had a nice scar for her stupidity [the dog had been very precise and only removed the upper layer of skin from her throat – enough to shut her up and get her to leave him alone but not enough to kill her] but the dog was later put down. I called the city to protest and offered to take the dog but they didn't listen.)
2. When I was 13 years old, there was a family that lived down the street from us that had a 3 legged Spitz named “Whitey” (not only was the dog snow white in color but the family that owned him were black – and he only had 3 legs because the little black Sambo kids had abused the dog so badly that they’d crushed one of his legs and the vet had to remove it). A little old woman that lived further down the street had a Doberman Pincher named “Roosevelt”. I saw Whitey jump the four foot tall chain link fence to get into the little old lady’s yard whereupon he promptly kicked the dog snot out of Roosevelt. Then he jumped back over the fence. I took Whitey home and gave him a steak. Later on, when we were moving to a new house, I stole Whitey and took him with us. That animal was entirely too bad assed to be left with those niggers.
3. Later – I was still 13 years old - I was sorta struck by lightning. Everyone was outta the house except for me and Pop. We lived in the extreme ass end of the boonies where there was nothing for miles except trees and Baptist churches. Cable hadn’t come to the backwoods yet so we had a huge antennae on the side of the house. There was also a hellacious thunderstorm in progress and Pop was attempting to watch wrestling (or “rasslin” as we called it) while enjoying his six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Antennae + thunderstorm + backwoods = shitscreen reception. Pop yelled for me to go fix the antennae. I refused. Pop got the belt. I hotfooted it outside, barefoot. The antennae was sunk into the ground at the side of the house, just past the front porch, and the ground sloped down right there to create a small hollow. Rainwater had collected in the hollow to form a puddle about ankle high and about six feet in circumference. I grabbed the antennae. Lightning struck the ground right beside the puddle. Electricity + antennae + ankle deep puddle = Fried Beast. When I woke up, Pop was yelling “That’s great! Leave the antennae right there!” Cursing, I pulled myself back onto the porch with my arms (for some reason, I felt nothing from the waist down and my legs would not work) and was scratching at the screen door when Mom got home. Mom steps over me and asks why I’m lying on the porch, covered in mud, scratching at the door. Pop expresses ignorance and continues watching tv. It took me two hours to claw my way back to my room and lock the door. Pop still has no idea why I was mad about this.
4. When I was 15 years old, my sister finally managed to impress me. There was a black hoodlum that called himself “Bama”, a petty criminal that spent his time ripping off cheap car stereos and dealing Mary Jane out of the projects. Bama also pimped out three fat, homely white chicks when he could find guys desperate enough for pussy to pay for them. Bama saw my sister one day and he decided that he wanted to add her to his stable. He sent the 3 Fuglies to talk to my sister about it. My sister responded by beating the shit out of all three of them at one time in the yard where everyone could see it. When Bama came walking up with a lead pipe in his hand to “straighten her shit out”, she turned to him, gestured and told him “Come on, Nigger, and I’ll beat your ass, too.” Bama stopped, dropped the lead pipe, and walked away while saying “I ain’t messing with no crazy white bitch.” My mom asked me why I didn’t help my sister (because we’d both been watching from different places). My response: If she’d needed help, then I would have provided it – but she never looked like she’d needed any. And she hadn’t.
5. Later – still 15 years old – I got Mom to “manufacture” a new birth certificate for me and I went to work at Hardee’s (for those out in the western US, Carl Junior’s – same company). After a 3 month fight with management, I got moved off of the damned drive-thru and put in the back. They thought they needed to teach me a lesson, and they assigned me to the roast beef. This was in ’85, when they still roasted the beef in slabs in a back oven and we sliced it using one of those deli machines with the rotating blade. While tearing the machine down one night, I sliced off the top third of my left ring finger. I knew they’d write me up or possibly fire me for this. Not because I’d sliced off my finger but because company regulations said no one under the age of 18 was allowed to work the roast beef (they thought I was 16 but I thought that they’d prolly find out I was actually 15 if they started checking). So I wrapped the digit in a wad of napkins and I kept working. I never could find the part of my finger that I’d sliced off but I suspected that it had landed in one of the fry vats. No one saw this and I never said a word about it.
There. Deposit your “you asshole -2”s below.