Even more cowbell
The plot? It thickens.
I’ve had violent images all week (and I wasn’t sure whether they were psychic flashes or merely dark imaginings with no basis) of one of our friends being injured. Information came my way (I am not seeking this shit out — honest. I hate drama. And yet …) that he was injured in a motorcycle crash and that he was at a particular hospital.
Which would explain why the bellowing heifer keeps e-mailing me from his address and calling from his personal and work cell phones. It would also explain why she just had a medical bed put in her house yesterday. (The neighbors? Are nosy. And they LOVE to call with info.)
Anyway, I called not only the hospital system I was told he was in, but every other one, just for good measure. Nothing. He’s nowhere.
She’s cruel, vicious, violent and radical. She’s also twice his size and bounces him around like a super ball. You know when your friends tell you to GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THAT CRAZY BITCH, whoever that crazy bitch may be? FUCKING LISTEN TO THEM.
I’ve actually had images of him chained to a pole in his basement and her branding him with the cattle iron that obviously stamped “USDA choice” on her fat ass. How can you emasculate someone so much? And you think they’d want to go BACK to you? Lord.
That’s the thing — if you have to injure a man so severely that he cannot walk, talk or function, do you really want/need him? I know she’s as ugly as it gets, but to have someone who resents every fiber of your being that you’d have to bludgeon them and make them powerless just so they come back to you, it’s just plain sick.
Now, I want to get away from all of this. I can’t stand having 20 calls coming to both of my phones each day with 10-minute-long messages about how she wants me to die and leave her alone. When all I asked is if he is OK, blink once for yes and twice for no. I don’t care about the stuff. I just don’t think he deserves to be abused because she’s a fucked-up nut.
This is why I use the buddy system. I want everyone to know that if I disappear, there’s a reason for it. She got all my information out of him somehow — beating him to death, no doubt. If she gets my address, hoo boy. I’m dead meat. And I didn’t even fucking DO anything! I just intervened on behalf of a friend. No more, no less.
Now, there’s always that, “What can I do to save him?” Because he probably needs to be saved. I think she’s brainwashing him and she probably has his balls in a jar beside her bed.
And then there’s that, “Not my problem” attitude. I’ve had more than enough psycho for one week, thanks. Self-preservation, kids. I put my oxygen mask on first before I help others — didn’t the in-flight demonstrations teach anybody anything around here?
The psychic side of me is saying this is all going to end badly. Not that this phase is a fucking picnic, of course. But that if I don’t butt the fuck out, I’ll be chained up to a medical bed in her house, too. Her therapist sounds like a nutjob — talk about brainwashing. I have no doubt that there’s some electroshock therapy going on behind closed doors.
I called his job, since the hog has his work phone. I was told he was hospitalized (but I doubt it, given that he wasn’t where they said he is) and that he’d be gone for “quite a few weeks.” How the hell does that happen? Accident, OK. But nobody’s seen hide or hair of a 6-foot-tall man in a week. A man who used to have a presence about him.
How can someone go missing, right under everyone’s noses?
And who’s the next victim on her unhinged warpath?
All for him being happy. That’s the only reason.
I always believed that a life well-lived is the best revenge. But for the clinically insane, it’s just a red cape in front of a bull. And to the point that she doesn’t CARE that everyone thinks she’s insane (the whole neighborhood is talking), I don’t know that you can return once you cross that threshold.
Actually, this just in: He is apparently in the hog’s house, probably chained up so he can’t enjoy the freedom he had so briefly. Even though the neighbors are on a 24-hour drama stakeout, no one saw him moved in there in the middle of the night.
One of the bitches on the street is clairvoyant. She said she sees fire and tragedy on that street, probably at that very house. I have warned my friend to stay the fuck away, and off that street, lest she be a part of it. And all my friend wants to know is whether he will be all right.
He was allowed one phone call yesterday, from this prison sentence. A very strained and scripted message for us to stop bothering him. I’d recognize the illiterate cow’s words anywhere. I’m happy to honor it, but again, is this one of those times that I’m going to look back on and wish I had done something?
God will settle the score. I know it. I just hate that in the meantime, the ones doing the terrorizing appear like they’re actually winning — even if it’s only in their sick, twisted, demented little minds.
Everyone at work told me to enjoy the week of Maury and Montel. And my answer to that was, “Will I be watching it or will I be ON it?” Perhaps the clairvoyant in me saw the mess from miles and days away. And if nothing else, boy does it put the rest of my life into perspective. …