I’d like to thank one of my old Crown cronies, Tony, for the term “naughty time”. Tony was a true goombah. He always talked about having “naughty time” with his girlfriend. I’m glad he felt so comfortable with me that he could discuss that with me.
There was the one story about “Debbie” that I wanted to keep until now. I realize that the four-part origin story (did anyone catch the Batman: Year One references in the titles?) probably wasn’t that entertaining. It was, however, necessary (I thought) that readers understood how deeply I loved Debbie and the lengths I was willing to go for her. I was 20 years old and wanted to marry her after only three months. I’m 34 now and marriage seems like the dumbest fucking thing I could ever do. But, it isn’t. That’s the subject of today’s post.
During the whirlwind with Debbie, there was a truly golden opportunity that I still kick myself about. Forget about the Riot Fest weekend pass from the initial post, this was like burning a winning lottery ticket. We were at “Lizzie” and her mother’s apartment. Two scummier people I did not know. I mean physically scummy. They were nauseating to be around. Lizzie’s sister “Maggie” was alright as a person but I can think of anywhere I would have rather been. Debbie had given me a haircut there once and the only thing that kept my focus away from the grossness of this place was the fact that Debbie was practically on my lap as I just stared at her.
On this occasion, Debbie and the two sisters were going to Zero Gravity, a shitty dance club for people too young to drink. When asked if I wanted to go, I could have just told the truth and said that I couldn’t because I had to work in the morning. Nope. “Fuck no. That place is retarded,” is what I actually said. I probably could have handled that better but I’ve always been acerbic at inopportune moments. The harpies had already started up the “let’s get Debbie laid” chants. Where’s a wrecking ball when you need it? Debbie assured me she was just going to dance. She could dance (professionally even, ugh), that much was certain. I could just sit back and watch her dance, really, but I did have to work in the morning at my stupid menial retail job.
The sister-bitches wanted me to leave so they could get ready and I was more than happy to oblige. But before I left, Debbie made me a counter-offer. She was going to take a shower and wanted me to join her. Based on everything you’ve read from me on this blog, you can probably see where this is going. Have you gotten over my stupidity enough to read on? If so…I will tell you what was going through my mind. It’s true that nothing should have gone through my mind. But the nasty of the resident family did factor in. Also, with them right outside the door? That made me a bit nervous. I should have jumped at the chance to flip them the bird for their rooting against me. But I didn’t. Why? Have we met? I’m the Social Retard.
My last words on the subject: “Rain check?”. This was met a face that can only be described as bewildered.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? I know that I blamed Debbie for my greater problems in the “Genesis” posts but clearly the architecture for retarded was already in place. Maybe this is really the first sign that everything was going to crumble. She did looked pretty shocked that I acted like this offer was a price cut on Tide. This was someone who I was in love with for two years and she just asked me to shower with her, with her fucking yenta friends as our captive audience. Fucking hell, Nancy Boy had just shown up too. I could have rubbed it in his stupid face too. What did I ever do to deserve the inability to act in my own best interests? Never before nor since have I been offered a singular event that I have wanted to capitalize on more than that and I ask for a rain check. Part of me wants to just end this entire fucking blog right here. This is clearly the apex of social retardation. Look no further. I have the crown and it’s a bejeweled dunce cap. If I could ever surpass this level of idiocy, I owe it to myself to commit suicide. In fact, if I do, please put me out of my misery.
The Social Retard 