Words, Words, Words

Words, Words, Words

Posted on February 23, 2024 at 12:03 am by Hugo Scorpio

Charles de Lacy.  Chucky D!  Can I call you Chuck?  I know we ain’t been introduced all proper-like, but I figure we’re less than a week away from tryin’ to kick each other’s ass, so why the fuck now, am I right?

See, Chuck, here we are, you beat Zach Kostoff, but he ain’t his father.  He ain’t even his mother.  It was a gimme. A fuckin’ layup for you. Don’t think for one iota I’m disrespectin’ Zack Kostoff, I ain’t.  At least, not really.  Fact is, much like the Jets, you are what you’re record says you are, the record says the New York Jets are shit and so it says Zach Kostoff is a massive floatin’ turd. It was basically a gimme match for ya, Chuck.  Wherefore I was stuck scratchin’ and clawin’ and battlin’ against a former LSD Champion.  So, yeah, you an’ me, we’re both one-and-oh, undefeated, only you didn’t get you’re ass kicked after your win like I did. Teddy Fuckin’ Palmer….fuckin’ baby.  Look, fuck it, he’s a whiny little bitch, nothin’s gonna change that, so there’s no sense in dwellin’ on the past,

This match?  Our match?  This the fuckin’ motherfuckin’ match that could very well decide our LBI group.  The winner is the odds on favorite to go to March to Glory. The pressure is, as they say, “on like “Donkey Kong”.  

I don’t want you, whaddyacallit, misunderstandin’ me.  Just cuz you got a loser, a loser with a monster in his DNA and shit, that don’t mean I’m gonna go underestimatin’ you.  You got the goods.  You ain’t some fuckin’ moron from the street fightin’ crackheads under a fuckin’ bridge somewheres at a hundred bucks a pop.  You’ve been doin’  this quite a bit, you’ve racked up some wins, against who?  I haven’t a clue.  But, let’s get down to brass tax, as it were…..

I want to earn shot at the HOW Championship.

You’re kind of a Ricky Schroder type, ain’t ya?  A real “Silver Spoon”.  Struttin’ around thinkin’ you’re Lord Suck-my-Dick or somethin’.  You and your fuckin’ high falootin’ accent with your Big Bens and your tea and strumpets. See, I didn’t have no fuckin’ inheritance or trust fund to blow on”bad investments” like poker, fast cars, cocaine, and whores.  That’s usually what “bad investments” means, don’t it?  It’s like code for “I lost a shit ton of money on such and such”.  Usually gamblin’.  You probably coasted your whole life, never had to earn a damn fuckin’ thing.

I never had the benefit of mommy and daddy bailin’ me outta jams or throwin’ money my way.  Nah, my father was a real piece of shit. A real miserable fuck. You think when I missed a tackle in CYO Football or drop a fly ball in little league he would give me words of encouragement or even some tips and tricks to help me improve?  Nah, fuck that shit. He’d throw a few not-so-nice insults my way.  Terms that would get him “cancelled” in our current politically correct climate.  But hey, them’s the breaks, am I right? Some of us get born to the right family and some of us get saddled with rat shit for parents. 

Problem is, I can’t, uhhhh, whatchamacallit, connect with you.  Find common ground. You’re a douchey fuckwit and I’m a fuckin’ freak.  We ain’t exactly Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari. While you’ve been swimmin’ the English Channel and havin’ audiences with the Queen on daddy’s dime, I’ve been scrapin’ and clawin’ my way through life.  You had every fuckin’ opportunity and I’ve been saddled with every fuckin’ obstacle.

You honestly think this face, this fuckin’ disfigured fuckin’ face has made my life easy?  Fuck no.  My uncle, he’s got some unsavory friends, if I needed some cash, I did a little work for him.  Your financial situation, it’s makin’ me feel all, you know, nostagalistic.

See, this guy, what the fuck was his name?  Like Milo or Miles or some shit.  We’ll say “Milo”.  This fuckin’ guy, he got in over his head, owed the wrong people twenty-eight large.  This prick was late on a couple of payments so, they had me accompany the normal, let’s say, collection agent to pick up either the principle or the owed interest.  I, personally, have never been present on such an occasion where the deadbeat fuck, most times it’s some degenerate gambler, they never had the principle.    

Anyway, this prick, he, much like yourself, made a “bad investment”.  I don’t know the deets.  Sometimes, it’s better not knowin’.  But sometimes, after you get a look at the guy, you start speculatin’.  Maybe he lost it playin’ the ponies.  Maybe he lost in the stock market.  Maybe he snorted it off some whore’s tits. Maybe it was a failed business venture.  All’s I know is, he told certain people that he needed some cash for a can’t miss opportunity and things got fucked up for him. The people he owed, they don’t two shits about excuses, they just want their money and they want it yester-fuckin’-day.  Anyway, this prick was duckin’ the collection agent for two, maybe three, weeks.  I was behind on the rent at that time, New York rent is a fuckin’ nightmare, so I needed some quick cash, so he put me in touch with certain people who hooked me up with the collection agent.  This was, what, seventeen years ago, I think.  It was fall, I know that much, definitely before the Rockefeller Tree Lightin’. Doesn’t matter, does it?  

Anyway…..this collection agent, Leo, a real fat bastard.  Wearin’ the tracksuit, the gold chains, the whole nine, looked like a Jersey Shore reject, cuz he was fat.  Like sweat after takin’ five steps fat.  No wonder he couldn’t find this Milo prick, he just outran, no, outwalked him. 

We ended waitin’ for Milo in front of his apartment.  Must’ve been, what, eleven? Eleven-thirty?  This piece of shit rolls up in a Corvette.  Yellow.  Ugly fuckin’ color, but a ‘vette is a ‘vette.  This set Leo off on some tirade “This motherfucker’s drivin’ around in a brand new Corvette and I’m sitting here is a fuckin’ Saturn, blah blah, blah”.  Seein’ that pissed him the fuck off.  So, Leo, gets his fat ass outta the Saturn, a car he was not physically built for, mind you, and starts runnin’, aluminum bat in hand, an Easton, chargin’ after Milo.  Never seen a man that big move that quick. 

Leo starts poundin’ away on this ‘vette.  BAM! BOOM! BING! POW! Takin’ Mickey Mantle swings at this ‘vette. But Milo? He’s fuckin’ runnin’ into his apartment. Now, I got’s a job to do, right?  And it ain’t watchin’ Leo fuck this guy’s ride up.  So, I chase after Milo.  And that little shit was faaaa-haaaa-haaaast.  Like, uhhhh, what’s his name, from the Olympics, the runner, you know the guy.  I chase Milo down this hall and up two flights of stairs, I can fuckin’ hear the jinglin’ of his keys as he was headin’ towards his door, I fuckin’ barrel into the guy. Fall right on top of him.

It was at this point that he saw my beautiful face.  That fucker screamed like I was Freddy Krueger. Pissed his fuckin’ pants.  Know how I know?  I was on top of him.  I got his piss on me.  Burned those clothes after, believe you me.  Now, I wish I could tell you that he and I had a very cinematic conversation about payin’ one’s debts like a movie.  I want it known that it was not my intention to hurt the guy, I was just supposed to be this, uhhhh, imposin’ figure. The muscle with a scary fuckin’ face so these scumbags would shit themselves when they got one look at me and empty their fuckin’ wallets.  It never ended up particularly violent save for one or two instances where a guy had to get slapped around a little bit.

Look, point is, in this particular scenario, whatever happened, just know, he put himself in this position.  If he’d just paid his debts, not tried to duck the people he owed, and not reacted the way he reacted, then none of what happened woulda happened. Chuck, you make some bad investments, you gotta deal with the consequences, that’s life.  When I heard the rumors that you lost a significant amount of moolah, it took me back a bit. A situation that I found myself in.  I hadn’t thought about this in like a decade to elevenish years. Aside from that consequence thing, while incredibly important, there is another, uhhhhh, moral, as it were, to this story, which will reveal itself in due time.

Where was I?  

Right! There I was on top of this piece of garbage, Milo, he’s fuckin’ screamin’ bloody murder. Thing is, he would not stop screamin’. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I lost my shit. I started drivin’ my right hand into his stupid fuckin’ face.  I cracked him good, broke his nose, blood started gushin’ out like that geyser at Jellowstone National Park, Blood was hittin’ me in the face.  Broke his orbiting bone.  I think I coulda killed that bastard.  Probably woula too. But somethin’ happened.  Wanna know what stopped me?  Was it Leo?  Did he finally show up and pull me off Milo?

Nope.  That fat fuck was havin’ a coronary walkin’ up the steps.

Was it some divine intervention?  No. Well, maybe…..

The door opened.  Lookin’ scared shitless was this little girl. Maybe six? Seven? Four? Holdin’ this teddy bear wearin’ one of them Puffy Powder Girls pajamas. I can only ass-certain that it was his daughter. The fear behind those thick bottle cap glasses of hers? I still think about that. Haunts me. When I looked down at Milo, his face was all kinds of fucked up. Looked like the Elephant Man. Bruises, eye swollen shut, all bloody, he lost a fuckin’ tooth. More like I knocked it the fuck out. I remember lookin’ at her, at him, and my hands.  I was shakin’. I been angry before, but never like that. 

Don’t get me wrong, what I did to that degenerate scumbag? I don’t think twice about it. That shitbag deserved it.. But the look on that little girl’s face? She musta been traumatically affected by it. Fucked up in the head. I sometimes wonder if seein’ what I did to her father caused her to traverse down the wrong path. Is she a junkie fuck shootin’ up somewhere in Baltimore? Is she workin’ the pole at some titty bar off the freeway, gettin’ felt up by drunken truckers and alcoholic losers? Is she in prison for armed robbery? Prostitution? Murder? All of the above?     

The point I think I am tryin’ to make at this junction is that on that night, I realized that I have a bit of temper.  A temper that, when unchecked, becomes, in a word, uncontrollable and violent. The moral is, in the words of the Hulk himself, Lou Ferrigno, ‘Don’t make me angry.  You ain’t gonna like me when I’m angry”.

Now Chuck, I’m not goin’ into this match pissed off at you. This match? It ain’t personal. I just don’t fuckin’ like you. It’s nothin’ in particular so there’s no need to be self-conscience about it. It’s everything about you. Some of which I have mentioned, some of which, I will now….

You got a reeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaal twatty vibe. Like a banker with a coke habit who secretly jerks it watchin’ Japanese chicks vomit on old man balls. Can’t put my finger on it. You make me wanna hit you without sayin’ one damn word. But don’t worry Chucky, just cuz I don’t like ya, that don’t mean I’m gonna cave your skull in like you owed certain friends of Leo’s some money.  I know, I know, you think what I’m sayin’ is fifty shades of bullshit.  Look, I don’t expect you to take what I’m sayin’ at face value. You might think I’m, whaddyacallit, exaggeratin’ for effect. All I’m sayin’ is that darkness is, uh, inside of me.  You’ve been warned.