Genteel Readers,
As you are no doubt already aware, for the past several months I have had a rather unwelcome intrusion into my personal life. This intrusion's name is Ricardo, or "Ricky Luv" as he so boorishly refers to himself in the third person thus sacrificing any brevity afforded by the use of personal pronouns such as "I" or "me." His overuse of chemical cologne and poor eating habits consisting solely of protein shakes has left him in an unnatural, ill state of health, so skinny that his ribs and abdominal muscle protrude in bold relief when he walks around my house shirtless in his ridiculous bikini-cut leopard print underwear. He speaks in a disjointed patois in effigy of several of his favorite pop icons, none of whose names come to mind. For some reason, he is always asking Katie for cash (usually to re-activate his phone,) and for some reason she nearly always gives it to him. This is why I have not been able to answer MY phone as of late, but I digress.
Perhaps most disturbing off all is his callous treatment of the bitch whom I have made my life partner, and of course I am referring to Puppy Bear. I feel he pets her too roughly after he takes her out for a walk, and get the distinct sensation that he is trying to edge me away from her, calling her over to play with her whenever he comes over. Katie has been quite considerate in leading him away for a time when she is present in our home, absconding to her room with him for a time, often several hours. Of course, I have wanted to confront him for some time over this, but have not been able to muster the courage to bring his boorish behavior to his attention. This has led to a raisin thumb from all the thumb-sucking I've had to do, and a great deal of rocking back and forth in the fetal position in what remains of my quilt. Of course, I've had to smoke so much my house smells like an ashtray, or at least that's what Katie claims it does every damn time she walks in the door.
It was after one especially egregious violation wherein Ricardo had the nerve to serve Puppy Bear a non-organic snack that I finally snapped and stomped out the door to walk to the corner store and purchase a pack of 'Slims from the pumpmistress, who has become something of a confidant of mine in the past several weeks. She always starts laughing in joy whenever I walk through the door and listens in silent glee to my many anecdotes and ramblings about books I have planned. As I walked in sullen and broken in the soul, laughter started sparkling in her beady little eyes and a smirk appearing in the corners of her ample chubby cheeks. I confessed everything - the intrusion of Ricardo into my life, his unusual friendship with my sweet wife, and the fact (I minced no words here) that I though he might be trying to move in on my bitch.
The levity disappeared from her face "You damn right he tryin' to move in on yo' bitch!" she exclaimed. "You need to be a man 'bout this and make sho' that motherfucker don't never do that again!" Pumpmistress does this delightful thing where she is at once boldly confident and ungrammatical, and her temerity spurned a special kind of fire in my belly. I would indeed confront this Ricardo, and communicate very clearly with all my genius and genteel spiritual acumen. Much to my joy, pumpmistress was able to procure for a me a single Xanax, which when combined with a half pack of mentholated 'Slims made me feel like no less than a mighty demigod. Ricardo was about to get his due.
When I came home, Puppy Bear was sleeping soundly on the couch. I went to Katie's room, where Ricardo often sleeps on the floor. Turning the knob, the door was locked. No matter. I used my spare key and slipped inside. What I saw when I entered made me want to poke out my mind's eye; Ricardo was in fact making very aggressive love to some trollop whom I recognized from the local grocery store with Ginuwine's smash hit song "My Pony" blaring in the background. The trollop's grotesque and misshapen fat body reminded me of an adult film I had recently encountered on askjeeves, oddly titled "Baker's Dozen." His eyes widened in shock when he saw me darkening his door. No matter. I was not about to let the crushing awkwardness of the moment dispel the strength I had mustered.
"Ricardo, I confront you!" I shouted, looking down at him over the top of my glasses. "I confront you very much!" Ricardo froze in terror momentarily as my awesome presence permeated his consciousness, then in a blind panic began scrambling for his clothes, his ripped jeans, tank top, and flip-flops. Obviously his interest in my speech had not been piqued, and it briefly occurred to me that I should have first retrieved my pistol. The trollop had already deftly climbed out the second-story window and was making her way down a trellis wrapped in one of Katie's sheets. Staring intensely as to maintain my spirit grip on his feeble will, I approached him from across the room. He fell to the ground and began softly crying as the overwhelming power of my spiritual presence began to cathartically exorcise the evil from him.
"She started it bro, you gotta believe me!" He whimpered "She always felt guilty, too! You know how it is, I'm a guy, you know? I just do what I gotta, man!" as pathetic elephant tears rolled down his face.
"She's a sweet dog," I replied, "but she's still just a dog. She can't make you do anything. I say this without artifice nor evasion - never are you to serve her any treats without my explicit written approval. I am a professional writer, so writing the approval will pose no trouble should you choose a proper, organic treat!"
There was a long pause as his face twisted in confusion. The poor rube was so enamored of his pop-culture patios that he barely understood proper spoken English, and a curt "Huh?" was his dull-witted reply. Just then, I heard a door slam. Katie had returned home and was quickly making her way towards her room. Good, I'd like to involve her in this as well. She saw Ricardo and I in the midst of our confrontation, and somehow put two and two together, reaching down to pick up the trellis-trollop's discarded, extra large cotton panties.
"Ricky Luv how could you?!" she exclaimed. Ricky lunged forward, ostensibly to hug her so I punched him in the face and he fell back onto the bed. "GET YOUR OWN DOG YOU RUBE!" I snarled for effect. He burst into tears and, strangely began apologizing profusely to Katie between sobs. The pain in my wrist was making me dizzy, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom. No sooner had I left than Katie locked the door behind me, and I had left my cleverly crafted key in her room somewhere. Damnation! However, judging by the furious screaming and crying from behind the door, my trusty wife Katie was continuing the confrontation I had began. Ricardo departed a few moments later, still in tears, without bothering to say a proper good-evening as rubes are wont to do.
I went to thank Katie, but the door was once again shuttered tight, and several minutes of very genteel knocking only yielded increasingly irritated shouts of "Go away!" and "I hate you!" No matter. I shall simply say what I have to say to her via this web log. Katie, thank you very much for helping confront the boorish rube Ricardo! Your days as an ignoramus are certainly numbered, as you shall one day be enlightened, yet!
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