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“The Dark Side” by Addiction: Decisions, Decorations, and Dilemmas…

Posted by dabyrdman33 on October 1, 2010

Confessions of a Cuban Cigar Smoker


Decisions, Decorations and Dilemmas…..


OK this might be long today, but there will be some useful information.  At least in theory.  And I don’t know if there will be an actual review, depends how long this shit gets.

Seriously this is long as hell.

Before I talk about anything else I have to tell you about au pair family day, which was yesterday.  But before I tell you about au pair family day I have to say a silent prayer that no one who lives in my house and sleeps in the same bed as I do EVER reads this.  EVER.  OK on to au pair family day.

Now for those that don’t know I have an au pair, which is basically a French term for “cheap ass day care” to help with our children.  And the firms that bring these au pairs in the country once a year have an au pair family day where basically all the families and their au pairs get together and meet.  I typically try to skip any event that requires me to interface with other people’s children, but I go to this thing every year.  Firstly it’s catered by Red, Hot and Blue and when I can’t make my own BBQ I find their food acceptable.  Secondly there aren’t really very many ugly au pairs.  Much like bikini models and porn stars they seem to have eliminated ugly from their gene pool.  I mean my au pair is average.  Sure if you go for that five foot six, perfect mocha skin, 105 pounds with d cups and an ass that shakes like god hand crafted that shit from chocolate pudding type then I guess you might like her.  But since she lives in my house and is part of my family I really don’t think of her like that, and I certainly never think of her that way with a hand full of Jergins……

Don’t judge me!

But seriously this thing is like spending the day at Perfect Breast and Tight Ass Camp.  I have never seen so many asses that are tight enough that you could bounce a dime off them and get back eleven pennies!  You would be absolutely astounded at the number of short, stout, barrel chested, overbearing women who bring in five foot ten aspiring super models to steal their husba……I mean care for their children.  It’s not a big deal in my house, my wife is a pretty hot lady who happens to also be a lawyer and I personally can’t figure out which 82% of my shit I could live without so I got plenty of act right in my system if you get my meaning.

Before I forget, mentioning the distinct lack of ugly au pairs made me remember to ask which of you people started the myth that there are no ugly babies?  Cause I have seen some fucking babies that make me want a rabies shot before handling them.  And yes I did say handling them, not playing with them, because I intend to wear some of those thick ass leather gloves like you see at the zoo.  I mean babies that have trainers instead of babysitters.  We have all looked at a picture on someone’s desk and wondered do they use a daycare center or a fucking kennel?  And someone is always like “Look at the beautiful baby and I’m thinking “Where?  Wait did that squirrel monkey she’s carrying just eat it?”  I mean some of these kids at this event, you look at them and you are wondering if Dr. Moreau delivered their ass.

Back on task.  This year I take my children through the line and we go camp a table.  Good view of the trampoline and the field where the au pairs have to chase the children and a table to ourselves.  My kids and family eat and the au pair goes and talks to other au pairs, the kids play, the wife watches them and talks to other moms and I sit and watch the stuff.  Basically that’s what happens wherever we go I sit and watch the stuff.  Part of its because I’m fat.  Don’t get me wrong I ain’t “instead of hand carrying him his pall bears will each get a turn driving the forklift” big but my ass needs to get in a gym and drop a few pounds.  By a few pounds I basically mean shedding a whole human being.  Secondly I watch the stuff because then I can sit and be the family photographer and I love taking pictures.

So while I’m shooting pictures of my kids, many of which seem to get blocked by gorgeous 20 year olds, this “lady” sits down at the table and is soon joined by her partner.  And yes I give them a couple of looks because right down to their Birkenstocks and flannel shirts and the one with a face full of metal it was like they got all their shit in the Lesbians For Dummies handbook.  I mean its fucking 2010 already do you have to be a caricature to be a lesbian these days? 

And before you dykes all start writing me pump your brakes OK?  I got no problems with lesbians, hell I’m proud to be one cause I love pussy!   Personally I believe that if you get the chance to make a choice between dick and pussy you should select pussy all day every day and twice on Sunday.  I can’t say I think I agree with the “it’s not a choice” deal but that’s neither here nor there.  I think it’s a choice, and I think it’s completely OK that you made that choice and anyone who doesn’t agree should be told to kiss the entirety of your ass.  However that whole hardcore dyke look thing is so tired, have the courage to honor your choice and break the fucking stereotype already and stop dressing like an extra from The Outsiders and shit.  You can still be a lesbian without dressing like a truck driver on a cross country killing spree.

Yes that is my second literary reference, read a book sometimes dammit.

Anyway at one point they start making out.  And I mean MAKING OUT.  Like I got to second base with both of them and I was ten feet away from them level of making out.  At a family day picnic.  With many, many, many children around. 

Now this making out was not just wrong because there are about 365,598,879,556 children around who shouldn’t be seeing ANYONE kiss like that.  It wasn’t just wrong because I could hear children asking about two women kissing.  It was also hugely inappropriate because these women are ugly.  One of them was beyond ugly.  Shit you coulda made two whole ugly people from her and had enough left over for an ugly cat.  She was drink from the toilet ugly, like if someone called her a rug muncher its prolly cause they heard somewhere ogres actually eat carpets.  Seriously because this broad was here at this picnic some children’s fairytale somewhere was missing a troll guarding a bridge.  The kinda ugly where someone had to use an ugly log to produce that, a stick woulda broke.  I mean the other one was no prize, unless there was a livestock competition cause then she’d be blue ribbon material, but the main one was hideous beyond measure.

And people are staring, I think it’s mostly because Shrek and Donkey never kissed in the movies so it’s strange to see in live action but whatever, I ain’t judging.  So the big one…..wait let me rephrase; the BIGGER one stops kissing her prize heifer and looks me dead in the face and yells “What are you staring at!” and gets up from the table to come inspect me in person.

As a 43 year old man I mostly have control of my impulses.  Mostly.  But before I could even think I answered “Science hasn’t named it yet.”  So now these two women clad in trucker hats and plaid shirts are standing over the table yelling at me about lesbian rights and all the ills in the world and one of them said “It’s the same as if we had a black person hanging from a tree, how would that make you feel.  So I had to point out a few things:

*          No one was staring because you are lesbians.  Given the outfits I’m pretty sure their topic of discussion was more centered around where Cletus and Joe Bob got that Chinese baby.  And how do they have an au par in a trailer?
*          I get it, you’re a lesbian.  And somehow in your universe that means you have to dress like a man and not wear anything that a woman would wear like ummm soap.  And lotion cause when I look at your cankles, well suffice to say that I ain’t seen that kinda rust since they took the Sanford and Son reruns off TV.   And cankles is not a misspelling, calf + ankle = cankle, but that shit is so big I thought you had a ham under your dickies. But back to my original point if you gonna dress like a man can’t you go to the Men’s Warehouse at least, unless you are about to clean a buck who needs that outfit?
*          Given how far you put your tongue down her throat what does a labia taste like from the inside?
*          If someone wants to hang either of you from a tree it’s gonna be petrified wood unless they put a bag over your head first.  And they should prolly build like a scaffold or something because who wants to put that kinda stress on a tree.
*          Are Birkenstocks really appropriate?  I mean hoof and mouth is pretty fucking contagious…..

That’s the gist of where I was going with my comments.  I know I was wrong, 130% wrong but it’s my nature.  I can be, if sufficiently provoked, a very nasty man.  In a war of words I’m planning to go Hiroshima style.  As Sean Connery says in The Untouchables if they send one of yours to the hospital you send two of theirs to the morgue, THAT’s the Chicago way!  Technically the quote is send one of theirs to the morgue but I’m an over achiever so imam go hard.

So now the people who aren’t laughing are berating them and the lesbians leave right away.  But not before the BIGGER one threatens me, apparently I need to watch my back.  I’m ashamed to admit this really because at my advanced years I should know better.  But I have tendencies that still arise.  Where I grew up you didn’t have this whole push this person, knock this of my shoulder, I’mma meet you after school thing that some of you might be used to.  For me, in my neighborhood as a child violence either ensued after about 5 seconds or not at all.  So I’m not used to an escalation process, I can go from laid back to where the fuck is my shit at in about 30 seconds.  I’m ashamed of that because as I’ve noted I should know better at my advanced age.  Plus while I still remember a great deal of my training I ain’t the bad ass I used to be.

I like to believe I’m the same person in writing as I am in person.  Ask Da Champ or Byrd they will tell you the format of expression doesn’t matter I don’t bite my tongue if I have something to say.  However in a personal address I don’t use the word dyke or fag or things like that because in writing it’s easier to see the context of the joke.  Out loud words can have unintended power and I don’t want to offend, I want to communicate.  I would hate to hospitalize someone due to them misunderstanding a joke.  And this woman used a word that I don’t think you should use with people you don’t know.  I’m firmly against violence on women, but at five eleven and easily 250 she was stretching the definition of that word……and her Kentland boot cut jeans, both in a bad way.  I do have to admit that for the briefest second I wanted to bait her into a fight, mostly because I think every asshole deserves to know that a fat man can shatter your knee cap and break your jaw before you hit the ground.  Only for a second, but I thought it.  Besides I’m pretty sure she ain’t gonna wear that flannel shirt and those boot cut Kentlands to court, she will pull out those face piercings and show up looking like Polly Purebreed of Plainfield. We might have a black president but if a black man wants to hit a white woman he better be able to dunk from the free throw line or catch 16 touchdown passes a year, if not your ass will end up under the jail. 

Now you know my shame, sigh.  Well part of my shame because the situation got worse.  You see there was a clown there named Cuddles.  And Cuddles made balloon animals. Now Cuddles looked like he had just finished a 5 day bender in Tijuana.  And this dude didn’t stink, he had a fucking aroma.  That shit was making those little stink lines like PigPen in the fucking Charlie Brown cartoons.  Like Oscar from Sesame Street would be like “Dude even I think you need a shower and I live in a fucking trashcan.” Like we had to burn our clothes when we got home and bathe in acid to get the smell off us.   This cat had those yellow sweat stains in his big white shoes, who has sweat circles in fucking leather shoes?  And who chooses to become a clown, was that really the best job your fucking parole officer could find or some shit?  Hobos have it better than fucking clowns do unless you mean Cirque de Solel or Willard Scott specifically. And don’t be looking at me all cross eyed like you can spell that shit either, besides since its French it prolly means “We Surrender While Flipping” or some shit.

Now inevitably the one clown in the world who finished grammar school is gonna write me a nasty note filled with misspelled words used out of context to make a point that clowns are not losers.  While I am sensitive to ethnic groups and sexual orientations I’m gonna stop yo ass right there, shut the fuck up and go juggle some shit.  Taking a cream pie to the face ain’t a skill; Jenna Jameson has done that shit so often her face looks like a Jackson Pollack painting under one of those ultra violet CSI crime lights.  Forty of you muthafuckas getting out of a car ain’t a skill either because Mexicans do that shit EVERYDAY and they cut your grass right after.  You motherfuckers make balloon animals for a living; y’all can’t afford shit but a little tykes car!

So anyway me and my son got in line for balloon animals.  The line was long and we talked for a while and while my son is a sparkling conversationalist, he’s 7.  Unless you have a pressing need to better understand how stupid people are when they can’t see that Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person it’s not exactly riveting. I love spending time with my son but 30 minutes of Batman discussion is 29 minutes and 52 second more Batman than I need in a year.

So after the 30 minutes of waiting we get to Cuddles, my son is less than thrilled about the whole balloon animals thing. Cuddles goes down the list.  Dog, giraffe, cat, puppy, Batman, baby deer, panda, butterfly……..wait a fucking minute?  Did he say Batman?  My son lost his shit; he started yelling like a crackhead at a buy one get four free sale.  I mean he was celebrating like a hillbilly who just got someone else’s crock pot in the mail.  Seriously I had to look up and see if it was raining candy and shit. So of course we opted for a butterfly……NOT!

Peep this: He grabs a long balloon like the one you use to make a poodle, and blows it up. I’m breathless for the next step; I can’t wait to see this magic.  He then takes a normal balloon, blows that shit up to expose it has a batman face printed on it, ties it on top of the long balloon and hands that shit to my son!!!!





My son looked at me like he just saw Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy in a pool filled with Strawberry Banana Jello about to get down with the get down.  And as is his custom he said the first thing that came to his mind “This is lame.”

I’m tying his shoe.  I’m looking in his eyes.  His disappointment is thick and palpable; it hangs in the air between father and son.  A small part of his childhood had been taken away from him by this shabby, dirty, filthy ass clown man and I cannot give it back to him.  I struggle to find the words for him, to lead him to adulthood.  But the moment has passed as he takes a strong step back.  Forcibly, almost stumbling.  Then I hear that weezy ass clown voice say “What did you say?”  And my son has his scared eyes on, and I look up and this man has put his fucking hands on my son.

Before I get to it I gotta admit that shit was lamer than Christopher Reeves with a leg cramp, not that he would know it was there.  Leg just be jumping all around the wheelchair and shit, you trying not to stare and he want to talk to you.  That fucking lame.  I woulda had a conversation with my son about thanking people for their effort.  We woulda talked about the proper way to address a respectful adult, because he knows not to speak to disrespectful adults.  But before we could have that conversation this raunchy, flea bitten, rundown clown of a man has put his hand on my child.

Real talk for a second.  As a child I got mine, however possible.  As young adult same deal.  I’ve been close to the inside but been lucky. These days I’m a mostly peaceful man.  I’ve been blessed; I’ve gotten to be successful and achieved something in my life.  I’ve got 6 children, three adults, no grandchild and none with a record.  I’m not the rage that was in that child or that young man.  But trust and believe this, if you make me show you a nigga, I’mma be THAT nigga.  That rage, a willingness to do what the fuck eva to prove my point and a lot of army training is a dangerous thing.  And right about now, I have a plan to break bones that will never heal properly.

But that’s when I remember this little tidbit: The world is not fair. Not in the least little bit. And it is waiting to bust yo ass, if you don’t pay close attention.  However you can begin to counterbalance the fucked upedness of life by keeping this in mind: Every action you take has a consequence and a reward.  Every decision presents an opportunity to be decorated or demonized.  Sometimes the reward is immediate and sometimes the consequence is so far away that you can barely remember the pebble of a decision that started it. As your perspective changes so does your concept of consequence and reward; in other words a consequence at 16 (a baby) becomes a reward at 34 (an heir). Sometimes a thing can be both.  Life is in fact just an overlapping and never ending series of these actions, consequences and rewards.

If you are willing to make serious, proper, thoughtful and educated decisions then you will live a life rich with rewards.  If you aren’t you won’t. It’s pretty much simple as that.

So I stand up with no elbow to the throat and I tell Chase “Calm down,” I point out, as gently and kindly as I can that if he doesn’t move his hand in short order I’m gonna put my foot so far up his ass that when the doctors part his hair they will find shoelaces in his skull.  The dude behind me asks if that’s appropriate.  I, as politely as I can, tell him I always seek expert council so the next time I need to know how to eat a bag of dicks I will call him but till then mind his business.  Then I tell Cuddles if he touches my son again in life he’s going to be the cautionary tale they use as an example at next semesters clown college course on Personal Safety for the Liquored Up Clown.

Before I move on Clown College?  Really?  What does that take 22 credit MINUTES to get a degree?  And I only think its 22 minutes because they spend 14 minutes on how to lie to people about what you do for a living so they won’t be embarrassed and/or you can get laid and another 2 actually fitting those shoes.  That’s some shit a fucking clown invented to keep sponging off his parents “Yeah Mom college is going great, can you just make that next check directly to the school bursar, Lil’ Man?  Aight I gotta run get my next fix…..I mean dinner, fix dinner.”

Oh yeah I know, I know I can’t deflect it.  I made a poor choice there.  That’s not even counting that I called a lady a sperm gargling cum dumpster and I can’t even recall why, I suspect she was eat a bag of dicks wife.  I know I used that insult because it’s my all time favorite insult.

Suffice to say I’m prolly going to miss next year’s Perfect tits Tight Ass Camp.

But just because I made one poor decision doesn’t mean I can’t rebound.  I recently made a good decision.  Like I decided that sneaking smokes like a work release convict sucks. I decided I was tired of hoping that things were between 85-55 degrees so I could smoke in my garage without fear of heat stroke or frostbite. I decided to move into the Trickster/du monte lifestyle. I decided to…..turn my garage into an office/smoking room!

You see The Trickster is a wunderkind. At the age of 20 something he is an ultra-accomplished IT professional, he has his own home which he built out of trees that he grew himself. His wife is so stunningly beautiful that you look at him and know that his “equipment” must be so excessive he has to pee in a shower stall to have room to unfurl it. Seriously the Dos Equis dude watches commercials about the Trickster, real talk. Nick has a smoking room in each of his estates and you know where they are located? Where ever the fuck he lights up, ya heard? However for most of us we have to worry about location in selecting where the smoking room will be, that was my first decision.

My wonderful bride is allergic to smoke so I had to either select a location that had no ducts in common with the rest of the house or risk a jury trial. I’d be lying if I denied that I’ve considered, in the middle of passionate discussion (i.e. taking the verbal beating I prolly deserved) , just considered waving my smoky jacket in front of her and screaming “WIN THE FUCKING ARGUMENT NOW!!!!” as her throat closes up like an Amish girls legs when….well all the time really. But only very occasionally do I have that thought, I mean my wife is giving me my own smoking room so that’s a good indicator there are 2, hell maybe even 2 and half hours a week she ain’t riding me like a Kentucky Derby favorite right?

In actuality I’m moving my office to the garage and my mother in law is moving in to help us with the children, which given how I showed the entirety of my ass last Sunday at the au pair picnic was prolly a good thing. So we are converting the office to a bedroom, instead of moving her into the au pairs room currently, which is upstairs. And we are converting a half bath to a full bath. And doing the smoking room office garage deal.

This is why I chose my garage to convert. It shares no ducts with the rest of the house, it has outside wall access for new heat pumps and fresh air access, it’s about 400 square feet so it’s still small enough where I don’t feel like a normal human dick in a pornstar’s “special place.” Ok that joke doesn’t really work but I’m pretty sure if you stick a six inch dick in Jenna Jameson (the only pornstar whose name I know, sorry for the repeat) it’s like dropping a tick tack in a punch bowl. But it’s also large enough for me to occasionally entertain company for herfs which is also comparable to JJs snatch. And it’s isolated from the rest of the house.

Here is a picture of my garage current state:

Another shot.

This is where I smoke currently. Looks like somewhere you get sent after punching a screw in the mouth right? It ain’t gonna look this way for long tho!

For the next few posts I’m going to walk you through the process of how I made decisions in how to heat and cool, air quality, flooring, etc. Hopefully I’ll be able to take you on this journey with me, we’ll see. I’m even gonna do some of the work myself! That was the exclamation point for alarm, not excitement.

Next week guys, we begin the beguine…..

Crap I lied, there is no useful information!

2 Responses to ““The Dark Side” by Addiction: Decisions, Decorations, and Dilemmas…”

  1. No useful information?

    I dunno, ” I, as politely as I can, tell him I always seek expert council so the next time I need to know how to eat a bag of dicks I will call him but till then mind his business.” this was pretty good, as was this ” a sperm gargling cum dumpster”

    Funny read, man.

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