Step 4
Rehabilitation is a lot like summer camp. You got the sun, the trees, the water sports, and the ever-growing hostility between your facility and the poorly funded, yet scrappy Narcotic Anonymous facility located across the lake. Each morning as I’m waking up from my secret nocturnal party boat bash in the rental canoe, I see them training, preparing for the end-of-rehab decathlon. They think they’re so fucking tough with their skin-tight OP T-shirts and banana seat bikes. Despite what they may say about our chosen dress code, I like wearing this crested blazer, tie, and Bermuda shorts—It’s comfortable, and the linen breathes just right for this time of year. I don’t mind them making fun of us, but If they think they’re going to win the Decathlon just because they rallied their on-again off-again Janitor/coaching genius to reluctantly guide them to victory, they got another thing coming.
What’s really bothering me is that one of those dicks from across the lake tired to make out with my new girlfriend, and recovering meth addict, Sandy Price. He’s this Kelly from the Bad News Bears type of douche bag complete with a Yamaha dirt bike and a doublewide hair do. He thinks if he beats me in the decathlon, Sandy will see him differently and give it up. But I know better. I know that even if he defeats me and Sandy Price is suddenly attracted to him because of his victory, he will still fail to taste her star fruit. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because while he is training for the decathlon he will undoubtedly make friends with a girl from his own camp who, on first impression, seems manly and unattractive under her foppish brunette bowl haircut, and her thick coke bottle glasses. He will confide in her, and he will show her a side of him that he has ever shown to another human being. And as he crosses the paddle boat finish line and claims victory for the underdog NA facility, Sandy Price will run to him, tits bouncing, beneath tight crop top—but our champion will ignore her and realize he is, and always has been, in love with the frumpy intellectual, not the super hot fuck toy. That’s when I really win. Asshead will go off to his bunk and try to get some from the geek and will learn that her guarded nature stems from a horrible child molestation memory and that she is only ready to be with a man emotionally, not physically. While he’s snuggling and suffering through a case of the blue balls, I will take Sandy Price back to my crib and get some much-needed Veerhoven-style verboten, if you catch my flow...
Anyway… We’re up to step four of twelve, and this one tells me I have to make a list of beefs I got with motherfuckers. Here goes:
I’m Resentful At
Senator Patrick Leahy (D) of Vermont
My sometimes fishing buddy, sometimes psychotherapist, and sometimes poon-hound caballero-in-chief.
The Cause
Jackass broke my last remaining Faberge egg when using it as a muter during a saxophone interlude he performed at Kenny’s Castaways. Gave me leprosy, poached four Bengal tigers from my nature preserve, made me eat a bowl of cat shit, tried to steal my Kidney and left me in a bathtub filled with ice, ran my four mast Spanish Frigate aground in the shoals off the coast of Barbuda, and snake charmed the shit out Diane Sawyer when he knew I was hustling for that taste.
I’m Resentful At
James Brolin
The Cause
Back in 83’ when I was first starting out as an actor that motherfucker promised me a recurring role as Chadwick Papas illegitimate son of Connie Sellecca on the hit TV series Hotel. Turns out he gave the part to Morgan Fairchild’s nephew and in my depression I holed myself up in the Chateau Marmont, keeping a teenage Tabitha Soren hostage while trying to invent a space machine. That’s the first time the wheels fell off this big-rig.
I Am Resentful At
Bob Stevens (CEO of Lockead Martin)
The Cause
When you sign up for an Everquest guild, you want it to be all about communal strategy. But this dick, decides that he’s going to unionize the High Elf Paladins, Level 65 and over and start a new sect of the Windraiders of Nogoth Guild designed to maximize ROI and insure monopolization of any left over manastone items. Fuck him. All I wanted was some camaraderie. This guy had to go all free-market on my one escape… asshole.
What’s really bothering me is that one of those dicks from across the lake tired to make out with my new girlfriend, and recovering meth addict, Sandy Price. He’s this Kelly from the Bad News Bears type of douche bag complete with a Yamaha dirt bike and a doublewide hair do. He thinks if he beats me in the decathlon, Sandy will see him differently and give it up. But I know better. I know that even if he defeats me and Sandy Price is suddenly attracted to him because of his victory, he will still fail to taste her star fruit. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because while he is training for the decathlon he will undoubtedly make friends with a girl from his own camp who, on first impression, seems manly and unattractive under her foppish brunette bowl haircut, and her thick coke bottle glasses. He will confide in her, and he will show her a side of him that he has ever shown to another human being. And as he crosses the paddle boat finish line and claims victory for the underdog NA facility, Sandy Price will run to him, tits bouncing, beneath tight crop top—but our champion will ignore her and realize he is, and always has been, in love with the frumpy intellectual, not the super hot fuck toy. That’s when I really win. Asshead will go off to his bunk and try to get some from the geek and will learn that her guarded nature stems from a horrible child molestation memory and that she is only ready to be with a man emotionally, not physically. While he’s snuggling and suffering through a case of the blue balls, I will take Sandy Price back to my crib and get some much-needed Veerhoven-style verboten, if you catch my flow...
Anyway… We’re up to step four of twelve, and this one tells me I have to make a list of beefs I got with motherfuckers. Here goes:
I’m Resentful At
Senator Patrick Leahy (D) of Vermont
My sometimes fishing buddy, sometimes psychotherapist, and sometimes poon-hound caballero-in-chief.
The Cause
Jackass broke my last remaining Faberge egg when using it as a muter during a saxophone interlude he performed at Kenny’s Castaways. Gave me leprosy, poached four Bengal tigers from my nature preserve, made me eat a bowl of cat shit, tried to steal my Kidney and left me in a bathtub filled with ice, ran my four mast Spanish Frigate aground in the shoals off the coast of Barbuda, and snake charmed the shit out Diane Sawyer when he knew I was hustling for that taste.
I’m Resentful At
James Brolin
The Cause
Back in 83’ when I was first starting out as an actor that motherfucker promised me a recurring role as Chadwick Papas illegitimate son of Connie Sellecca on the hit TV series Hotel. Turns out he gave the part to Morgan Fairchild’s nephew and in my depression I holed myself up in the Chateau Marmont, keeping a teenage Tabitha Soren hostage while trying to invent a space machine. That’s the first time the wheels fell off this big-rig.
I Am Resentful At
Bob Stevens (CEO of Lockead Martin)
The Cause
When you sign up for an Everquest guild, you want it to be all about communal strategy. But this dick, decides that he’s going to unionize the High Elf Paladins, Level 65 and over and start a new sect of the Windraiders of Nogoth Guild designed to maximize ROI and insure monopolization of any left over manastone items. Fuck him. All I wanted was some camaraderie. This guy had to go all free-market on my one escape… asshole.
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