I honestly can’t even believe this happened to me. It is going to wreck my whole month. Last week, Gilles and I were going for a walk on a beautiful winter day. I had just come from the poetry shop where I had purchased five and sold two, so I was filled with glee, but light on funds. Eventually, we happened across a gentleman who was down on his luck. He asked Gilles if he could spare any change. I told him ‘Gilles is a dog, retard. He doesn’t carry spare change.’
That seemed to raise his ire somewhat. I guess none of us like to have our mistakes pointed out, but I felt it was an important point to make. The gentleman then poses the same question to me. I replied ’sorry, I’ve spent all my money on poems, but I’ll read you one if you like.’
He says ‘fuck poetry.’ Which is fine. Poetry is not for everyone, conversation over. However, he was not finished at all. He proceeded to lecture me ‘first of all, you’re not sorry, so don’t lie to me.’
Well, now I’d had quite enough. I had no intention of allowing Gilles to see me be talked to in this manner. It’s bad for his self-esteem. I countered to the gentleman ‘don’t tell me I’m not sorry! Do you have eyes that can gaze into my soul and know my intentions?’ At this point he spit on me. Now was the time for action. Sure I could walk away, leaving Gilles scarred for life, but looking at this gentleman, I though that I would be able to take him in a physical confrontation. So, I ordered Gilles to sit, rolled up my sleeves, and started my attack with a kick in the testes.
Well, this douchebag drops like a sack of potatoes, and I figured the contest was mine. Unfortunately, there was an unforseen wrinkle to come. My opponent snaps his fingers, and three large gentlemen in expensive suits come to his aid. He’s got henchmen. Fuck me. Quickly, I threw my keys to Gilles and screamed at him to run home and call the police. What are the odds that a panhandler is going to have even one henchman, let alone three?
That’s when it hit me. Maybe I could win this battle with reason. I pointed out to the gentleman in question that maybe if he were to take these men off of his payroll, he would be able to re-work his budget so that he no longer has to live on the street, begging for change.
In the interest of brevity, I will summarize the story thusly: the gentleman took my advice, apologised for spitting on me, and relieved his henchmen of their services. The henchmen, upset over their termination beat me to within an inch of my life. I crawled home to find Gilles on the couch watching TV, and in a furious rage, I called the hospital to arrange for an ambulance. Upon my release from the hospital, I promptly called the veteranarian and scheduled Gilles for euthanasia. Let’s see how that affects his self-esteem.
Poetry in hand
You wanna do this? Let’s go!
I’ll miss that traitor