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DaddySatyr -> RE: A comment that I couldn't say..... (3/18/2012 4:30:04 PM)
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Okay. here we go. The story - heretofore to be known as: "Love in a Jiffy" ...
A million years ago, I worked with a guy that was about 5 years my junior. I was 26, at the time. He was a nice enough guy; Did his job, professionally; always wore a seatbelt ... He drank a bit too much but nothing to extreme (I'm a tea-totaler). Let's call hime "Joe"
He met and "fell in love with" this really cute, really wild, strawberry blond sex machine that was an (I hope this is the PC term) exotic dancer. When I say wild, this girl would do anything for the get-off. She used to brag about fucking a brother and sister, at the same time ( cuz she could. She was that hot!). I'll tell her name because I know she's been in a few videos and on some billboards; Cindy.
"Joe" doted on Cindy. His life revolved around her. he was madly in love and even wanted to marry her; if only he could get her to settle down ...
Cindy loved "Joe" but she'd fuck a lampost, if it'd give her an orgasm.
One day, "Joe" didn't report for work and our supervisor was going to write him up which would probably have meant a suspension and loss of job (which would have been a huge dealio, O'Neilly-o). I begged my supervisor to wait until I had a chance to get to "Joe's" place; probably around meal time.
When I got to "Joe's" place, he was sitting in the living room with a .40 in his mouth, literally. He had had enough. Couldn't deal with it, anymore and this was it.
Obviously, I started talking him down. First, I told him he was doing it wrong (He was). Then, I just set about to see what the problem was. You guessed it; Cindy had fucked someone else (again. Hell, Cindy had hit on me, repeatedly and I'm fugly).
I started trying to tell him that it was going to be alright and that we could all sit down and talk and I would help and ...
I was grasping at straws. Finally, I told him: "Ya know, this is actually your fault."
"Joe": "How the mother-fuck is this my fault?!?!?!"
I told him he didn't love her. He put the weapon to his temple as he screamed and assured me that he did.
I told him that if he would put the weapon down; just next to him on the sofa, I could prove it.
He put the weapon down but it was still cocked and locked; ready to fire, quickly.
I asked him if he liked peanut butter. He looked at me like I had four heads but nodded his.
I said: "You like it a lot?" he assured me that he loved the stuff. I said: "Do you have any in the house?"
He pointed me into the kitchen and verbally directed me to the correct cupboard. I found JIF peanut butter and asked if he had Peter Pan. he said no and what did it matter? I said it worked better with Peter Pan but, we'd make do.
I hunted around in the drawers and got a serving spoon. I came back into the living room and asked again if he really loved peanut butter. he assured me he did.
I opened the jar and grabbed out a great big gob of peanut butter. I told him to hold out his hand and I deposited that gob right in his left palm (the right one was near the gun because I was so close). Again, he looked at me like I'd just pissed on his grandmother's grave.
I said: "You love that peanut butter?"
"Joe": "yes"
Me: "What is it doing?"
"Joe": "Huh?"
Me: "What is it doing?"
He gave me a blank look. It's sitting in your hand, being peanut butter, right?
"Joe": "Yes"
Me: "Is it doing anything that peanut butter doesn't normally do?"
"No"
I said: "Now, make a fist." and as he did, all of the peanut butter squirted out between his fingers.
I said: "That's what you're doing to Cindy. You don't love her. You're trying to control her and the more you do, the more she slips through your fingers."
He started crying and I reached for the gun and cleared it. Then, I called his brother, cut his outside phone line and went back to work (I knew his brother had a cell phone).
Peace and comfort,
Michael
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