There is this gay French gardener guy (I’ll call him “Pierre”) I met at work and have occasional conversations with. He is all dignified-acting, with snow-white hair and a nicely-trimmed goatee; listens to classical music; reads a lot, blah, blah. He also has this gardening show on public access television. About a year ago, I bought this big statue of St. Fiacre, the patron saint of gardeners and cab drivers, from him. Pierre told me a story one day of how St Fiacre was martyred by having a red hot, iron poker slowly shoved up his butt. Hee! I thought it was funny, so I decided to buy the statue and had Pierre bring it over to my apartment one day. Him and I spent some time talking at my apartment; he looked over some of my artwork, gave me some intelligent, informed criticism which I always appreciate. Even though he was an adult bookstore “token troll,” he never once grabbed his crotch or made an advance toward me. So I decided that Pierre was one of the few people here in town that I liked.
A girl came into the bookstore yesterday with her man, some baggy pants black dude. She was a blonde, skinny as a rail but with this RIDICULOUS set of boobs, so obviously fake and silly-looking. I was out on the floor like I am every Monday evening, hanging up vibrators, or whatever, while I could see my assistant manager, Josh, and my boss behind the counter ogling over this blonde girl like a couple idiots, like a couple dumb dogs pining for puppy chow, and all I could think of was how nauseated I felt when I saw this chick’s ass . It was so skinny, and so disproportionate to her cartoon titties! She made eye contact with me and smiled while I wanted to fucking SLAP the stupid cunt; I’m serious; SCALP her, beat her head up against the wall of DVDs she was looking at and say, “Pull them britches down, girl,” right in front of her baggy pants boyfriend; stick my bony finger up her butt and then stick it in her stupid mouth as a make-shift black cock to appease this FURY inside me, whatever it is, that makes me hate people so much sometimes. Hee!
Then all the sudden, Pierre the French gardener came into the store to buy tokens. He smiled at me, just a friendly gesture (and he didn’t rub his crotch, thank God). I waved at him, then looked over to the Anal Section where I saw this blond, big-boobed chick rubbing her man’s crotch right in the store, right in front of everyone, as they looked at butt-plugs, and for some reason it made me fucking FuRiOuS !!! My boss and assistant manager were yelling something at me, stupid jokes of theirs that I’ve learned to filter out. I “let sleeping dogs lie”; I “let it all roll off like water on a duck’s ass”; hung up a few dildos; placed upon the wall a “Pocket Rocket,” or whatever, but fucking STEAMing for whatever reason, because of this fucking FURY inside me.
When the “blonde boobs” finally left the store, my boss is like, “Yeah, I saw you staring at that, Taco.”
I scowled at him and said. “I saw you and Josh staring at it. I honestly thought she looked ridiculous.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” Josh says. “You’d get ‘all up in that’. I know I would.”
Then they both started drooling and laughing, rubbing their hideous crotches like filthy animals as my boss says, “Oh yeah, that’s right - - Owen likes fat chicks.” Hee. Hee. Snicker. Snicker. I felt like killing them both because neither one of them can get it through their thick pudding heads the difference between “fat” and “curvy,” so, just to get away from them I decide to go in the back, to the video arcade with the masturbators and token trolls, people I can better relate to. I go to my closet, grab a broom and slip into the darkness to sweep out the arcade. I get back in the arcade and there is Pierre the gardener, someone I appreciate and respect, standing there in a dark corner looking at me with his beady, creepy little predatory eyes. Up until this point I’d liked Pierre, really, and thought perhaps he would say something to soothe me, and to somehow console this FURY inside me and help lighten my mood. But instead, all the sudden, and to my SEVERE disappointment, Pierre says to me- making a reference to St. Fiacre being anally martyred by a hot poker- “Hey there, ‘hot butt’,” TOTALLY being a creep, dude, and “hitting” on me, or whatever. I just looked at him with this expression of anger and said, “Fuck you, Pierre. Go suck a cock “ Then Pierre started fucking rubbing his crotch right in front of me. I became so fucking FUrIOUS !!! AaaAAaaaHHHH!!!!! As I turned my back to him to sweep out booth #2, I heard him whispering to me, as if to taunt me, “Whenever you’re ready.”
