Okay, good day. I took The Fuskers™ to the carnival down at the river front. It is Rivertown Days, after all. We rode a few rides, including "The Twister" twice. About the only reason he enjoyed the twister, was because he was able to smash into me, pushing me into the side of the car.
Now, because I am an idiot, I had a BBQ sandwich, some remarkably good french fries, and a Pepsi for lunch, prior to engaging in any carnival rides, with the boy thinking it would be funny to steal from my plate. I made a half-hearted attempt at chewing him out, but that just didn't work. Mostly because of my lack of heart. Besides, I'm going to be able to steal from his plate one day and bring today up in defense. Anyway, I managed to get through the rides without puking. I consider this a major accomplishment.
After the carnival, we headed to Wal-Mart, so the boy could buy himself a knife. He had one he liked, except for it's serrated edge. He can't sharpen a serrated edge. Trust me, he takes great pleasure in sharpening knives. How do I know? If I had a camera, I could show you the devilish, evil grin he has as he moves the knife back and forth across the wet stone. I get chills just typing about it.
Anyway, he had saved up $30.00 to buy himself a straight edge knife, but discovered it was too big for his taste. He ended up buying a similarly styled knife like the one he has, but with a straight edge, all for the exceptional price of $12.00. So, I forced him to buy me a root beer. That makes sense, right? Forcing The Fuskers™ to buy me a root beer? I got to tell you, it makes sense to me.
See, Wal-Mart has a policy of not selling knives to anyone under the age of 16. That required the additional act of The Fuskers™ handing me the money, which I handed to the clerk. Next, the clerk handed me the knife, which I......., well which I did not hand over to The Fuskers™. In fact, I held the knife for ransom, until such time as I got my root beer.
Of course, being I was with The Fuskers™, he just had to start throwing a fit. Quite the dramatic scene he was winding up to perform for all the shoppers at Wal-Mart. Hey, I taught him well, and for half a second was considering to watch this dramatic snit for the express purpose of grading his performance. But, instead, I gave him the knife before we got to the check-out lane. Guess what. He still bought me a root beer.
Now, once in the car, I caught him trying to sneak a drink from my root beer. I, being the cold-hearted bastard I am, refused. He....., well, let me put it in dialogue:
Now, because I am an idiot, I had a BBQ sandwich, some remarkably good french fries, and a Pepsi for lunch, prior to engaging in any carnival rides, with the boy thinking it would be funny to steal from my plate. I made a half-hearted attempt at chewing him out, but that just didn't work. Mostly because of my lack of heart. Besides, I'm going to be able to steal from his plate one day and bring today up in defense. Anyway, I managed to get through the rides without puking. I consider this a major accomplishment.
After the carnival, we headed to Wal-Mart, so the boy could buy himself a knife. He had one he liked, except for it's serrated edge. He can't sharpen a serrated edge. Trust me, he takes great pleasure in sharpening knives. How do I know? If I had a camera, I could show you the devilish, evil grin he has as he moves the knife back and forth across the wet stone. I get chills just typing about it.
Anyway, he had saved up $30.00 to buy himself a straight edge knife, but discovered it was too big for his taste. He ended up buying a similarly styled knife like the one he has, but with a straight edge, all for the exceptional price of $12.00. So, I forced him to buy me a root beer. That makes sense, right? Forcing The Fuskers™ to buy me a root beer? I got to tell you, it makes sense to me.
See, Wal-Mart has a policy of not selling knives to anyone under the age of 16. That required the additional act of The Fuskers™ handing me the money, which I handed to the clerk. Next, the clerk handed me the knife, which I......., well which I did not hand over to The Fuskers™. In fact, I held the knife for ransom, until such time as I got my root beer.
Of course, being I was with The Fuskers™, he just had to start throwing a fit. Quite the dramatic scene he was winding up to perform for all the shoppers at Wal-Mart. Hey, I taught him well, and for half a second was considering to watch this dramatic snit for the express purpose of grading his performance. But, instead, I gave him the knife before we got to the check-out lane. Guess what. He still bought me a root beer.
Now, once in the car, I caught him trying to sneak a drink from my root beer. I, being the cold-hearted bastard I am, refused. He....., well, let me put it in dialogue:
"Aw, come on!" said The Fuskers™. "I should get a drink since you held my knife hostage."And he is The Fuskers™, gots to love him.
"Ah, but I gave you your knife before you bought me the root beer. So, technically, you bought it from the goodness of your heart." says I.
"No I didn't. You took advantage of me and overpowered me with your oldness."
Ouch. That hurt. I wanted to pull over, hide my face in my hands, and unabashedly cry like a pathetic little baby. So, I laughed.
"You're a little shit. You know that, don't you?" says I.
"Yup." says The Fuskers™.
"And you take great pleasure in being a little shit, don't you?" says I.
"Pretty much." says The Fuskers™.
Leave a comment