A Series of Unfortunate Events

A series of unfortunate events have kept me away from my computer for far longer than my addictive personality and technological dependence for internet cat pictures would prefer these last few weeks. I’ve been beside myself with grief for not being able to post blogs. I’ve also missed out on a lot of great content that I need to go back and catch up on. The first person on that list being @artwatch, who drew a super awesome picture of me and held a comedy contest in my honor, both of which I missed the party for.

A lot has been going on so I’ll try to keep this from being long and boring as an orgy at the hotel after a narcolepsy convention. After Hurricane Harvey my boss wound up in a shitty two bedroom apartment with his four dogs, three kids, and pregnant Bi-polar one legged wife. We watched too many episodes of “Tiny Houses” and decided to sell him our house so we could help him out while downsizing to a smaller house so I could have more money to lose on the stock market. It turns out my boss is a fucking idiot and made the whole process more miserable than having a root canal on your taint.

Problems started when we had to raise the asking price of the house after finding out it was worth 20k more than we originally thought it was. We were doing him enough favors already, but we weren’t going to leave 20k just sitting on the table. Then he thought we were fucking him over because he doesn’t understand the difference between property tax value and market value, despite having it explained to him multiple times. We owner financed the house to him because his ex-wife fucked his credit up so bad he can’t get a loan. He got more butthurt because he’s a vet and thinks that because the V.A. gives home loans to veterans who can qualify for them at like a 2% interest rate, then everyone else owes him the same interest rate the V.A gives, even though the V.A. won’t even give it to him. The only reason that we went through with the deal is because we gave him our word, and because of his children… and in the agreement he signed it says we can foreclose on him if he is 31 days late on his payments.

Anyway, his peg legged wife popped out her kid early because, despite being a huge cunt, her vagina isn’t big enough to hold a baby in for nine months. This severely jacked up our timetable for finding a new place to live. The housing market in Houston is still more fucked up than Whitney Houston at an all you can smoke crack buffet because of Hurricane Harvey so we found ourselves in the same conditions that had landed my boss in a tiny apartment in the first place. The only options right now are: big, expensive nice houses, and small, equally expensive shitholes. My “kinda” nephew is a cool, laidback, guy who makes good money as an electrician and brews his own beer. He also lives out in the Boondocks and wanted to move into town. We asked him and his girlfriend if they wanted to move in and split the rent so we didn’t have to live in a crack house. They enthusiastically agreed, and everything started to feel like it was going to work out.

Due to lack of time and options we wound up downsizing into an even bigger house. Nephew Kris works long hours and was still commuting so he wasn’t available to help much during the moving process. When it comes to moving, women are about as useful as a goddamn kickstand on a goldfish. Women are all about “Girl Power” until it comes time to move a refrigerator, then all of a sudden it’s 1930 up in here.

So my brother and I took the first truckload to the new house while the women were doing important feminist shit like picking out new cabinet liners at Big Lots. Anyway, Kris’s girlfriend has two dogs. One is awesome, and the other is a Lab/Rottweiler (or as we say in Houston “Rokwolla”) mix. She is the type of dog lover who leaves her dogs in a kennel for 80 percent of the day while the dogs cry and go insane while she’s all, “Oh, animals love being locked in cages. It’s actually good for them.” Well, my brother @thewisesloth and I open the front door and I hear Cujo barking in the back room, smash its cage open, charge at us, and bolt out the front door. I’m like, “Fuck. This is exactly what I need right now.”

So we spend an hour chasing this fucker around the neighborhood until I finally get close-ish to this demon spawn, shit dog. The dog hates men unless you are lying or sitting. So I sit down and coax it towards me. I manage to get the little bastard to come all the way up to me, lay down, and collect some belly rubs. I figure we’re cool now, so I try to grab its collar. Cujo responds by biting my face and giving it a few hearty shakes before running away. I limp back to the house, cupping my neck with my hands, and hoping I don’t have a gaping hole in my throat. My beautiful beard covered most of the damage so it was hard to tell, plus I have a rare eye condition that makes it nearly impossible to see under my chin without a mirror. I called everyone that wasn’t helping and told them the situation so within minutes they all showed up to look for the dog while @thewisesloth and I finished unloading all the furniture.

We get back to the old house and my bro convinces me to shave my beard just to make sure there isn’t more damage. It quickly becomes evident that I need stitches so we go to one of those minor emergency strip mall hospitals. They say I definitely needed stitches but they don’t like to stitch up dog bites because they are full of bacteria. Then they charge me $275 to put some tape on my chin that fell off in the parking lot.

Kris’s grandfather, James, got flooded out in Harvey too, as did the entire small town he lives in. The guy who runs the only gas station in town gave James a shitload of beer he couldn’t legally sell because, despite never being opened, it floated around in sewage flood water for a week. James gave that beer to Kris, who gave it to me. We gave the cans a good soaking in some bleach water to kill the plethora of flesh eating bacteria growing on it, and figured that would suffice to make six month old dumpster beer soaked in sewage safe to drink. Hindsight being what it is and all…it wasn’t the best idea I ever had. After using dumpster beer to wash down my pain killers I came down with a mild case of dysentery. Thankfully I was already on a barrage of antibiotics from the dog attack, so that worked it’s self out after a few days, and I lost about seven pounds.

Getting the internet turned on was a whole nother’ ordeal, which is why I haven’t been on here lately, but that is fixed now. I have procured four Vicodin, several grams of Kratom, a bottle of Adderall, a box of wine, a bottle of Vodka, five packs of cigarettes, my always present treasure chest of legally grey area Nootropics, enough coffee to bring on another bout of dysentery, and I told everyone who has regular contact with me in the real world to not expect shit from me this weekend because in the last three weeks new pornography has been posted on the internet and I need to get my mothafucking Steem on.

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5