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I Fucking Hate Cheap Motherfuckers. Also Being A Social Adult Eats Cock

So this past Saturday night was the last night at our local brewhouse, which was closing down. Now I'm a trivia junkie and this weekly trivia has been a staple for Team Ernie for the last two years or so, so I'm really going to miss it. But for the last night there were about seven or eight of us sitting around a table before trivia started, and The Boss Lady and I decided to order a pizza. And for delivery, of course, because how fucking lazy am I? The pizza parlor is literally across the street, so I actually tip some guy $5 on a $20 pizza just to walk a fucking pizza across the street because I'm too fucking lazy to be bothered to go get my own greasebomb. But I digress. Pizza shows up and I eat three slices and The Boss Lady eats two, leaving three slices of pepperoni extra cheese left.

Now one of the guys who has migrated to our trivia team -- henceforth known as This Fucking Guy -- is a spitting fucking image of Travis Dave, the villain with women's hair from Under Siege 2. So fucking much that every fucking week I pull a photo of (actor) Eric Bogosian up on my phone, hold it up with This Fucking Guy in the background lean over to The Boss Lady and mutter, "this is where the shit really starts to fly, a fertilizer plant in Guangzhou," under my breath before laughing so hard I snort beer out of my nose. The Boss Lady usually hits me and calls me an asshole. Now I really don't know This Fucking Guy very much, he's a friend of a friend who just kind of sits in with our team if we have an open seat. So for the most part, he and I don't really interact except to think out loud if one of us is close to the answer. That is, until this week.

With three slices left in the pizza box, I ask the other people sitting at the table if anyone would like a slice. Everyone says no except for This Fucking Guy, so I pull out one of the paper plates that came with the pizza and hand it to him, turning the box so he can tug a slice onto his plate. Cool, right? And over the course of the next hour or so trivia runs its course -- we fucking win of course, because I am a fucking Trivia God -- and losers from other teams start to pay their tabs and head out. Our team decided to stay for awhile since this was both trivia and the brewery's last night. People are standing, people are sitting, conversing with each other, with stragglers from other teams, with the owners and whatnot. I happen to look down and see the two remaining pieces of pizza.

Now I can't speak for everyone, but personally I fucking love pizza. I mean I love all food, I just happen to love pizza more than others. So I nudge The Boss Lady and ask her if she would like one of the remaining pieces of pizza. She give the cold congealed greasy mess a look and shakes her head no. "Fuck that noise," I think, "I'm having one of those motherfuckers." And here's where I make a critical error born in benevolence. I make the mistake of turning the box to the remaining part of our team -- of which This Fucking Guy is a member -- and ask if anyone would like a remaining slice. Well before I could say fuckall, This Fucking Guy says, "Yeah I haven't eaten all day so I'll take them." And before my alcohol addled brain can process what he said -- "them?" -- this motherfucker reaches across the table and grabs not one but both of my slices of fucking pizza.

Now in the interest of full disclosure, I really didn't need said slice of pizza. In fact, I really should trade slices of pizza in for salad. But that's not the point. The point was, it's my fucking pizza. So The Boss Lady must have watched my eyes follow those two slices of cheesy gold from the pizza box over to This Fucking Guy's grease stained paper plate, like a dog watching you eat the last fucking Oreo. Simultaneously two things happened: I inhaled to say something very impolite and The Boss Lady pinched the back of my arm. I can't know if this is an evolutionary thing, but I can tell you the latter action cancelled out the former. My confused gaze shifted between her, the empty box which now only held a few scraps of congealed cheese, so those two delicious slices of pizza, to This Fucking Guy, and finally down to my empty plate.

But despite no verbal communication, The Boss Lady made it abundantly clear that I didn't need another slice of pizza and that I should let this slight go unanswered. For the record, both of these things are against my nature, but a gentleman has to make some concessions and heed the will of his Boss Lady from time to time. Fine.

Now the kid who runs trivia -- I can call young adults 'kid' now that now that I have a hairline in full muthafucking retreat -- just had his first kid a few months ago, so I'm sure the loss of a hundred bucks or so a week in Trivia pay will be felt. So with the smell of pepperoni still wafting its way up my nostrils, I lean over to The Boss Lady and the girl she's talking to and ask, "Hey should we take up a collection for Trivia Dude to say thanks for all the trivia he's done?" The two ladies look at each other, then back at me, and then nod their heads in agreement. So The Boss Lady pulls a $20 out of her purse to be thrown in for Team Ernie, the other lass she was talking to pulls out a $20, the guy across from me pulls out a $10, and I lean over to my left and pitch the idea to the other side of the table, which included This Fucking Guy.

A couple of people nod their head and after reaching for their wallets, and a couple more $10s, a $5, and a $20 head my way. I reach over to start collecting them and then out of the corner of my right eye I see This Fucking Guy pitch a bill on the table. So I'm unfolding everyone bills and facing them in the right direction -- McDonald's habits die hard -- when I get my first glance that what he three down. A single fucking $1 bill. Now to put this in perspective, Trivia Dude has been running trivia there every Saturday for the better part of two years. And again, yes he's compensated for his time, but this is a gesture from one of the longest running teams to just say thanks and we appreciate the time he puts into getting ready for trivia each week.

So I'm holding these bills in my hand, looking at the fucking one dollar bill on the table, and I look up at This Fucking Guy with a 'what the fuck' look on my face. AND HE'S EATING MY FUCKING PIZZA. Literally he is staring me in the face, chewing my fucking pizza, with a single crumpled dolar bill between us. I look down at the dollar bill and then back up at him. I crumple my brow and nod down at the dollar in clear 'what the fuck' fashion. He shrugs his shoulders and from behind a mouthful of MY FUCKING PIZZA garbles out, "DAS AWW EH HAWD." At this point a dozen fucking questions are running through my head, mainly how one could go out to a fucking bar and not being any more cash than a single fucking one dollar bill. Sure I get it, credit cards and whatnot, but c'mon man. A fucking dollar? REALLLLLY?

Now at this point, I'm actually getting a little pissed the fuck off. I mean this goes beyond a greedy pizza grab, this is the express train to CheapMotherfuckersVille. And kids, I hate CheapMotherfuckersVille. This is rude. This is insulting. So I square myself up in my chair so that I'm facing him, and slide my beer glass to one side so that I can lean in across the table and really make sure he hears what the fucking I'm saying because I'm about to tear this cocksucker a new asshole or six. And then I feel The Pinch again. Not a quick catch-and-release like before, but a grab-and-hold this time. And medium grip, not full bore. "No," The Boss Lady says. I shoot her an incredulous look, "But he ju-" "NO." she cuts me off. "Don't make a scene."

Now I know at this stage I know I'm not going to win. Sure, I can push forward with my attack, berate This Fucking Guy for all I'm worth -- justifiably so -- but I'm wise enough know the long term loss won't be worth the short term gain. But at the same time, I'm also wise enough to learn new tricks, and what was the lesson The Boss lady was teaching me? Yes, that's right. Non-verbal communication. And so I didn't say anything after This Fucking Guy reached over and scarfed almost two thirds of my fucking pizza without so much as offering a penny to pay for his dinner. Nor did I say anything when this cheap motherfucker offered a paltry fucking dollar bill to the guy who has been running trivia since it fucking started.

But I did look him straight in the eye, first leaning over to pick up his dollar bill to the growing pile, and again a second time to slowly and deliberately reach across the table and jam my fucking thumb right into what was left of his slice of pizza. I pulled it back and used the now moistened pad to count through the dollar bills. And as I suspected, the pussy didn't have the balls to finish it.

Dude, your message came through at 7:30am'ish my time, so I'm going to assume you're on the west coast and still drunk. But if you are so fucked up you can't even spell your own name right, I'm honestly and truly impressed. Rule #4 comes into play here; be sure of your target and what's beyond it. Now personally, do I think these two guys deserve charges? I do. Something criminal negligencey, at least. But for something manslaughtery or more, as is stated in the article, "the two men had been taking turns firing the gun and could not see Ramdass, who was behind a vegetation-covered berm, detectives don't know which one of them fired the fatal shot." INALB without knowing for sure the answer to that question, there's no way to charge the culpible person and I would imagine intent would be necessary for the felony murder rule to come into play. All in all, shit deal.

Cosplay is an imperfect art, but the goal is to use ingenuity and creativity to resemble a fictional character as closely as possible. Cosplayers often fall short of exact mimicry, but the fun is in the attempt. Sometimes though, there are eerie similarities, such as the case with these Harley Quinn cosplay ladies.

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