Peter's been in my basement for a while. And by a while I mean since 1980. Peter and I have seen the world change together, first on cable TV and then on the interwebs. I'd like to say I've been good to Peter but the truth is I have gone out of my way to make Peter's life the eighth level of hell. That takes more time, imagination and money than you'd know; not to mention quite a bit of luck. So far mine has held out. Would you like to hear more about Peter, the bully who lives in my basement?
Who the fuck are we kidding? Of course you wanna hear about Petey boy. It's not often you get a ringside seat to a torment to end all torments. First I'm gonna tell you a little about myself. Oh you want my name? Maybe one day you'll know it but for now why don't we just call me, "DJ Mindfcuk" and I'll call you pally. Fair enough? Good.
I am not necessarily the world's best looking, wealthiest or smartest guy. But what I am is disciplined and determined. I like to think for myself and I am not easily swayed by opinion or zeitgeist. Some might say I'm stubborn. I think Petey boy would agree with that. Wouldn't you Petey boy?
Zaps Petey boy with an electric shock collar for dogs. Petey's leg twitches and his bladder empties into his adult diapers. Petey knows the drill.
Well, Petey boy seems to be tied up so I'll just proceed with the jibba jabba. I was saying I'm what you might call a stubborn kinda guy. And part of that stubbornness is I don't like to be ridiculed, harassed, bullied or otherwise treated with anything less than R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I'm gonna tell you how I learned about respect. It was not from my parents; god rest their immortal burn the fuck in hell souls. It was from Carolina Diaz in the 3rd grade.
On the way out to lunch me and my pal Chucky decided we would spit on Carolina and run. Carolina was a big girl. At least a foot taller than all the other kids and even bigger than our teacher. And Carolina had a bit of a lisp. So being a young punk I realized I could get a few laughs making fun of her. So sure enough on the way out to lunch I said, "Hey Carolina!" and then spit in her face. Ditto for the Chuckmeister.
Carolina gave chase but let me tell you something. Red Bull doesn't give you shit but arrhythmia. However fear; now that gives you some fucking wings bitch. So Carolina did not catch me or Chucko and we enjoyed our pizza lunch and soon forgot about ol' Carolina. Definitely a mistake.
As Chucky and I stepped foot into class we were both simultaneously manhandled with great certitude. We were both thrown against the big sliding doors of the coat closet hard enough to send a poster of Oscar The Grouch sailing into the air like a refugee. Hell hath no fury like a large Ecuadorian spat upon.
SPIT ME NOW DJ MINDFCUK!! YOU TOO CHUCKY!!! SPIT ME NOW!!!!
As Carolina lifted us off our feet, preparing god knows what mayhem, I suddenly had an epiphany. It was not cool to be a dick. Now I felt this deep in my bones which were most certainly shivering and I think Chucky was simpatico on that front because we both burst out with sincere, profuse, protracted and deeply heartfelt apologies.
Carolina's rage softened and she slowly eased us back to terra firma.
DON'T EVER MAKE ME SORRY I LET YOU OFF THE HOOK. EVER!
After that I learned my lesson and never made fun of anybody let alone spat upon them again. And Carolina forgave me and we actually became friends. I still think of Carolina sometimes with gratitude. She taught me an important lesson that I try to live to this day.
"Ain't that right Petey boy?"
Petey boy just gave me the fish eye. Fish eye is definitely zap worthy.
Now for those of you thinking Petey's kinda closed mouth I should correct this perception. Petey would probably answer if only to avoid the voltage. Petey cannot answer though. Petey's wearing a special device. I got tired of Petey's sass so Amazon single click purchase to the rescue.
Carolina taught me lots of things but the one I took to heart besides being RESPECTFUL was: DO NOT TAKE ANY SHIT OFF NOBODY.
Now that is not so easy. My mom was nutty as Goober Grape. She lived off welfare and handouts from her parents and decided her future lay in interior decoration, which is to say, she stripped all the upholstery off all the furniture and painted Stars Of David all over the walls next to frowny faces. She would wake up every morning at 5 AM to listen to some Indian Guru's AM broadcast and then she would alternate between throwing knives, hammers and slapping and pulling my hair. Then she would hand me a wad of foodstamps and a grocery list and issue instructions to the effect of, "get me a cup of fucking coffee before you go to school or else you little fuckface..."
Yeah. So Mom was pretty much a cunt sauce bitch. And I was not afraid to let her know it. And she was not afraid to beat the piss out of me and punish me in ways not so dissimilar to the war on terror. By that I mean most of it seemed like hysterical bullshit and, perhaps more importantly, it never seemed to end.
Don't fall asleep now Petey! I'm just getting to the good part.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaaaaaaat!
Yeah so it was about when I had just started growing my first short and curlies that my Momster tried to order me to get her her daily caffeine fix with foodstamps.
"You go get me that coffee you little fuckface!"
"Get it yourself you crazy bitch! I'm going to the park to play baseball."
"If you don't get your pro keds on I am going to make you sorry you were ever born!"
"I think y'missed the boat on that one y'fuckin' dingbat cunt!"
Momster wagged her finger at me apoplectically. I gave the Momster an index finger of my own, complete with an accessorized face, that I hoped was both appropriate to the situation and slightly more dignified.
However dignified it might have been, it merely set her cuntometer to redline status.
"I'm warning you Mom. I won't let you hit me again!"
That only served to enrage the cunt sauce bitch further. Sort of like trying to douse a fire with kerosene.
"Last warning Mom. I gotta bat and if I have to I'll let you have it."
As the Momster made her final approach, my little league hitting slump abruptly came to an end. Kentucky wood connected with Bronx hip bone with a sharp kee-rack.
The wind abruptly left the Momster's sails and she regarded me not unlike a 3 year old who has fallen down on the asphalt and is not quite ready to acknowledge the hard facts of physics.
Before she could cry she stormed out of the house shouting, "I am going to have you put away for good you fuckface bastard!"
Well now, I thought to myself. A little peace at last on a Saturday afternoon. Just then the sky turned black and thunder rumbled. So there was nothing left to do but watch my favorite TV show.
Just when Mushmouth was about to drop some pearls of wisdom the Momster came storming back in the apartment. She had not come for me; no, she had come for Fat Albert. The Momster yanked the old B&W outta the wall socket and re-stormed outta the house leaving me sans Albert Le Gros.
It seemed the bitch was determined to play hardball. Deprived of TV I listened to the oldies station as I poked holes in the Momster's diaphragm contemplating my next move.
He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared. - Sun Tzu.
Just then, the darkened room was illuminated with the flash from a lightning bolt. Several seconds later the room shuddered with far away thunder.
I knew what I must do.
"Hi Herman!"
My father, Herman, was on the couch nodding. BettyJo sat in the corner doing the same, a syringe dangling from her right arm.
Herman summoned the strength of Hercules opening his left eye a micron.
"Heyyyyy kiddo. How's Trix?"
"Trix is a cunt. Say pop? If something were to happen to Mom would you let me live with you?"
BettyJo suddenly had a not so silent moment of lucidity and chimed in with, "Absolutely NOT! A boy's place is with his mother!"
Herman continued to nod so I decided that trumped BettyJo fuckface. She went back on the nod so I saved my breath and commenced to ransack the joint. It did not take long to find what I came for and be on my way back home.
Whenever I had a plan it inevitably cheered me. Stepping in the biggest puddles I could find I whistled a happy tune and hoped the basement freezer was still in working order.
Later that night the Momster finally returned from who knows where. I was in my room playing chess with myself and stroking some newly discovered short & curlies. When it rains it pours.
"Your days are numbered here Sonny-boy! You will learn discipline and if I can't teach it to you you will learn it in juvie! Enjoy your days because they are numbered!"
She slammed my bedroom door. I yawned. I glanced at the Felix The Cat wall clock my grandma gave me for Chanukah. Soon bitch. Soon.
Around 1 AM I tiptoed down the hall and put my ear to the Momster's room. All I heard was the bitch snoring and alternately saying, "I'll show that little fuckface!"
Sun Tzu said: Whoever is first in the field and awaits the coming of the enemy, will be fresh for the fight.
DJ MindFcuk said: You snooze you lose!
I held my breath and eased the bedroom door open. The moonlight illuminated the momster's avocado covered visage. I raised the syringe over my Yankee cap.
"I'll show that little fuckface!" Snoressnorrezzzzz....
The syringe plunged into her jugular and my fat thumb depressed the plunger. The momster sat bolt upright, eyes ablaze. I stepped back to survey my handiwork. Her hand found her neck and the syringe and all she said was, "You little fuck-" and then she collapsed back on the bed.
About an hour later the Momster was resting comfortably under some frozen peas and Swanson Hungry Man dinners. I closed the lid on the freezer and turned it cold as it would go. I then stacked my late Uncle Jed's barbell plates on the freezer, one by one. There were about thirty of them so by the time I was finished I was pretty bushed. But I figured I had earned a day off from school so what the fuck, right?
It turned out icing the Momster went a lot smoother than I had even hoped. When I told Herman the Momster had split he agreed to let me stay in the house so long as he could collect the welfare check and foodstamps. Nobody really seemed to miss the Momster one iota. Yeah, sure my grandparents came by a couple of times, but when I showed them the dozens of composition notebooks the Momster had kept, detailing the abuses of her parents in excruciatingly tedious detail, they accepted my narrative that she went out for a pack and never came back.
So it was in early puberty that I found myself living the good life. Herman checked in once a month for the welfare check and food stamps but otherwise I was at loose ends. I had TV, frozen dinners and life was good. I told nobody about the Momster and just went to school, collected Marvel comics cause FUCK DC and relaxed in the tub nightly with Mr. Bubble. You could say life was paradisical, that is until...
I met Petey boy.
Petey boy lived on Shep's block. He had a wild shock of red hair and crooked teeth and was much bigger than me. One day when I was playing wiffle ball with Shep he came over and took the wiffle bat out of my hands.
"This is my wiffle bat now dufus. If you want it back you gotta suck my dick."
Yes, that did escalate rather quickly. Now if I was willing to ice the Momster to avoid buying a cup of coffee with foodstamps you can bet your left wingnut I had no intention of sucking Petey boy's dick.
Shep had told me that when they were climbing a fence Petey had slipped and a wrought iron spike had punctured his scrotum. He had proudly showed it around the block telling everybody, "it don't even hurt too bad!" Discretion, being the better part of valor, I booked it home.
The next week Petey boy saw me at Ralphie's candy store playing Asteroids. He was with his goon Satch. He threw his quarter down on the console and body checked me into a rack of comics.
"That's my game now bitch. Unless you wanna suck my dick."
The next week at the bus stop while I was flirting with my crush Carmelina he came up and spat in my face and squeezed Carmelina's newly burgeoning bust.
I punched Petey right in the mouth hard as I could. Satch said, "Yo Petey! Yo lip! Yo lip! It's busted!"
Petey had about a foot on me and about 60lbs. I tried to teach him a lesson but he caught me in the right eye with a wild haymaker and knocked me down. Just then a bunch of bikers came spilling out of the corner bar and pulled him off me. The bus came and I went to school but before I could get there I got dizzy and nauseous so I just stayed on the bus round trip and made my way home fighting double vision with every step.
I realized that the Petey situation was not going to just go away by itself. When I finally awoke it was dark out but what should have been Monday night was actually Tuesday night. I had slept for almost 36 hours. Herman was still on the couch.
I used an ice pick to dislodge a giant chunk of ice from the freezer. It needed to be defrosted badly. I returned to the couch with the big chunk of ice and gently placed it in Herman's undies and took a seat in a de-upholstered Lay-Z-Boy recliner.
WHAT THE FUCK?@?@@?!?!*
Herman jumped up in a petulant frenzy, trying to evict the ice from his not so tidy whities.
"What's up Herm?" I asked.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" he asked.
"Why aren't you in your own house with BettyJo fuckface?" I asked.
"Never you mind about that! Oh shit? What happened to your eye?" he asked.
"Whaddaya care?" I asked.
"Did somebody do that to you?"
"No. I fell down a flight of stairs. Twice."
Just then the phone rang. It was Shep.
"Yo. Word on the street is Petey's gonna knife you in the other eye."
Herman looked at me and said, "Who gave you the shiner kid?"
"Just a kid."
Herman removed the syringe from his arm and put it down on the coffee table next to a used TV dinner aluminum tray.
"Okay kid. Here's what we're gonna do....."
The next morning Petey was sitting in my basement bound and gagged with duct tape.
Herman had marched me over to Petey's block. Herman had squat down between two parked cars. I stood, according to Herman's instructions, a few houses down from Petey. When Petey saw me his face screamed, "Well this must be my lucky day!"
Petey took out a steak knife and approached me.
"Yer so fucking dead if you don't suck my dick right now...."
"Come here and I'll suck it real good bright boy."
Petey swaggered over and Herman popped out from between the two cars. Petey's mouth hung open and Herman blasted him one in the puss. Petey's eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled in a messy heap. The steak knife fell harmlessly into a big crack in the sidewalk.
I stepped in the crack and retrieved the knife.
Herman pulled an oversized army dufflebag out of his army coat and commenced to stuff Petey in it. It looked dicey but somehow Herman pulled it off.
Herman dropped Petey off in the basement and went upstairs for his afterwork fix. I found some duct tape and proceeded to get Petey out of the bag and taped up proper. I dragged Petey to the steam pole and taped him to it real good. By the time I was done fixing Petey boy up I had used two rolls.
Herman stumbled into the basement later that night as I was introducing Petey boy to the Momster.
"You iced your mom?" Herman asked incredulously.
"No. She just thought the TV dinners shouldn't sleep alone."
"Well you don't need to be a smartass about it."
"Well where the fuck were you when she was beating me mercilessly Herman?"
"I had things to do. I-"
"You were busy fucking BettyJo fuckface and shootin' up is what you mean," I said.
"Allright. So maybe I wasn't the best Pop and maybe your mother iced herself. What matters is we got the welfare check and foodstamps so why don't we just let bygones be bygones?"
"Fine by me."
"Good."
Herman went back upstairs shaking his head and mumbling something about, "sleep with the TV dinners..."
Anyway, despite all Petey boy's mumbled objections I assured him that he and the Momster would get along famously. And they have for the past three decades. It hasn't been all bad for Petey boy. I've occasionally hired a dominatrix or two. And I got Petey online in the late '90s. Well, I mean I do all the typing, but at least he can see the screen from the steam pole. By now I figured we've been through at least a few thousand rolls of duct tape.
So for all you kids out there bullying, and all you Momsters mistreating your kids, I'd just like to take this opportunity to remind you about the tale of the bully in my basement and the ice cold Momster. Retribution has happened before and y' jes never know when it'll happen again.
Right Petey boy?
What's that? The folks at home can't hear ya so good.
ZZzzzzzzap.
And that is the how and the why of Peter being in my basement since circa 1980. I still think me, Petey boy and the Momster have a few more good decades ahead of us. What do you think?
Originally posted on r/nosleep under the pen name mypumassmellfunky.
