"I want to paint my room turquoise," 10 year old me cheerfully announced over my ham steak.
"It's not your room Damien. It's the guest room," my father's 20 year old wife BettyJo informed me, her dumb ass mouth full of mashed potatoes and gravy.
"Nuh-Uhh! It's my room. Right Dad?"
Herman's lower lip seemed reluctant to part with its upstairs neighbor.
"No, it's not Damien. It's the guest room. Your room is at home with your mother," BettyJo insisted, gracing me with yet another eyeful of her mashed potatoes and gravy filled piehole.
"Dad? It's my room right? Cuz you said-"
"It doesn't really matter kiddo, it's just a room," my fence walking fucktwat of a Dad philosophized.
"No Damien, it's the guest room. And I do not want it turquoise. Turquoise is a dumb color! And that-is-that."
I can't say I was liking the way my first vacation ever was turning out. BettyJo, Herman and I were staying at some inn up in the mountains of Vermont.
Well, like the saying goes, you can take the kid out of Brooklyn but you can't take the Brooklyn out of the kid.
"Hey BettyJo. Y'really think turquoise is a dumb color, huh?"
"I don't think it. I know it."
"Oh yeah? I bet you can't even spell dumb...," I said throwing down the gauntlet.
"Of course I can. Dumb. D-U-M. Dumb."
BettyJo seemed unduly pleased with her spelling abilities.
Vengeance belongs to Me; I will repay. In time their foot will slip, for their day of disaster is near, and their doom is coming quickly.
"That's not how you spell dumb, dummy," I informed her between peals of guffaw. "It has a 'b' at the end which is silent. Y'know BettyJo, you could probably learn a lot from that 'b'."
"There's no 'b' in dumb. Right Herman?!?! Herm?!?!?!"
The waitress brought us our drinks. She set my root beer down in front of me and asked, "How are you tonight cutiepie?"
I smiled at her. She had curly red hair and giant knockers and looked like the future.
"Can I ask you a question?" I asked her smiling.
"Sure hon. What's your pleasure?"
"How do you spell, 'dumb'?"
BettyJo glared at me. Herman looked like he had a bus to catch. The waitress smiled. I liked her smile. A lot.
"D-U-M-B. Anything else I can do ya sweetie?"
"Nope. Thank you."
The waitress made her exit.
BettyJo said, "We're not painting the guest room turquoise Damien. And that-is-that. Right Herman?"
My father was not enjoying this. Well his fucking chagrin was my Rock Me Amadeus. Ever since he picked up 16 year old BettyJo, the hitchhiking word-wizard, on a Brooklyn street in 1969, she had been a thorn in my side. BettyJo had an opinion on just about fucking everything and the only thing they all had in common was each one was shittier than the last.
Now you don't have to take my word for it. Lemme give you a f'r instance.
When I first met BettyJo fuckface I was 6 years old and my parents had recently called it quits on their sham of a, "you can't get drafted to the 'Nam if you have a wife and kid" union. I was spending the weekend at my Dad's shithole bachelor pad, the one that had redwood tree sized splinters sticking out of the floor and steroid-enhanced roaches goosestepping through the kitchen. As I recall, I was amped to take a bath with Mr. Bubble and read my new stack of comic books, and otherwise escape the cloud of pot smoke and banal conversation that Herman and BettyJo spewed wherever they went.
"He can't take a bath alone Herman. He's too young."
"I know how to take a bath BettyJo," I said shaking my head in disbelief.
"Herman. I'm giving him a bath and that is that. I don't want him drowning or walking around with a stinky coolie cause he doesn't know how to wash right."
"I can take a b-"
"I am giving you your bath and that is final. Now let's get your stinky coolie to the bathroom!"
"Dad, do I have to?"
"BettyJo'll give you your bath."
I nodded. So tonight we're all gonna play, "Let's humiliate 6 year old me, huh?" Well, two can play at that little game.
"Fine," I said with a too bright smile that, as usual, nobody noticed.
Five minutes later naked me was standing barefoot on the dirty bathroom floor while BettyJo started running the water. I hadda take a SERIOUS WIZZZZ but to this day I could never go with an audience, unless of course I was pissing on my girlfriend's titties; but I digress. Bottom line is I was a boy who appreciated his privacy; not to mention a lil R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
BettyJo was gonna find out what that means to me.
"Do you have to go tinkle before your bath Damien?" BettyJo asked.
"Nope."
"You sure?"
"Yep."
I was sitting in the bath and BettyJo was coming for me with the washcloth. My little 6 year old wiener stood at ten-hut. As BettyJo the mouth breather swooped in for my coolie, pot glazed eyes ready for the kill, I gave the command. Peeny-weeny loosed the cannon.
BULLSEYE.
There was a gurrgglin' sound that was quickly followed by, "HERRRRRRRMANNNNNNNNNNNN!!!! P-Tuh! P-Tuh-gag-sputter-cough..." BettyJo ran for cover as I continued to empty my bladder in a wide arc that rained down on the bubbles.
I looked at Mr. Bubble and said, "You do make gettin' clean almost as much fun as gettin' dirty..."
Mr. Bubble did not disagree.
So now that I got that f'r instance out of the way, hopefully you now have some small context as to just how little I appreciated being informed by BettyJo that my room was not in fact my room but rather that I was merely a guest in my own father's house.
"It's my room and I AM painting it turquoise BettyJo. And that-is-that!"
HERMMMMMMMMMMANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.
Later we were back in the motel room with, "The Smothers Brothers" on the shitty black and white TV.
I was laying on the bed, naked, under a blanket, having just finished my Mr. Bubble bath; unassisted I might add.
There was a knock at the door. BettyJo sprang up to answer it and in walked a couple of dirty hippy guys. One of them had a big brown bag under his denim clad arm.
Five minutes later they were weighing out a mountain of weed on a triple beam balance scale.
"Who's the kid?" one of the hippies asked.
I treated it like a rhetorical question but BettyJo chimed in, "That's Herman's son, Damien. Damien come here and say hello."
"Hello."
"That's not how we say Hello. Stand up and shake, erm, what did you say your name was?" BettyJo asked, bouncing her tube top titties at Hippie #1.
"Phineas."
"Show some manners and stand up and shake Phineas' hand, Damien."
"No I'm okay," I said turning my attention to the shitty TV.
BettyJo walked over to me and pulled me out of the bed by the arm.
Hippy #2 said, "Whoah. Naked in the bed. I can dig it little man...."
I punched BettyJo's left tittie. "Daaaaaad!"
"HERRRMMMANNNNN"
Herman passed BettyJo a big joint and said, "this shit is primo maaaannnnn!"
I got back under the blanket wishing I had my dolemite underoos on.
Phineas took out two sheets of acid and said, "Hey maaaan. Y'wanna be careful with this shit. Only take a half and wait like a couple of hours maaan... My girl took three hits last night and she's still makin' with the freak freak...."
Ten minutes later the dirty hippies were gone and BettyJo and my father were in the shower together, the motel room a cloud of weed smoke.
I knocked on the bathroom door.......
"NOT NOW DAMIEN!!!!" BettyJo shouted.
I poked my head in the bathroom and I could see my Dad doing something dirty to BettyJo's coolie.
"You SURE I can't paint my room turquoise?!?!?!!"
IT'S NOT YOUR ROOM!! IT'S THE GUEST ROOM!!!!
I sat back on the bed pissed, but even then, I knew revenge was a dish best served cold; or perhaps it was a BEVERAGE....
On the bedside table were a couple of plastic cups of Jack & Coke Herman and BettyJo had been drinking from. I went into my Dad's denim jacket and took out one of the sheets of acid. It had pictures of Snoopy on them.
As if....
Hey maaaan. Y'wanna be careful with this shit....
I folded the side of the sheet, carefully peeling off twenty hits from the blotter. I then folded those over again splitting them into two strips of ten hits each. I placed them on the bedside table next to their drinks. I then carefully replaced the remainder of the blotter back in Herman's jacket.
From the bathroom I could hear Herman grunting and BettyJo groaning.
I'll give you just one more chance bitch...
Once again, not unlike Sisyphus, I opened the bathroom door just enough to poke my head in. BettyJo was on her knees and Herman had her by the hair.
"I really really really want to paint MY room turquoise!"
"tttsssssMMpphTHEMumppphGUESTMmummpgaagggROOMmmmph"
That cinched it. I carefully took one of the strips of acid placing it under the ice with my finger and stirring it around. I pulled it out and it was pretty soggy. Just for good measure I stirred it some more with my finger and then placed the soggy strip of paper on a napkin. Then I rinsed and repeated with the other plastic cup. When I was satisfied with my bartending I threw the crumpled napkin in the waste paper basket....
Ten minutes later BettyJo and Herman were drying off and parading around the room in the buff. Herman had another joint going. I holed up under my blanket watching an episode of Columbo.
BettyJo was putting on some very red lipstick in the mirror.
I looked at her reflection and said, "It's NOT the fucking guest room. It's MY room and I'm gonna paint it turquoise!"
"This fucking kid doesn't know when ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! I need a fuckin' drink! Where's my drink?!?!"
BettyJo picked up her Jack & Coke.
Columbo said, "Just one more thing..."
"Pass me my drink BJ," Herman said.
BettyJo passed Herman the other Jack & Coke.
Aaaand now we wait....
About half an hour later Herman, BettyJo and I were watching, "Rosemary's Baby" on the shitty TV. My father was fucking with the antennae, mostly saying, "fucking shit TV...."
BettyJo said, "A little more to the lef--"
BettyJo suddenly looked at her pointed finger horrified. She waved her hand some more and traced it with verrrry biiiiig eyes.
Rosemary, looking just like BettyJo, said, "Oh, God. Oh, God."
BettyJo said, "Oh, God. Oh, God."
Herman was getting on a chair and trying to do something with tinfoil when he said, "Ohhhhhh wowowwwww maaaaaan...." and promptly fell on his ass. He stayed on the carpet saying, "Wwoooowowowowow maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan..."
BettyJo started hugging herself rocking back and forth.
"Herman, something's wrong...."
The lady on TV said, "Come with us quietly, Rosemary. Don't argue or make a scene. Because if you say anything more about witches or witchcraft, we're gonna be forced to take you to a mental hospital. You don't want that, do you?"
I went to the bathroom and got my bottle of Mr. Bubble. I returned to the room. Herman and BettyJo were rolling around on the floor moaning. Herman was holding his head just saying, "Oh god oh god the pliers... the dentist has pliers.... pliers...."
BettyJo was clutching at her tube top. I held Mr. Bubble over her face....
"It's my room. Me and Mr. Bubble. Now you don't wanna make any trouble for Mr. Bubble, do you BettyJooooooo...."
"HERMANMANMANMANMAN...."
Rosemary said, "You're lying. It didn't die. You took it. You're lying. You witches! You're lying! You're lying! You're lying! You're LYING!"
I walked to the window and opened it wide. The chilly Vermont air filled the room. I got down on the floor with BettyJo.
I held Mr. Bubble over her face. BettyJo's eyes were bulging.
In my best Mr. Bubble voice I whispered in her ear, "Mr. Bubble wants you to fly BettyJo...." It ended up sounding more like Grover from Sesame Street.
BettyJo's eyes bulged.
Rosemary said, "Pain, begone, I will have no more of thee!"
BettyJo said, "Pain, begone, I will have no more of thee!"
"Let me help you up BettyJo..."
"Where are we going?" BettyJo asked.
"Your guests are waiting BJ. You don't wanna keep yer guests waiting, do ya? I even think Phineas'll be there..."
BettyJo perked up. I put her arm around my shoulder and helped her chase down perpendicularity.
"You get some fresh air BettyJo, you'll be right as rain..."
BettyJo just kept muttering, "... the guestroom, musn't keep the guests waiting, the guestroomtheguestroom..."
"Careful BettyJo... Don't wanna step on Herman...."
BettyJo looked down at Herman.
"Hi Herm," she said. "I musn't keep the guests waiting..."
"No! No! Please! Not the pliers Doctor! I'll floss! I swearrrrrrr...."
We carefully stepped over Herman who continued his experiments with various contortions. Herman's knuckles were white where he clutched his head, endlessly moaning about pliers and the dentist and dental floss; only he said it like, "flossssssssssssss.....".
Over by the window I stood with BettyJo's arm around my shoulder. I stretched out my arm gesturing at the full Vermont moon.
"It's time to fly BettyJo.... Musn't keep your guests waiting...."
"Time to fly..." she said.
"Mr. Bubble wants you to be free BettyJo..."
"Free...," she muttered getting out on the ledge.
"Free as a bird, BettyJo. Fly away little birdie, your guests are waiting.... Fly away little birdie... we musn't keep your guests waiting... you had best prepare the guest room...."
Vengeance belongs to Me; I will repay. In time their foot will slip, for their day of disaster is near, and their doom is coming quickly.
A gust of chilly Vermont air blasted back my hair. My eyes locked with Mr. Bubble's. He smiled at me like a favorite son.
Rosemary said, "Witches! You're all witches!"
BettyJo teetered out on the ledge, her left tit hanging out of her tube top, nipple hard, flopping in the chilly wind; a faint bruise visible in the moonlight from where I punched her.
"Wait for it Mr. Bubble..."
"Fly free to the guesssstroom....," BettyJo mumbled to nobody in particular. "The guests are waiting... must prepare their room... we musn't keep the guests waiting...., that would be D-U-M. Must fly free... Mussssst fly........".
"Wait for it, Mr. Bubble...."
FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
BettyJo landed with a dull thud on the pavement, four floors below.
I filled my lungs with icy fresh mountain air, the full moon illuminating vistas heretofore unseen.
Below, I could hear a couple of women screaming hysterically.
I smiled at Mr. Bubble.
"Good job, Mr. Bubble." Mr. Bubble did not disagree but instead replied, "I did it all for you Damien. All for you..."
And that was the last I ever heard about my room being the guest room.
Don't fuck with Mr. Bubble.
Originally posted on r/nosleep under the pen name mypumassmellfunky.
