Revenge is Served

Clio Bersola spots the temper-tantrums of Bourbonnais cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narc-a-doodle Damien Hurlbutt in the “Nice Guys Looking For The Finish Line” Men’s Rights Activist (MRA) themed group on Fakebook, under her alias JG Wayne.

Best friend of Damien’s verbally abused and rightfully estranged ex-wife Lori, Clio messages him and fake-agrees with him over IM on so many points, stringing him along. They become instant friends, soulmates, solely in Damien’s “old-soul” nitwit brain.

Damien swiftly asks Clio out on a date because he is so impressed. Wow, someone like him, the last of his species! Umm…yeah.

They agree to meet up at Ma Barker’s restaurant in Chicago. Little does Damien know what is in store for him.

Damien complains about the entire drive up Route 57, and nearly gets rear-ended getting off 90/94. Clio parks at a friend’s house and takes the train.

The two meet up at Ma Barker’s. Damien is wearing a red feather in the brim of his brand new, black fedora as Clio had instructed.

The place is rather large, decked out in gangster memorabilia, reproduction crime scene evidence, Ma Barker photos and those of her famous outlaw sons.

Clio instantly recognizes Damien — a spitting-image of Squirrely Dan minus the ball-cap — whistling loudly to himself, orange neckbeard aglow.

“There’s my lovely Men’s Rights Activist!”

“M’lady, m’dame!” Damien says to Clio as the two embrace, Damien hugging more tightly than Clio.

The two sit down and chat. Conversations flow rather quickly and Damien rambles on about how he was about to give up on love in a month or two had he not met Clio.

“I was about to tuck my heart away forever, had I not met you. So many women treated me badly, especially my ex-wife Grimace. She is so fat and ugly, eeew. She ate so much fast food and begged me for $50 a day. Fifty dollars! My life is complete now I met you!” Damien gushes to Clio, not even respectful enough to call his former bride by her name.

Clio shudders a bit inside and then gets excited. “The Time is Now” by Moloko plays over the restaurant loudspeakers.

“I have something I would like to ask you, Damien.”

Clio takes Damien’s hand. It is the first time he has been touched since he and his wife divorced. Damien’s grin widens.

“What is it with you so-called ‘Men’s Rights Activists anyway? Don’t you have anything better to do than complain about your privileges?’”

Damien snaps his hand away from Clio.

“Huh-whom-who-why-hwat?” Damien snips, pauses, adds extra “whoooos” and “huhhhs” for melodrama.

An awkward silence passes by as Damien coldly glares into Clio’s eyes. Meanwhile, Clio fills with anticipation, and smiles inside.

“You women are awful. Misandry is the real problem, WOMAN. Men get kicked in the nuts on TV. You people give us a hard time for this fake thing called mansplaining. Men are always the butt of women’s jokes. We are oppressed all the time and your feminism is the cause! You women are horrible! You are a horrible person who will be alone forever! You’re psycho!”

Damien gets up from his seat and goes to the couple next to him.

“See this woman next to me? She is psycho. Stay away from her,” Damien gaslights.

The couple roll their collective eyes and go back to eating.

Damien stomps over to a family across the room.

“See that skinny woman sitting by herself at that table? With the dark brown hair? She is crazy. Stay away from her. I am trying to help and she won’t listen.”

The mother gives Damien the stinkeye and motions to protect her kids should Damien harass them again.

Mr. Hurlbutt huffs, puffs, and sits down by himself with his head planted squarely on the table, hand stroking his neon orange neckbeard. He adjusts his fedora, and tries to slam the red feather down, only for it to fly away.

Clio heads for the kitchen, to speak with her former coworkers.

“I am getting harassed. Can you please call the police?”

“That neckbeard dude throwin’ a fit? We already had some complaints. Hang tight. I got ya back.”

Damien storms toward the kitchen.

“Pardon me, sorry to interrupt your important work. See that woman there? She–”

“Find your own way home, Damien,” the server commands.

Damien refuses to leave and sits in the men’s washroom farting away, wishing he could brag about his poop size to an unsuspecting young lady.

The Chicago Police Department hauls away the unwanted person, Mr. Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt and puts him in the holding tank with a bunch of other smelly, sweaty men.

Clio meets up with her buddy — the former Mrs. Hurlbutt — and they have dinner together, laughing and giggling all night long.

Damien taps away at the cold cell floor, much to the annoyance of his cellmates.

“Socks with sandals?” a fellow inmate complains as he stares at Damien’s feet. “Grrrrr.”

Revenge really is a dish best served cold.

Moron of the Week – Karaoke Creeper

It’s not that hard.

I make many things: drawings, stories, songs. The way to my heart is through a love of my talents. If you don’t like my stuff, cool. Move on and scroll past. I am too busy, you know, creating things.

Meet Robert Arwyn Jones, A/K/A “Jones” on Youtube. He started commenting on my music. I liked what I heard and commented back. A mutual exchange, right? No, not in his mind; he was thinking with his other head.

That moron mistook my kindness for lust when we took our conversation to email.

When I told him I bond with people who like me for my talents, the karaoke king took the low road by gaslighting.

But wait — there’s more! My lack of mutual lust had gotten this moron so butt-hurt, he made the choice to hurl insults. Ahhh, the average schoolyard bully.

What a prize! For pretending to care about me as a creator just to try and lure me into bed, I award Robert Arwyn Jones Moron of the Week. Enjoy your award Robert, you’re a real winner.

Moron of the Week – 7 March 21 – 13 March 21

I am so glad I brought back Moron of the Week. Every time I think I encountered the biggest idiot, they build a bigger idiot. Take this sad sack who works in education, I kid you not.

Oh, and this idiot mansplained while he was talking down to me. So not only is he a narcissist but a sexist, too.

This ableist fool thinks it is okay to beat kids, with a belt no doubt. Last I knew, it was illegal to hit adults, however this narcissistic moron thinks it is okay to hit little ones. He also thinks it is okay to force kids with food texture problems to eat food that makes them gag, or have them starve as an alternative. 

Of course, I called him on it. Like most narcissists and sociopaths, he took no responsibility for his actions and instead made the choice to gaslight. No, heavens forbid he apologizes and changes his ways. Like a typical imbecile, he asked me for an apology for, you know — my trying to teach him empathy. In other words, blame-shifting.

I really wish the military could order bunch of planes to drop narcissists like bombs into a volcano and vaporise them, so they cannot make more narcissists. I would be happy if they just left people alone. Maybe this guy can go start a narcissist colony on some deserted island in the middle of nowhere. 

Hopefully the narcissists won’t vote each other off the island.

For condoning violence against children, I award this fragile male the Moron of the Week Award. 

(Note: If you are a victim of domestic violence, there is hope. Call toll-free in the United States: 877-633-1112 or visit https://www.thehotline.org or call 911.)

Domestic violence hotline: 877-633-1112 - toll free