Damien is a Beauty, Alright

Rule Number One: I’m Alwahz Right, says Damien Hurlbutt

“Oh boy. Ooh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I am going to win this contest!” Bourbonnais cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narcissist Damien Hurlbutt thinks out loud as he shakes off his just-washed hands on the men’s room floor. “Who are you talking to?” a theater customer asks? “Oh nothing, nothing.” Damien insists and walks back to the ticket counter and reads his Fakebook wall.

“Kankakee County Surprise Beauty Contest — For Men and Women — A secret panel will judge a body part of all who participate! Find out just what at the end! Enter now to support the Kankakee County Crotch Rocketeers and Imbecile Machinists Motor Club.”

“I alwahz wanted to win a beauty test. My orange neckbeard and black fedora is sure to impress M’ladies!”

“Damien! Those popcorn sacks are not filled high enough. Do you know what a popcorn sack looks like? How long have you worked here?” Kankakee Cinema-13 owner Konrad Teirant demands.

“I know, I know,” Damien grumbles as he heads back to doing something productive.

Damien ends his shift and heads over to the County Fairgrounds to enter the beauty contest. One other contestant meets him there, a 50-something, slim, plain looking, mustachioed man by the name of Dale Davis.

Damien and Dale fill out the necessary paperwork. Of course, Damien skips ahead and enters the line to complete his paperwork to ensure he goes first. After he wraps up, Damien eavesdrops on Dale:

“Dale Francis Davis. Yup. Five foot eleven. One hundred and seventy pounds. I am 54 years young. Shoe size? Ummm…nine I guess.” Dale signs his name and heads toward his pickup truck.

Damien drives home to plot his winning scheme. Damien is a real winner.

After Damien gets home to his one-bedroom Bourbonnais apartment, he walks through his massive hoard contained mostly in towering, toppling boxes and sits down in his folding chair at the TV tray holding his desktop computer.

Damien logs onto Fakebook, after having cleared his history every time he uses his machine even though nobody else lives in his neckbeard nest.

Damien logs onto the Kankakee County People and Opinions Fakebook group using his newly stolen identity, “Sarah Turppa”, thanks to his brother Robbie and his new side venture.

As “Sarah”, Damien posts:

What a disgusting little turd, that Dale Davis, ripping people off judges with his crappy body. He is related the the committee! He needs to be disqualified!” Damien tags the wrongfully accused Dale in his smear campaign, hoping to triangulate other citizens against him.

Poor Dale Davis. Damien and Robbie tag team posting on a bunch of local Fakebook and Instaphoto groups under various stolen and made up accounts accusing Dale, the only other contestant competing against Damien in the Kankakee County Surprise Beauty Contest, of fraudulent entry.

Dale Davis logs on and is feeling overwhelmed with the sheer volume of posts.

“Is this is the same person writing over and over? Your posts all sound alike.” Dale replies to one of the harassing messages.

“No, Dale. It is called having friends, which we see you don’t” Damien comments as “Clio Bersola”, another stolen account.

Dale decides he has had enough and leaves the toxic group.

Damien takes a two hour shower to prepare for the beauty contest. After running across the washroom floor, out the door to grab his towel in the bedroom, Damien shakes off like a dog. Before walking around looking like Homer Simpson in his tighty-whities, Damien aims his blowdrier at his manhood just like he does his orange neckbeard.

Damien lifts his leg. “Oh” says Damien’s rear end. “Pardon me. Pheeeeew!”

“Putt.” Damien ripped another one. “Pardon me. Pheeeeew!”

“Pppphhht!” Damien keeps on lifting his leg and letting them rip.

Damien is proud of his flatluent prowess.

“Pardon me, pheeeew!” Damien exclaims with great pride.

Damien dons his “Rule #1: I Am Alwahz Right” tee he designed himself, and walks out the door leaving the bathroom light and fan running because he does not care.

The one cop that travels up and down the main drag in Bourbonnais and Bradley did not bat an eye when Damien forgot to signal. He also did not notice that Damien forgot to put on his lights on this evening. “I have a quarter tank. The yellow light is not on yet, no need to stop for gas. I will zogg on over to Kankakee,” Damien thinks to himself after passing several filling stations. “Ahhh, I am here.” Damien strokes his neckbeard.”

Damien greets the judges in front of the rather large crowd at the fairgrounds gathered for the beauty contest and shakes their hands, a crap-eating grin fills the face of Damien, who thinks he is dressed to impress.

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Kankakee Crotch Rocketeers and Imbecile Machinists Motor Club president, Brandon Dixon, stands behind the podium ready to speak:

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. My name is Brandon Dixon and I am president of the Kankakee Crotch Rocketeers and Imbecile Machinists Motor Club. I am proud owner of Brandon’s Imbecile Machines right here in Kankakee where all ladies receive a free rose. Come on down and I will make you a deal. We have word that our other contestant, Dale Davis dropped out. Without further ado, let us award the remaining contestant — Mr. Damien Hurlbutt — Kankakee County’s Stinkiest Feet Award! Man I can smell them from over here too!”

Brandon hands Damien his award.

“Doesn’t it feel good to win, Damien? Look at all those people out there, Damien.” Brandon says into the microphone.

“Come now…” Damien says.

“Go now, your feet stink!” Brandon says and the crowd roars with laughter. It is going to be a fun night at the fair. Damien heads out to his car, wanting to leave, only he cannot escape getting roasted after all. He is completely out of gas.

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.

Damien’s Dating Dilemma

Bourbonnais cinema clerk, love-fraudster and communal narcissist Damien Hurlbutt prints up a bunch of business cards and leaves them around Kankakee County businesses, hoping to spring a date. He is hoping to meet a new lady since his ex – whom he calls “Grimace” – had divorced him to escape his idealize, devalue and discard campaign.

DAMIEN ULYSSES HURLBUTT

SINGLE NICE GUY

SEEKS M’LADY FOR

FREE MOVIE TICKETS

815-555-FART

Scammers call. Damien answers with great expectations, thinking they are interested in this self-proclaimed “nice guy.”

“Hi M’Lady M’dame” Damien answers.

“Is this Damien….Ummm….Hurlbutt?”

“You got ‘em.”

“Hi. I am calling to report your Social Security card has been disabled.”

“Oh hi puddin’. I see you got my card. I think you are really pretty. Can I see your feet?”

“There is a warrant under your name. We are going to send the cops…”

“Nice guys like me finish last. I almost closed my heart off forever until I met you.”

“Please send me $500 on a Wally Green’s gift card or you will be arrested.”

“You know what? I can will myself out of heart attacks. You ladies are so rude!”

A click and a dial tone are heard.

Prankers call:

“Hello. Is this Damien?”

“Speaking.”

“You just won a lifetime subsciption to Feetsniffers’ Monthly!”

“I did! Oh, wow! Oh boy, oh boy, oh–”

“You moron, it’s a prank…”

The caller hangs up and a disappointed Damien’s smile turns upside down.

Pyramid scheme peddlers call.

“Hey, Babe.”

“Oh heyyyy honey puddin’” Damien replies to the lady caller.

“Umm, hi.”

“Heyyyy. What is a little and dainty lady want with an oaf like me?” Damien drools all over his flip phone.

“I have a great weight loss product that can take you from chump to champ in no time.”

“Come now!”

“Go now!” The lady hangs up on Damien.

Then Doris Krabalsky, the notorious street pyramid schemer calls. Damien hangs up. Doris calls again but Damien blocks her call because he does not want anything she might be selling.

Doris hides her number from caller ID and tries to call Mr. Hurlbutt again.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Damien?”

“Who is this?” Damien asks.

“I really think you are cute. Let’s go out sometime.”

“Wait, who is this?” a nervous Damien queries.

“Doris Krabalsky. My sister Leona called you about the weight loss pills. These babies will change your life, hun! I can meet you under the I-57 interchange at Midnight.”

“That flipping phone!” Damien screams as he slams his phone down, and flips the world the bird.

Wally Green’s Rejected Patents

Wally Green has been notorious for his wacky inventions for quite some time. Some of his ideas have made it into his drug stores. Others failed to pass patent approval and almost landed him in prison.

Finger Ale

Made from real fingers, this new organic health drink was set to be the new health craze, only it failed FDA requirements, and put Wally on several law enforcement watch lists.

Toiliot

This production-oriented, automated toilet would flush well ahead of schedule and make sure to splash its user, doubling as a bedde. As an added bonus, Toiliot would entertain people by making fart noises after flushing, much like Wally would when he blew his nose.

Passhole

This computer program would require its user to type in their password correct the first time. Any error would result in electric shock and their account locking up immediately.

Do not look for these products at a Wally Green’s near you.

Sybil Auctions Herself Off

“La di da di daaaaa…” Sybil sings poorly as she logs off the autodialer. She has racked up yet another commission and is in a great mood. “Are you going to help out in the Guys N Gals auction, Sybil?” Clio asks as she hands Ms. Kibble a flyer.

“What’s that about, Clio?” Sybil asks.

“Oh, our Glee Committee came up with it to benefit the Kankakee School District Square Dancing Club. We auction off some of our employees to each other. It is for a great cause. Read the flyer.”

“Hot dog! I’ll be there! Sign me up! Can I go first?” Sybil squeaks.

“We will see. It starts today at 3:30. Employees who volunteer get an hour off,” Clio tells Sybil.

Sybil tosses aside the flyer and pours herself a bowl of dog food for lunch.

A little before 3:30 PM, the CRASS conference room begins to fill. CRASS CEO Mack E. Avelli walks over to the podium and adjusts the microphone.

“Today marks the first annual Guys N Gals auction here at CRASS. Each one of you has an 8.5 by 11 inch piece of card stock with a number printed on one side. When our Accounting Manager, Konrad Teirant calls out a bid, you interested bidders hold up your card. Our first person up for bid is the ever enthusiastic Ms. Sybil Kibble!”

Sybil silently hopes to herself that the ever so suave Dorian wins her.

“Who would like to bid first? Can I get $25?”

The ever so slovenly Dale Davis holds up his card.

Sybil dies a bit inside.

“Can we get $50?”

Mikey Philips from Maintenance holds up his card.

Sybil frowns a bit more.

“Good, we have a couple bids. Let’s get a bidding war going. This is for a great cause. Kankakee Schools, guys. Let’s get $100.00.”

Dale holds up his bid card.

“Great. Can we get “$200?”

Mikey holds up his number.

“How about $400?”

Awkward silence passes for a few seconds.

“$400 going once.”

Sybil gets really nervous, thinking she will have to go home with Mikey. Sybil bites her nails.

“$400 going twice.”

Sybil’s anxiety turns to anger. This totally did not turn out the way she expected. Sybil starts visibly shaking.

“Aaaaand—“

Dorian’s card goes up.

“Great! We have $800.00 now.”

Sybil’s heart beats with excitement. Maybe she will get her date with Dorian at last! Now he has to keep the highest bid!

“$800 going once.”

A smirk begins to form across Dorian’s face.

“$800 going twice.”

Dorian’s smirk widens.

“SOLD!”

“One service worker won by Dorian James! Now Sybil, I am certain you will enjoy doing everything Dorian tells you. Have fun!”

“What? SER-vice? I thought this was a date auction!” Sybil screams.

“This is a service auction, and it is for a great cause, run by the Guys N Gals Glee Club. Now you guys go have fun!” Mr. Avelli tells Sybil.

“I need you to clean my monitor, rearrange my filing system and scrub my fish tank. I am going to keep you busy!” Dorian tells a disappointed Sybil as the two work their way out the door.