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“THUD!”

I heard a door slam and felt the window in my tiny motel room shake. I peeked out through an ancient pair of ripped curtains to see a man pacing around an old beat up SUV. Dangling between a pair of cracked lips was a lit cigarette. As he inhaled, the flame danced around his face revealing holes from a lifetime of picking. Ragged clothes covered a seemingly malnourished yet sturdy body. From a distance I could easily notice his eyes were bulging out like those of a car crash victim’s. He looked oddly familiar and it suddenly occurred to me, he was the spitting image of my ex boyfriend Pepe.

“RAWRRRRRRRR!!!” he screeched out of frustration.

I watched as he picked up a large piece of broken concrete. Holding it between his hands he swung back and forth rocking his entire body with it. Then with the might of Kenny Powers he pitched the slab into the windshield of the SUV.

It sounded like an airplane crashing through the Crystal Cathedral!

I watched the derelict turn in my direction and for a split second I swear we made eye contact. A cold shiver shot up my spine.

“What did you do? You Asshole! What did you do to my car?” a woman’s voice rang out. I watched as a dark shadow emerged from the room next door.

“Where is my dope bitch? You did all my shit!” the man insinuated.

“Ronnie! YOU DID ALL YOUR SHIT! You did it all! I told you we needed to score days ago! How fucked up are you man?”

Ronnie began violently kicking the side of the SUV. I guessed the windshield hadn’t been revenge enough.

“Stop it!” the woman pleaded.

Ronnie didn’t seem like he had plans to calm his shit any time soon and continued to mercilessly beat on the poor beater.

“Ronnie, stop!” the woman tried again.

It was all too much for such an early morning and I decided couldn’t watch anymore of this Jerry Springer shit. Then just as I was pulling away from the curtain I saw it.

On the sidewalk was a small boy about the same age as my own son. He had his legs pulled up to his chest and he was hugging a filthy teddy bear.

I needed to get the hell out of this place. I needed a plan.

I had been hotel hopping for about 3 weeks and it was already starting to weigh on me. My first book had just been published in print and it came back with a slew of editing mistakes. I was in between jobs, short on cash, and desperate to find an apartment.

So I did what any deranged and desperate dick head would do in a situation like this, that’s right! I called up one of the random unattractive men who had been cyber stalking me on the internet that month and told him it was his lucky night.

No assholes! I didn’t call him up to bang him, I’m not that easy! Pffft!

There was no way that primate was getting into my girl-rilla. I just needed a night out and someone else to pay for it.

And maybe a little side dish of revenge…

Goliath wasn’t chosen entirely at random. I’ll admit it might have been just a little premeditated. You see Goliath worked as a bouncer in Hollywood and this month he happened to be working for one of Donut’s favorite bands, The Danglers.

Goliath said he was a native american but I’m pretty sure he was Mexican. He had greasy hair that hung down to the bottom of his flat obese ass. I want you to know that I use “flat” as an understatement. Go ahead, picture a 9000 inch flat screen TV with two baseball bats attached to either side. He was shaped kinda like that, only with a sweaty plumbers crack hanging out the middle.

It looked like he had swallowed his tepee.

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Or maybe he looked more like this chicken.

Whatever.

Goliath arrived that night in what I can only describe as a refurbished farm vehicle. Maybe “refurbished” is to kind of a word. The frame was rusted blue, the bed some kind of termite infested wood, and I swear to God, there was blood and bird feathers attached to it.

But I’m not one to judge.

His ass took up most of the bench seat. Lucky for me I was still a size 2. Otherwise there was no way I would have fit in there next to him. I was scared to get too close and my body pretty much hugged the door.

Hey man, I have heard those stories about fat people losing their small pets only to find them months later, half decomposed in one of their rolls!

The filling of an Oreo skin sandwich was not going to be my fate!

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As he drove, Goliath started talking about himself and he didn’t stop to take a breath the entire trip. He told me about how wonderful he was and how “famous people” thought he was cool. He boasted that he was as strong as three men and could tip a car with his bare hands. Already that week he had beaten up “2 drunk dudes.”

I didn’t really care. I was loaded down with “It’s not my fault” paraphernalia and ready to shamelessly self promote the streets of Los Angeles!

Once to the venue, Goliath oozed himself out of his truck and gave the keys to a valet. The poor guy looked to me for an explanation as he unhinged my door. I just shrugged.

I followed my date inside. As he walked I could see his body rock side to side as he tried to balance on his little peg legs. His hair swayed back and forth occasionally getting stuck in the sweat of his ass crack.

Just then it hit me…

He reminded me of Tic Toc!

You know from that 80’s version of The Wizard of Oz, starring a child Fairuza Balk, before her big screen debut in The Craft? You DO know what I’m talking about right? If not get off my blog and go watch it now! It’s creepy as shit.

Anyway, quit getting me side tracked… back to my story.

“Can I get you a beer?” he asked.

“YES!”

That was the first thing Runs With Butter had said that interested me all night. I followed him into the band’s dressing room and to a full fridge of Corona Light, my favorite! I pounded that baby with more desperation than the last bitch Goliath banged.

“Hey, slow down,” he warned, we have a long night ahead of us. Pffft! That was only more reason for me to continue on.

Douche.

Other VIPs began trickling in a few at a time and Goliath introduced me to each of them. I guess they were part of The Danglers, whatever. I didn’t really care but pretended to act interested anyway. I hated Los Angeles and everything about it. I just needed a good place to stash my shit where it might have gotten some attention.

Plus maybe someone in the band would read my stories about Donut and laugh at him! I knew my books would probably just end up in the trash. But I didn’t care, I was on an important revenge mission.

“Wanna see the tour bus?” Goliath finally asked.

I nodded.

Once inside the monstrosity, I caught a glimpse of a cabinet that had a sticker of the bands famous skull logo on it. That was perfect! I decided it would be the first place I added one of my own stickers to. It wasn’t hard to sneak it on there. All I had to do was ask Goliath any question about himself and he would lean his head back, close his eyes and start chanting his bullshit. Why he looked like a mountain of mud having an orgasm. It didn’t take long until the bus was slyly filled with my slutty propaganda.

Goliath received a text message, ushered us off the bus and to the back stage of the venue. There he handed me a lit joint and pointed to a curtain in front of me.

“The lights will go off in a second, the curtain will open and you will be able to watch the show right here. I have to get down into the crowd to keep things from getting rough, will you be okay? I’ll be back at intermission to check on you.”

Well holy hibernating huevos! Maybe Goliath wasn’t so bad after all.

The lights went out and the band came on stage. I must admit it was pretty incredible. My teenage self was pinching her own arm. Why, it was even more exciting than that time I met Trent Reznor!

My mind wandered and I must admit to have had a few personal fleeting memories. They were of watching the same band in concert a few years prior but in the nose bleed seats, with Donut. He let me wear his skeleton gloves and then told the bartender I was a cheap slut. You at least remember that story, right?

Eh, fuck him.

I finished my joint while the band played and Goliath kept his word at intermission. When it was all over he took me out to cheap Mexican food. There’s nothing quite like watching a chile relleno roll around a four hundred pound man’s mouth as he continued to talk obsessively about himself. I’ll spare you the details just this once.

I didn’t talk to Goliath much after that, even though he messaged me on facebook a few times. “Hey, you want to go see a show? You are pretty cool when you aren’t doing that dumb book shit.”

When I ignored him, he posted some rant about me being a cunt on my friends wall. I didn’t even know they were friends! Imagine that. It’s now been like 6 years and he keeps trying.

Hey douche bag! A word of advice. If you like a girl, you really should at least feign a little interest in her passions. Too bad you won’t ever read this. Ha!

Loser.

QUICK! Go buy my books so you can tell everyone you knew about me before I became famous. *Don’t be a lying hipster.

3 thoughts on “Girl Rilla’s Revenge

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