Ben Franklin Had The Right of It
We had as a house guest a friend of over 25 years; ex-very successful lawyer who lost his license to practice after having used his client's judgment awards to finance his cocaine habit. He did his time in jail, became "right with God" while in jail, led a very pitiful existence, and had 9 days left before he was off parole. He had been here almost two months, drinking all evening to "alleviate the pain he felt for causing so many people so much heartbreak".
His political stance ran in the other direction from ours; which was okay, because we can't all agree on everything all the time, right?
In the time he was in my home, he dissected and analyzed every statement we made; because he was, after all a psychological counselor for a couple of years. I fed him well. Made sure his clothing was clean and pressed to perfection; as he had found employment at MacDonalds as a crew chief.
Then on his down time he nocturnally surfed and downloaded every questionable thing he could find.
He downloaded so many weird-ass things to my computers, and surfed for not just porn, but fugly saggy baggy hooters and asses belonging to women at least twenty five years his senior. I'm sure his dedication to the church made him feel that looking upon any nude woman under the age of 75 would get him a fast ticket to Hell.
We had a keylogger on each computer for a couple of weeks, just to track the places he'd been in order to clear out all the spyware he'd inadvertently downloaded.
One Sunday, we went out for a while and returned to find him with his bare feet propped up on the desk, using our telephone to call his mother in Philly. (Now we know why the phone bill was $50.00 more last month than usual.)
I thought Bildo was going to cut him a new asshole right then and there. It was then I invited him to get the hell out before I could do him bodily harm myself. He said he would be out by Wednesday (his payday), whether he had a place to go or not.
The next day, I see he has been conversing with a female friend in Atlanta, and to quote,
"It's 5 a.m. and I'm 'sneaking' a moment on the computer. If you can send an e-mail, please send it by Tuesday afternoon. I will be moving (somewhere or nowhere) Wednesday.
Things have reached a boiling point here, and it is time for me to leave. I'm going out today, Monday, to search for a room to rent. If no luck there's always the Rescue Mission.”
My friends state that I'm too difficult to live with and that I've changed. So last night, when we had a discussion, I told them that 'maybe' they're right. Maybe I've got a few quirks from being alone the last 7 years, but I'm at peace and don't do drugs. "Maybe if I smoked pot and went to cocaine parties every couple weeks like y'all, then our emotions would coincide. But for now, I never know what to expect when I get off work. "It's like living on eggshells" But, for now, y'all can't see the trees for the forest'".
Why, sure, we attended coke parties every couple of weeks, and oh gawd, we smoked pot 'til we couldn't stand up.
Lying son of a bitch. I'd see him in Hell.
I packed all his shit and tossed it on the street.
I learned a few years ago he overdosed and died. Was I filled with remorse? No. I wasn't.
Over the remaining years we have brought in “stray friends” with no where else to go; and every time we've been stolen from; and endured carry on bed bugs while we nourished them with food and love.
Ben Franklin had the right of it: