The Running Man
So the night of baseball cap incident, with the splitting open of the face, and the fat lip, and the choking, The Fuck Stick dropped me at the house and went back out to “The Farm”, as I will call it. I am trying to protect all the innocent people in this, so am changing names, etc. The Fuck Stick never asked his friend if he could stay there, he just went back that night, and never left. The last three weeks he has been existing on his Speedy Cash money, trying to mete it out so he can support his beer and Skoal habit. Things were getting a bit desperate, as The Fuck Stick was draining his coffers, so he began stealing a few beers here, and a few beers there from his friends. I know all of this because one of my best friends, dates The Farm Guy. As a matter of fact, I introduced them about four months after I had been dating The Fuck Stick. Don’t worry, The Farm Guy is much nicer, and made it clear to The Fuck Stick that he doesn’t agree with ever putting hands on a woman, and he was none too happy with what The Fuck Stick had done to me.
Anyway, desperation is setting in. Depression has been around, but shit starts getting desperate for an alcoholic when they can’t fuel their addiction. The Farm Guy knows The Fuck Stick has been lying and stealing, and he can’t understand why he would do it. The Farm Guy is trying to be nice and help The Fuck Stick, but is also aware that he has to make sure his kids are digesting a lot of the crap which comes out of The Fuck Stick’s mouth. The Farm Guy also doesn’t understand why The Fuck Stick won’t help out around the farm, by mowing, etc., if he is letting him stay there for free. Welcome to my world! I wondered the same thing!
The Farm Guy knew that shortly he would have to tell The Fuck Stick to take a hike, because it had gotten to the point where he didn’t trust him not to take shit from his house and go and sell it to buy beer. I find out today from my friend, that The Farm Guy has received a text from The Fuck Stick telling him thanks (amazing he said that, because after all the shit I did for him, that word never escaped his lips), and he was going back down home. The Farm Guy didn’t have to say anything after all. Now The Farm guy doesn’t have to worry about any of his guns disappearing, or his beer, and doesn’t have to have The Fuck Stick sleeping on his couch anymore.
Hearing all of this was very strange for me. I think it is probably best for everyone involved that The Fuck Stick went back to where he came from. I can’t help but feeling like some of this was my fault. In reality I know it isn’t, but reality isn’t changing the way I feel. I met The Fuck Stick at the end of December. By the middle of April he had lost his job, and moved in with me by the end. By the end of May he had lost, or walked out on, two more jobs. By the end of June his shit was out of my house, and he was sleeping on The Farm Guy’s couch, and stealing beers out of his refrigerator because his title loan money was gone and had come due. It’s not my fault. My guess is this is his M.O. He has probably lived like this for years. He lives with a woman for awhile, they get sick of his shit and kick him out, and he go stays on a friend’s couch, until he can find some other stupid woman to take him in, and the cycle starts all over again.
All I have to say is this: You run motherfucker. You run far, and you run fast. But no matter how far, or how fast, eventually your shit is going to catch up with you. You should know from all those alcohol information classes that geographical change gets you nowhere. You can’t hide from alcoholism and the consequences of your beer-soaked actions.