Revenge: A Dish Best Served Wet

Has there ever been a story that you’ve told everyone you meet because it’s guaranteed to get a laugh?

In this particular case, my “go-to” story is something that I have not shared with a lot of people. However, my close friends and I agree that it is the stuff of legend.

When I fathomed writing this, I couldn’t just use my perspective because there were multiple views of the event that contribute to the story as a whole. So I collaborated with 2 other witnesses to develop somewhat of an “Oral History” or “Dramatic Retelling” of this event. The characters are as follows (Names have been changed to protect identities):

Chris: That guy. The “man” that caused so much angst among the other characters. Has girly interests and an obsession with mumbling stupid/awkward things. Nicknamed “The Choad”.

Gerard: The victim of most of the verbal abuse and harassment from Chris despite the fact that he could indeed kill Chris with his bare hands.

Terry (me): Typically had venting sessions with Gerard regarding the actions of Chris and how it angered him. More often than not, avoided talking to or looking in the direction of Chris.

Portland: Cool as a cucumber during most of this event due to not witnessing it first hand. Tried on multiple occasions to help Chris become a more productive and responsible part of society. Due to no fault of his own, it was an abysmal failure.

Now that the stage has been set, gather around the campfire and get ready for a story fueled by justifiable anger and retribution.

I give you “Revenge: A Dish Best Served Wet”

Gerard: ‘Twas a dark and stormy night (not really, but it’s how these things usually start, right? Right?) 

On this evening, Terry and I were chilling in the apartment, trying to think of ways to escape the horrible smelling, horrible looking, horrible sounding, orange Choad (our roommate, Chris) residing in the living room, more specifically, on the futon. So this appeared to be like every other night in our household. If only we knew then how the night’s events would unfold.

 The third member of our band, Portland, was away playing Call of Duty at a friend’s place, and wasn’t there to first-hand witness the jokerdom that was soon to become the stuff of legend.

Terry: It was a Saturday night in April. All the bars closed at 12 on Saturdays, so typically the downtown areas weren’t as populated. Portland, Gerard, and I had went downtown the night before while our other roommate Chris (whom we dubbed “The Choad) resided on his futon, a typical resting place for the dagger fingered beast. On this night, Portland was at a friend’s house while Gerard and I decided to get some groceries at Walmart.

Portland: Yeah, I mean this was a usual thing. Every so often, I’d mosey on down to our friend Santo’s place for a couple beers and to play Xbox. He had a weird roommate as well, but nothing close to the soul-crushing powers of ours. His roommate was tolerable. Santo and I always had a good time, but I always felt bad for leaving Gerard and Terry with Chris. However, it was easier for them to come up with escape ideas since they weren’t as close to the Choad as I was. It was like a “United we fall, but divided we stand,” kinda thing.

Besides, they’re big boys at this point, right?  Gerard and Terry I mean…

Gerard: Amidst the usual storm of homework, Facebook, StumbleUpon and the like, Terry and I decided to go to Wal-Mart, for one, to get groceries, and two, to get away from the stream of stupid, dumb, moronic interruptions, shouts, etc…that continuously migrated to the office from the living room.

We spent the usual therapeutic hour-plus in Wal-Mart and on our way back, we decided to pick up a pizza from Little Caesar’s.

Terry: I remember Gerard and I spent over an hour in Walmart because we didn’t want to go home and be bothered by Chris and his seemingly endless array of asinine questions. After awhile, Gerard and I started driving home. I was kinda hungry, so I asked if Gerard would mind stopping to get a pizza from Little Caesars on the way home. I told him he could have some as well. Gerard acknowledged that he indeed was hungry too so we stopped and picked up one of those 5 dollar pizzas before going home to our apartment.

Gerard: We returned to the usual sight of the Choad wallowing on the futon in his stinky cesspool of jokerdom and orange, watching some endless season of one his terrible TV show fetishes (Gossip Girl at the time). Terry was divvying up the pizza, while I was putting the groceries away; what appeared to be two seemingly innocent tasks. The Choad spotted these activities and began hovering in the kitchen above us like a cloud looms in the sky after the detonation of a nuclear warhead. During the usual asinine comments about the quantity and quality of the food and items we purchased, I noticed his dagger-fingers fingering my Blender ball (a Blender ball is the ball made of metal wiring used to help thoroughly mix protein powder in milk or water in the Blender Bottle).

Terry: So we walked in and Chris was right where we left him. Lying in a pool of his own filth. I remember smelling the aroma of Parmesan cheese emanating from the futon from an earlier prank of ours. We had a very small kitchen, so I put my groceries away first, and then moved out so that Gerard could put his away. Since you couldn’t do anything in the apartment without Chris hovering overhead, we began to get peppered with questions regarding our food purchases.

Gerard: I said to him, “Chris, can you please not touch my Blender ball? That thing goes in my drinks, and I know you probably haven’t washed your hands (for I have seen him not wash his hands after taking dumps too many times; disgusting), so I’d rather you not touch it.”

Chris with all his intelligence replied, “Well… I, I washed it… So I, I can touch it however I want to… Bitch… BITCH.” The last word uttered whilst walking his orange-clad ass to the bedroom, away from the kitchen.

Terry:  I had begun to split up the pizza that we had bought when I heard, “Chris, can you please not touch my Blender ball? That thing goes in my drinks, and I know you probably haven’t washed your hands, so I’d rather you not touch it.” Chris would take Olympic record speed dumps and I would never hear the sink afterward, so I could vouch that Gerard’s assertion was indeed factual.

Then I heard the reply of the guy with two Taylor Swift posters on his wall. “Well… I, I washed it… So I, I can touch it however I want to… Bitch… BITCH.” The last “Bitch” came as he was retreating down the hall.

Gerard: I was so taken aback by the sheer jokerdom that had just taken place, I couldn’t even respond. Usually, I would’ve provoked this response from the Choad, but this came out of the blue. I looked at Terry and he had the look of having just watched that “terrible car crash you can’t look away from.”

Terry: I stood there, mouth agape, at the events that had transpired. Then my focus turned to Gerard. I saw murder in his eyes. You know the phrase, “The best things in life are the unexpected ones”? Well, that’s false. I had been anticipating the day in which Gerard would finally beat the shit out of Chris, and the day had come. Unfortunately, Chris got in the shower and went to bed because he told us “Something’s dragging here and I think it’s my ass!”

Gerard: Several hours later, after the Choad had gone to bed and Portland had returned home, we sat in the living room rehashing the night’s event to each other. After having time to think about how it had gone down, I was furious; one, for it happening in the first place, and two, for having no response to the blatant jokerdom. I would respond in due time.

Portland: When I got back from Santo’s place, Gerard and Terry filled me in. I can’t say I was too surprised. I thanked Gerard many times for not killing Chris (at least while I was away, because what a freaking sight that would be!). The funny thing is, back in the day Santo used to give Gerard hell, and Gerard would take Santo down in a heartbeat. Hell, Gerard and I even had a few tussles here and there!  But I knew this was different. This was serious.

Terry: Portland had arrived back from an evening away, and we quickly filled him in on the night’s events. But, since we had already filled his futon cover with Parmesan cheese on an earlier occasion, we were just going to ignore it. Portland and I decided to play some videogames and Gerard went to get a snack. All of a sudden I heard Gerard exclaim, “Guys, I’m totally about to piss on his taquitos!”

Gerard: Terry and Portland were playing Xbox (Terry’s Xbox and Portland’s TV. Chris’s constant monopoly on both are another saga of their own) while we were conversing. I went to the kitchen to get a snack, and while we were talking of another source of irritation (there are countless instances) of the freezer being ¾ full of Chris’s stuff and the rest of the space belonging to the three of us, I pointed out the bag of taquitos sitting wide open in the middle of the freezer. While the Gears of War battles were raging on the TV, a battle was raging in my mind. “What could I do to this bag of taquitos?” I thought to myself.

“Guys, I’m totally about to piss on his taquitos!”

Portland: Later on me and Terry were playing Xbox, and Gerard was messing around in the kitchen.Together, we were venting since Chris was asleep. When we were on the subject of the freezer, Gerard decides to urinate into Chris’s food.  Who could blame him? I probably would have done worse. We were all cracking up as Gerard sounded like a double-cunted cow pissing on a flat rock. He was gonna leave the bag slam-full of gold, but we advised him otherwise.

Terry: It definitely got a laugh out of me, but mainly because I thought he was joking. Oh how wrong I was. I began to hear the sound of liquid being poured and I turned around and saw that Gerard had dropped trou and was relieving himself into Chris’s taquito bag. I literally could not stop laughing at the spiteful (albeit hilarious and necessary) actions of the man who had one time ran drunken laps around our apartment complex at 2 AM. Gerard gleefully held the bag up and let his liquid gold coarse its way through the inner crevices of the taquitos. After a few minutes, he drained the bag to add the inconspicuous element this prank sorely needed.

Gerard: Immediately, the sound of urine cascading onto the tops of the taquitos was audible and we burst into laughter. I held the bag up into the light, where we could see the pool of urine swashing back and forth in the bag and let the taquitos marinate in the yellow juice for a few minutes before pouring the bulk of the urine out of the bag. I then put the bag back in the freezer, expecting nothing, since the bag had been in the freezer for months now.

A few days later, I walked in from class, and immediately notice a certain familiar smell in the air coming from the kitchen. The Choad began walking toward the futon with a plate of taquitos covered in salsa. “Gerry rig (his horrible nickname for me), I just love good food!”

Terry: I got home one day, and Gerard immediately follows me into the bedroom and closes the door. I could tell he had something hilarious to say. Then he just blurted out, “Chris ate the taquitos!” After we shared a laugh for a few minutes, Chris burst in. We feared he had heard us, but he simply lamented, “You guys are laughing awful loud in here and I can’t hear Gossip Girl!”

Portland: About a week later, ole Chris chowed down on his special treats.  He never had a damn clue.

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