Me: Goth College student Shit Lady
Corporal Fierce: Former Marine roommate. Tall, fit, ripped, and takes no shit.
Hamburglar: Your FPS subject.
Siouxsie Sioux: His goth little sister
Fit Mom & Fit Dad: Parents of HB and SS. Happier than Chris Traeger on nitrous
I’ll still thrown off by the ominous text message, but it has been a relatively fun night. However, Hamburglar’s antics aren’t finished. Yes, this is part three, and yes, this is still literally my first day in his presence. Things are winding down. Siouxsie Sioux wants me to show her some record and vintage clothing stores in the next day or two. Fit Mom says we should have lunch, at some healthy, exotic café that Hamburglar wouldn’t dare eat at. I find out that the Fit Family is staying the entire week, because they've never seen American College Town before, and they’re just feeling so gosh-darned touristy. We all know that this is a lie.
Fit Dad asks if Corporal Fierce would mind driving Hamburglar back to our house, since it isn’t on their way back to their hotel, one of the most expensive in town. Hamburglar was apparently not told he’d have to, you know, live in his own fucking house now. But with no room service, hot tub, or Pay-Per-View Porn? WE HAVE CLASS IV TANTRUM INBOUND. Fit Dad’s testicles connect with the pitcher of beer he had by himself, and he quietly cuts him off during the countdown stage, and I hear something like, “You’re twenty fucking years old. Those two girls were in Iraq and Afghanistan when they were your age. Act like a man, Hamburglar Q. Fitfamily. Remember our deal.”
Even SS and FM seem taken back by Fit Dad going all Silverback on his ass. HB finally negotiates going back to the hotel to make sure he didn't forget anything, which to be fair, isn’t completely unreasonable. Until SS mutters, “he never set foot in the hotel.”
We pile into CFs car, when Dutch asks out loud, “I thought Americans graduated high school at 17 or 18.” We do. We were so caught-off-guard by Alpha Male Dad that that detail slipped passed us. They said he graduated high school this spring, and our college isn't some jock factory for morons who got held back a year or two. We speculated what the mysterious “deal” was. Dutch suggests, “a Real Doll modeled after Countess von Shit Lady.” None of us laugh. Corporal Fierce gives him a pissed-off Jarhead look that seems to phase even Dutch.
We head back to the house. It was originally a two-story, 2.5 bath, three bedroom. The landlord furnished the basement into a space that could be its own apartment, with a kitchenette, separate entrance, and its own bathroom. This is where Dutch lives. The bedrooms are all upstairs. I have the master bedroom with a private bathroom, and CF and HB are down the hall. I decide to play some video games until I hear HB show up, hours later. That was some hell of a hotel room sweep. I hear the kitchen being ransacked after a salad, a “salad,” garlic bread, a pizza and a half, and a dessert cannoli the size of Rasputin’s dick. I’m still sort of amazed we were able to get all of his beetus put away, even between 2.5 refrigerators (Dutch was not happy about being asked to provide a 1.0) and a freezer in the garage.
HB makes his way upstairs. I dread the sound of heavy breathing outside my door, but fortunately it never comes. He plays his TV a bit too loud, but not crazy loud, and I’m 99% sure it’s porn. Hamburglar stroking his cannoli? Brain goes into full defensive mode to shut down all mental images. My Brain When. HB is gone with Fit Family all the next day, buying books and whatnot. Fit Mom invites CF and I to lunch the day after, making it sound as girly wine-y and gossipy as possible. Hamburglar makes a face.
It’s an expensive place, and we’re surprised to see Fit Dad and no Goth Daughter at our Girls’ Day Out. He’s wearing the cheesiest PROUD UNIVERSITY OF ANONYMOUS DAD sweatshirt, which is incongruous with his stone face. The Paul Bernando and Karla Homolka smiles are gone. We are no longer dealing with the life-like masks of two hosts of a late-night infomercial enthusiastically shilling for a sketchy beauty product. These are real people. Survivors.
“I’m sure you've noticed that Hamburglar is…different.” Mrs. Cartman is past long gone and is dead and buried. Their drinks arrive. She’s no suburban Chardonnay mom. She’s drinking Scotch, neat. CF restrains herself from laughing. Thank you, Captain Obvious. I try to be polite. “I’m sure he’s just adjusting…”
“He killed Siouxsie Sioux’s guinea pig at her twelfth birthday party and gave it to her as a present. He was sixteen? Seventeen?” She said calmly, and took a belt of Scotch. Fuck you, Countess von Shit Lady for trying to tell me about my son. “Sixteen and a half.” Fit Dad confirms, with the nonchalant tone of a man helping his wife remember the name of the movie they saw last week. She goes all in, putting her cards on the table, and expects me not to fold. I meet her gaze, and nod. "He was such a sweet little boy until she came along. But he hates her. He hates her more than I can comprehend, and for no reason. We've taken him to psychiatrists, therapists...nothing works. He's ruined or destroyed anything she liked or loved. He stole all of her food growing up, eating it until he was sick, just so she couldn't have any. If it was something he didn't like to eat he'd then just ruin it. He's hated her since the day she existed. It's not just sibling rivalry he never grew out of. He hates her more than anything else on Earth. We had to promise to buy him a car if he was civil to her up to the day we left." Ah, the deal.
She finishes her Scotch, and looks me right in the eye.
"When he was fifteen years old, I found a detailed plan in his notebook on how he planned to kill Siouxsie and hide the body."
I picture Siouxsie Sioux in my head. Tall, pale, thin, rough Bettie Page / Louise Brooks haircut, standard-issue goth band t-shirts, black pants and boots.
I then realize I look exactly like her, except a few years older.
Submitted December 28, 2014 at 12:36AM by Countess_vonShitLady http://www.reddit.com/r/fatpeoplestories/comments/2qjulr/roommates_with_the_hamburglar_iii_prequels_always/ fatpeoplestories
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