View from the Windmill
Love is a Four F---ing Letter Word – St. Valentine’s Day Massacre: Cupid Dies at The Weasel
By Piet van ZanderbergIt’s time for another column for the Weasel guys. I haven’t done one of these in a while because things went kind of haywire with my editors, W.M., and my old buddy, Bubba Snopes. First up, they owed me a couple of grand for the new office furniture I bought them, and they haven’t kicked in more than six dollars on the last dozen or so beer runs. Not to mention the whole Christmas party incident where W.M.’s dog got loose and lost part of his snout to a pack of angry neighborhood badgers that those guys had turned loose anyway (some stupid fur hat scheme that W.M. cooked up. Don’t ask.). Everybody blamed everybody else for all of our office problems, but it was really our love stuff leaking through. We decided to skip our Valentine’s Day issue and celebrate the day in typical American Weasel fashion.
We all got off work early to send cute little Valentine’s e-mails to the women in our lives while we discussed writing some new columns and deciding which one of their houses we would firebomb first. Snopes brought this stuff he calls ‘poteen’, some kind of Irish bootleg whiskey he gets off this bartender who’s here illegally. W.M. contributed his usual couple of really cheap twelve-packs of low-cal beer. He topped himself this time: Scruntz Draft. Three boxes of beer all the way from South Dakota. Who knew they brewed 12.1% suds in Sioux Falls? Bub says it should be called, “Custer’s Revenge”.
Once we were eight or nine drinks into the festivities, the boys surprised me with four hundred bucks in back pay and a way to make more. Since all of us had either just broken up with someone recently, or were about to get their third divorce in six years, like me, the fellas had found a new way to cover break-up expenses. E-Bay. The guys told me how they had been selling off their ex-wives’ and former girlfriends’ stuff that had been left in joint storage at one of those big rent-a-locker places. Just for fun, Snopes auctioned off a videotape of his ex giving birth to her first child that she had with that first husband. Hey, seven bucks is seven bucks, and Bub has at least sixty-five more copies of that one.I thought it would be harder to cheer up good old W.M., since his former fiancée had run off with his nephew to do animal porn together, but we found some of her family keepsakes in a trunk she stored in W.’s tool shed out back. The really old looking vase got twelve hundred dollars when we mentioned it came complete with Grandma Slzinzski’s ashes. The framed diploma from Barnard College in Women’s Studies only fetched three dollars, but that sale made him the happiest of all.
I didn’t really want to get involved in the Valentine’s Day revenge so much, but after a half hour of hearing chicken noises and getting pizza crust thrown at me, I went out to the Audi and found Marlene’s golf clubs. We intended to sell them, but it ended up being funnier to bend them at 45% angles and put them back in the bag. Fair is fair, though, and we figured she would need new clubs, so we bought her some once I told the guys her password for all her accounts (even some W.M. found that I didn’t know about ), and then we drained the rest of her money and sent just enough to the computer geek she screws in her office to implicate him. The American Weasel will stay afloat for at least eighteen more months. Just long enough to get us all on a cruise while the wifey cries alone.
I’ve always had a soft spot for Valentine’s Day, romantic that I am. I wish we had bought them some chocolates on E-Bay, instead of those Three Stooges throw pillows. I hope Marlene gets the one with Moe.