So, thanks to Vivid and her awesome Vividness, I just watched the ultimate showdown and it reminded me of Chuck Norris.
Believe it or not, I acutally had a roommate named Chuck Norris. He didn't go by Charles, or Chaz, he went by Chuck Norris. At the time, we were short a roommate, and he was a pretty chill bartender where my friend/roommate waited tables, so we let him move in. HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE!
So, Chuck is a former (I believe all state) football player, a solid 6'3 no less than 230. Chuck, I later found out, had a lot of issues he needed therapy for as he left the northeast after some kid sledded out in front of his truck and he couldn't come to a stop.
Chuck was constantly frustrated with the women, because inevitably he would end up getting into his past, usually the first time he brought them home, and then crying to them if not freaking out on them.
I might have felt sorry for Chuck, but for a couple of reasons:
1) There were numerous friends who tried to help him, as well as many professional avenues he could have gone down rather than running from his problems.
2) He was totally impossible to live with. My best example of this is that he was a rather compulsive cleaner. Now, I like my place clean, and I kept it so, but he was compulsive to the point where he'd throw stuff away that wasn't his, and not replace it.
"Hey Chuck, do you know what happened to that green sponge?"
"Yeah, it was getting old so I threw it away"
"Welllll, what am I supposed to clean the dishes with now?"
"Hey Chuck, why is this broom in the trash?"
"Well, the handle is snapped."
"Is it yours?"
"No"
"Does it still sweep?"
"Yeah"
"Then don't fucking throw it away. You don't have to use it."
About the end of Chuck's tenure was "the fight." Chuck is the only roommate I've ever gotten in a fist fight with. Right now, I'm about 180, give or take 5 lbs. This was six years ago, before I started lifting regularly, where I was a lot closer to 150 instead of 180. Anyhow, Chuck was a bit tipsy, bumped the couch and dumped his beer on me. For the most part, I shook it off, but was still soaked, so I filled up a glass of water and dumped it on him. Everyone in the house thought this was hilarious except Chuck, who belived I took one of his beers and dumped it on him.
He jumps up, and starts chasing me around the house (as our dining (ping pong table) room, kitchen, and living room formed this circle good for pacing while talking on the phone or being chased. Eventually, laughing too hard because he wasn't catching me and because he was getting more and more pissed off, he caught me and shoved me down. I get up and shove him back. Then, he grabs me by the throat and holds me against the wall while I start pummeling his face with rights. This is where my roomates jump in and forcefully separate us. Probably a good thing, since I don't know where to quit, and would have made sure I fucked him up even if he did have close to 100 lbs on me. I belive in two rules in a fight:
1) if you're winning, make it look good.
2) if you're losing, do whatever you must to win.
Believe it or not, I acutally had a roommate named Chuck Norris. He didn't go by Charles, or Chaz, he went by Chuck Norris. At the time, we were short a roommate, and he was a pretty chill bartender where my friend/roommate waited tables, so we let him move in. HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE!
So, Chuck is a former (I believe all state) football player, a solid 6'3 no less than 230. Chuck, I later found out, had a lot of issues he needed therapy for as he left the northeast after some kid sledded out in front of his truck and he couldn't come to a stop.
Chuck was constantly frustrated with the women, because inevitably he would end up getting into his past, usually the first time he brought them home, and then crying to them if not freaking out on them.
I might have felt sorry for Chuck, but for a couple of reasons:
1) There were numerous friends who tried to help him, as well as many professional avenues he could have gone down rather than running from his problems.
2) He was totally impossible to live with. My best example of this is that he was a rather compulsive cleaner. Now, I like my place clean, and I kept it so, but he was compulsive to the point where he'd throw stuff away that wasn't his, and not replace it.
"Hey Chuck, do you know what happened to that green sponge?"
"Yeah, it was getting old so I threw it away"
"Welllll, what am I supposed to clean the dishes with now?"
"Hey Chuck, why is this broom in the trash?"
"Well, the handle is snapped."
"Is it yours?"
"No"
"Does it still sweep?"
"Yeah"
"Then don't fucking throw it away. You don't have to use it."
About the end of Chuck's tenure was "the fight." Chuck is the only roommate I've ever gotten in a fist fight with. Right now, I'm about 180, give or take 5 lbs. This was six years ago, before I started lifting regularly, where I was a lot closer to 150 instead of 180. Anyhow, Chuck was a bit tipsy, bumped the couch and dumped his beer on me. For the most part, I shook it off, but was still soaked, so I filled up a glass of water and dumped it on him. Everyone in the house thought this was hilarious except Chuck, who belived I took one of his beers and dumped it on him.
He jumps up, and starts chasing me around the house (as our dining (ping pong table) room, kitchen, and living room formed this circle good for pacing while talking on the phone or being chased. Eventually, laughing too hard because he wasn't catching me and because he was getting more and more pissed off, he caught me and shoved me down. I get up and shove him back. Then, he grabs me by the throat and holds me against the wall while I start pummeling his face with rights. This is where my roomates jump in and forcefully separate us. Probably a good thing, since I don't know where to quit, and would have made sure I fucked him up even if he did have close to 100 lbs on me. I belive in two rules in a fight:
1) if you're winning, make it look good.
2) if you're losing, do whatever you must to win.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
song:
it was soooooo much fun for me - i remember getting a signed ren and stimpy shirt (by billy west) and a farting stimpy stuffed doll. I was a major little princess, not a tomboy at all - but i loved me my ren and stimpy. 
vim:
i'm too fragile for violence.
