small-time marquis

behind my good-guy mask lurks a cheesy sadism. examples hide like old gum stuck under a chair. the short list: 1) the sadistic waiter. i dart past a three-top of raised arms with a big sunny smile on a pretend mission to somewhere important. sorry, guys, got beers at the bar to pick up, back in a sec. the upraised hands like a stadium wave fall back into the human surf. i could have stopped and given attention, but i reveled in the oblique diss. when i double back and attend to their chirping needs i'm all generosity and solve-your-problem finesse. slap, kiss. 2) the sadistic pet owner. no, sofi! NO! NO! NO!. it's fucking 6 o'clock in the fucking morning and you are out of your fucking kitty-cat mind! no pellets for you, baby. NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! she's right of course. she waited 7 hours for her ridiculous spoonful of chicken-n-rice goobers and it's time, it's fucking time to lumber out from under the cozy covers and deliver the goods. but i wait. no, sofi, NO! the negative-to-positive ritual. she resorts to a foot-of-the-bed sulk until i give in, plinking pellets into her dish. 3) the sadistic brother. when i was old enough to drive to school, i was required to drop my sisters off first. i'd pull into the semi-circular drive, but instead of letting them out where they wanted to be let out, i'd slow down, pretend to stop, tap the gas and go round again and again. it was funny the first time, but 3 or 4 revolutions later the girls went berserk. i'd relent, let them out and roar off with a joker's grin. 4) the sadistic son. my mom asked me to mow the lawn. i wanted to snitch the VW and hurtle across town to see friends. she tried to shame me into manning the mower by starting 'er up and climbing on herself, head bobbing with the bumpy ride and shouting after me to stop the car, get out and take over. she was so mad she was in tears. what did i do? i took off like a teen sociopath. i'll cut the lawn later, i argued to myself. 5) the sadistic clean-up girl. the vacuum cleaner, it's head caught behind the door frame to my bedroom whimpers in pain as i yank at it, trying to reach the dust rats under the desk. i jerk the hose like a maniac. the poor howling piglet bonks it's head against the door frame and won't budge. i tug-of-war the sucking screaming elephant trunk until the beast scuds into the room on it's fore-wheels like an abused circus pig. it's punk sadism. i can't help it. i love it. like Chris says in Skins: 'i'm a wanker'.