The Darwin Exception

because it's not always survival of the fittest – sometimes the idiots get through

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The Characters of Malone: The Useless Twins

Posted by thedarwinexception on December 23, 2006

Malone has it’s share of wacky and stupid characters, besides the pregnant thief and her dimwitted boyfriend. And the “New Improved Thief” that I seem to be harboring of late. Not surprisingly, once you delve a little deeper into the history of these people, you find that many of them are related. You really need a whiteboard and a marker to keep all the relationships straight, since there a lot of people and yet 4 or 5 main “families” who all shack up or marry, have children, divorce or split up and then go on to shack up or marry and have children with their last partner’s sister. Everyone is everyone else’s “cousin”, “stepsister”, “half brother” or “my momma used to do her daddy”.

In order to introduce all of you to the true flavor of Malone and these wacky inhabitants, I have introduced a new series here called “The Characters of Malone”. Through these posts, we will delve into the character of some of the local residents, see how they are all related, and explore some of the things that make them cadidates for Darwin Exceptions. WE will begin with “The Useless Twins”.

John, the dimwitted boyfriend, has a daddy named Tom, who is one half of the pair I call “The Useless Twins”.

“The Useless Twins” started out just being “The Oxygen Thief”, when Paul invited Kenny to come and move in with us. Kenny is Tom’s brother. I don’t know why Paul would do such a thing. There was absolutely no reason in the world for him to invite such a useless piece of shit to come and stay with us. Perhaps he didn’t realize the extent of the guy’s lazy ass, loud, nasty fucking uselessness until he was sharing the same quarters with him. But that was soon to reveal itself.

Kenny had been staying with his “sister in law”/cousin/ex girlfriend, around the corner from us. He wasn’t very happy there, because she wouldn’t let him have a dog. Of course, she was totally justified in not allowing him to have a dog, because she already knew what we were to discover – Kenny can’t (or won’t) take care of himself, so how in the world would he ever be responsible for a dog? After hearing Kenny bitch long enough about how “I support the whole household over there and they still won’t let me have a dog”, Paul told Kenny he could come and stay with us – provided he buy his own food and pay whatever amount the light bill went up because of his “breathing apparatus”.

See, that was the other thing about Kenny – he said that he had “breathing problems” and that’s why he was on Social Security Disability. The odd thing about that, though, was that the “breathing problems” didn’t stop him from smoking three packs of cigarettes a day. And he had already been through every single doctor in town and each of them, in turn, had discharged him as a patient and told him to find another doctor when he refused to quit smoking. So he was without a primary care physician.

So all day long he would sit in the living room downstairs on a loveseat that also served as his bed, which he brought from his last place of residence, watch the CMT channel on the 13″ TV/DVD combo he was “renting to own”, at a rate of $45/week for the rest of his life, smoke cigarette after cigarette and drink beer after beer until he had one of his coughing fits. Then he would put his little oxygen mask on and suck on some oxygen in between the puffs of his cigarette. He would do this all day long until he passed out from his drunkenness. Quite a life.

He moved in with us at the end of March. It wasn’t until about the beginning of May that I realized several things. First off, that he hadn’t bought any groceries. He was eating with us every night, but he hadn’t bought any groceries. Then I realized that despite the fact that he got a check on the first of every month, he was broke by the 5th. Kenny was one of those people that when he first got his check, he thought he was rich, spending money in a haphazard and irresponsible way. He would call a cab on the first, have them go pick up his sub order at the sub shop and deliver it to the house. This ended up making the sub cost like $20.00. His daughter. who was like 15 and had a kid, would always seem to call on the first of the month, too. She would suddenly take a great interest in her father and ask him “Dad, why don’t you come out here and stay with us for a few days?” She’d have him go to her house, get all the money she could out of him, and then send him back to us once he was broke.

The next thing I realized is that he never changed his clothes. He was still wearing the same thing he had been wearing when he moved in with us. He slept in those clothes, smoked cigarettes in those clothes all day, got drunk in those clothes and went to his daughter’s in those clothes, and came back from his daughter’s in those same clothes. Which led me to the next realization: I had not once seen him take a shower. In fact, I had never once seen him come upstairs to use the bathroom – for anything.

This last realization gave me pause. OK – I can understand (well, not really, but), I could understand him not taking a shower, but not to use the bathroom at all? The guy drank beer all fucking day long – how could he not be using the bathroom?

I went to Paul and said “Paul – Kenny hasn’t taken a shower in two months – what, is there some kind of fucking hick religion I’m not aware of where these people don’t take fucking showers?” Paul said “Yeah, I mentioned to him that he fucking stinks – he said he was going to take a shower “Soon”.”

Well, that was good fucking news, anyway. The living room was starting to smell like old feet and stale smoke.

I opened all the windows until the big day would come around and Kenny would take his first shower.

Then I mentioned to Paul “Paul, not only has Kenny not taken a shower, you know, I’ve never seen him even go upstairs at all – to like use the bathroom or anything.” Paul said “I know, he pisses outside. With his breathing problems, he can’t walk up the stairs.” Now, you know, you really have to be fucking kidding me. This guy doesn’t have a “breathing problem” – he fucking smokes too much and doesn’t fucking DO anything – that’s the only “breathing problem” he has. And he can climb the fucking stairs – I’d seen him walk up our hill to go over to his ex roommate/sister in law/cousins/ex lover’s house around the corner, and this hill is so fucking steep it makes *ME* have to stop and catch my breath halfway up it. How is it that he can walk up that hill but he can’t climb 10 stairs to take a piss?

And there was another, more disturbing implication in that. Where was the guy shitting? In my fucking yard? I never asked. And Paul never told me, but I was a lot more fucking aware of my surroundings when I took the dogs out.

So, I started to hate Kenny. And I wanted him gone. I wanted him gone in a big way. I started to complain every single day – and I stopped feeding him. And I stopped taking the phone downstairs to him when people called – I made him climb the stairs to get the phone instead, hoping that while he was up here he might stop and use the fucking shower or the toilet. And to prove that he *could* use the stairs without like passing out halfway up them. Which he could – every time.

So, another month passed and I complained every day about the useless piece of fucking skin named Kenny. Paul got tired of hearing about it. I got tired of smelling the fucking guy and having him watch me work around the house and grab his fucking oxygen mask if he thought I was going to ask him to do something. I was hoping he would leave. He didn’t, he got a dog instead.

He got a Rottweiler. A Puppy one, but a Rott just the same. And I have Milo, my cairn terrier. That I paid real money for and who I dote on like he’s a kid. Kenny came home from his daughter’s announcing that he was picking up his dog at the end of the week. That was it for me. I pulled Paul aside and said “Oh hell no! This guy can’t walk up the stairs to piss but he’s going to be responsible for a dog? And what about the dog’s shots? That dog isn’t coming in this house carrying God knows what diseases and giving them to Milo. And who is walking this dog? Or is he just going to let it shit in the house? And a Rott? Is he going to pay the extra insurance premiums that’s going to cost us? He never has any money when he gets home form his daughter’s – who is buying the food for the dog?”

Paul talked to Kenny, and told him “Kim says that the dog has to have all it’s shots and see the vet before the dog can come here. And you’re going to need to walk the dog every day – and make sure it has food.” Kenny agreed to all this, and took the dog to the vet, which was probably a good thing, because now, all this time later, it’s the only time the dog has seen a vet – and I still get bills in the mail from the vet for the initial shots Kenny never paid for.

So now we had the Useless Oxygen Thief *and* his dog stinking up the living room. It’s a good thing that room hadn’t been started and the floor and ceiling were going to be demolished, because I would have really been pitching a fit if that fool was stinking up new walls and a new floor.

Another month goes by, and luckily Milo likes the puppy and they play together well. As I had thought all along would happen, I’m taking the Rott outside for walks, and we’re buying food for it. Kenny can’t be bothered to do much with the dog at all, besides yell at it, which he does all day long. I told Paul I wanted a bucket downstairs next to Kenny’s loveseat/bed and every time he yelled “LAY DOWN MUGSY”, Kenny was to put a penny into the bucket. That, at least, would offset the cost of the food.

I’m really sick of Kenny, who hasn’t taken a shower yet, by the way, and his laziness, since he doesn’t come upstairs unless I yell to him for the phone, and I’m sick of the dog, because now I have three dogs to walk. I’m bitching and moaning that he needs to go. In a hurry. The guy is costing me money, and I see no use for him at all.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, his brother moves in.

So now we have the “Useless Twins” – two of a kind, peas in a pod. Two guys who don’t come upstairs to use the bathroom, two guys who sit around and drink all day, two guys who don’t shower, two guys on “disability”, with COPD.

Tom has the little waist pouch breathing apparatus, as opposed to Kenny’s monstrous machine that sits in the corner of the living room. Only because Tom still has a primary care physician and he was able to upgrade. And, frankly, I didn’t mind Tom as much at first, but I chalk that up to the fact that I had dealt with Kenny for so long that Tom seemed, in comparison, to be the better of the two.

But now we had “The Useless Twins”, and after a while, the drain on the resources became apparent. Now I was feeding two extra people, running two breathing machines, supplying electricity for two people, and putting up with twice the noise. This had to end.

So, I told Paul “Look, I think we should charge these guys – $200 a month doesn’t seem to be unreasonable for two people to pay for rent, food, a bathroom they never avail themselves of, laundry facilities they never use and the care and feeding of a horse/dog.

So, Paul promised to talk to the useless twins.

When the first of August came around, as was usual, Kenny’s daughter called “Daddy! Come over! We want to see you!” (And spend your money to send you back to Paul and Kim broke – but she didn’t mention that part – it was just “understood”)

So, Kenny and Tom go over to her house. They called a couple of days later, and Paul told them “Look, Kim and I were talking, and we think that we need to start charging you $200 a month to stay here.” Kenny says “We’ll call you back”.

Kenny calls back and says “Yeah, we’re just going to stay here – we’ll come get our stuff.”

A month later they finally come and get all their shit. Probably because the one outfit they each had taken with them when they left had finally disintegrated.

We haven’t seen them since. Although they did call about a month later wanting to come back and stay Paul told them “Sorry – no can do.” And we’ve heard that the dog is in really poor shape. We should have kept the dog.

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6 Responses to “The Characters of Malone: The Useless Twins”

  1. Amy said

    New Rule – No one lives with Kim or Paul unless they are Kim and Paul. No relatives, no neighbors, no charity cases, no one. Period.

    This rule will save you a whole heap of trouble.

  2. mbmb said

    Kim,

    I just reread this entry. You are a SAINT! If these two hobos would have been staying at my house that long, I would have made O.J., Scott Peterson, and John Wayne Gacy look good! My Son, who never ceases to amaze me, once said to his now ex-wife: Just admit yourself you are LAZY & life will be so much easier. Nothing like cutting through the bullshit! Anyway, thanks for the repeat laugh. You just can’t read enough of the Useless Twins…but, I’m sure you have!

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  4. Caroline said

    I just re-read this hilarous tale. You have the patience of a saint! I would have kicked their sorry asses to the curb (and kept the poor puppy) after a couple of weeks. What are they up to these days? We need an idiot update!

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  6. […] do you all remember the Useless Twins? They stayed here a while. and I hated them. Now, I hated them for many reasons, mostly because […]

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