Construction Experience Required

So yesterday was interesting.

Do you remember the useless twins? The ones that stayed with us for a while? Well, did I tell you that one of them died? Yeah, one of them died. So now there is just a useless twin. He’s staying with some other family – terrorizing them, I suppose. Since he left our house he’s stayed with about 10 other people, moving every couple of months when they see how loud he is, what a drunk he is, how nasty he is. Paul sees him every once in a while, and happened to see him last week, and the Useless twin told Paul that he was being evicted from the place he’s at now. No big surprise there, really. I told Paul “Well, that doesn’t mean he’s moving back in here, does it?” And Paul said “Oh hell no.” Which means nothing, really,

Well, he hasn’t moved in (yet). But he was here yesterday. Along with about 15 other drunk people that are in various states of homelessness and degeneracy. I was in the house and they were all out back. Where they had beer, a bonfire and construction tools. Who could have guessed that this wouldn’t end well?

At some point during the day it was suggested that they start building the deck on the back of the Harley Barn. I think that this was in some kind of response to the suggestion that someone or other move into the Harley Barn “Because it’s almost done!” But that’s just speculation and suspicion on my part. But, in any event, they did try to start building the deck on the back of the Harley barn. Drunk.

I went outside to see what was up when I suddenly heard a lot of commotion in the back yard – with shouts of “Damn! Are you OK?” And “Get him a cloth!” When drunk people show alarm at the condition of one of their fellow drunks – well, there has to be *something* seriously wrong, because generally when you are drunk and see a bone sticking out of someone or someone leaping to their death the normal drunk response is laughter, right? So I thought I had better go outside.

I guess what happened was Paul and 5 or so of the BFF’s were holding a 6 X 6 panel of decking up over their heads against the barn, you know, the big floor piece of decking, and Paul let go of the panel to reach down and get a hammer. The drunk BFF’s, with their collective intelligence of -17, thought that this meant they should *all* let go of the piece of flooring, and the piece of flooring came down on Paul’s head, damn near knocking him out, and cutting a really huge gash in his forehead, which promptly started gushing blood all over the place (you know how head wounds bleed).

When I finally got out back, Paul was sitting down, dazed and confused, gushing blood from his head, and the drunks had scattered. There were only 4 or so of them left. I looked at Paul and said “What the fuck happened?” All he would say was “Well, the stupid fuckers have no construction experience.” HUH?? How much “construction experience” do you really need to have to hold a fucking piece of wood up in the air? Is there like a class for that at construction school? Do you take that class before or after the “Hand me that Hammer” class? Stupid fucks.

I just looked at the drunks and said “OK – go the fuck home. All of you. Party’s over.”

I must have said it with some authority – because they didn’t argue – they just left.

I looked at Paul’s wound and thought for a fleeting second that he may need to go and get it stitched up, but decided against it because if he actually had stitches, well, he’d milk that for all it was worth and he’d never get up off the couch this week. Fuck him. So, I just told him “Go in the house, fool, and put out that bonfire before you do. And when you get in the house don’t you dare fucking bleed on the couch.”

Fucking idiot. “They didn’t have construction experience.” Yeah, *THAT* was the problem.

I’m going to get a picture of the fool’s head, too, and post it. He has to sleep *sometime*.