TROUBLE. Part 1,2.

Troubles, tell me about `em. Had a few enough of me own just quietly. This batch must`ve started back in 2004/05 when a bunch of mates and I were living in an old elevated tropical Cat 4 Cyclone coded house in Darwin in the Northern Territory. Posh area, nice house, 4 of us living in 3 bedrooms plus a granny flat downstairs. Somehow every rent day there were 6 of us chipping in, never actually did find out where the other two blokes were sleeping.

So me last known good luck was to get the bedroom on the end of the house, overlooking the scungy house next doors` backyard pool. Turned out, the scungy house had a Hot Chick who didn't mind soaking up a bit of sun topless in the pool while I pretended to be looking at the fence, and she (I`m guessing here) pretended that the curtains in my room were held up by a curtain rod and not permanently stuck to the window. She was trouble, with a double D.

In my bedroom, as I had a perfect view of the adjoining fence (and pool) between our two blocks through a tiny gap in the metal louvres that weren't sealed shut and I was carefully watching to make sure the fence was still doing its job, I noticed The Hot Chick saunter to her car and drive off. Perfect time to check the other side of the fence, I thought to meself, so, a recon mission was in order. I couldn't see from my vantage point if she had locked the back door either, you cant be too careful up here you know. Not wishing to alarm the other neighbours across the road by sauntering in through the front gate, I walked to the back corner of the block under the mango tree, this was the perfect spot to test the fence sturdiness and also stealth factor (slightly rickety and my bedroom had the only clear view). Vertical Access over the fence was an easy Level 2 as I made my way past the pool and checked the back door. Just as well I did, the bastard was unlocked. So, in case I ever got invited over for a swim, dinner, marriage etc, I thought I`d better check the layout of bedrooms, toilets, lingerie drawer and assorted photos, ( in case I was asked over and someone from one of the photos was there, I wouldn't feel so awkward...)

I had an idea trouble wouldn't be too far off when the drawer in the hallway turned out to contain what appeared to be a squashed dildo, indentations on either flat side and a steel shaft through the middle running lengthways. Lucky I found that, I thought to myself, right next to the front door. I hoped they didn't answer the door with the bastard, that could create an awkward situation I mused, turning it over in my hands. It actually looked and tasted like some strange dip/cheese server, I thought as I spat some hard yellow chunks out onto the floor.

Which led me into the kitchen, where my troubles began in earnest as the sound of her V8 Holden rumbled into the driveway.

Panic kicked in a bit then, this would be hard for her to pretend I didn't exist if I was standing in her kitchen with a dip/platter/dildo in one hand and a kilo of Colby cheese I had instinctively grabbed when I heard the car pull up in the other. So I stashed the dildo/dip/platter, and me and the cheese made a break for the safety of the other side of the fence.

Vertical Access from her side was still an easy Level 2 with a bit of a cheese difficulty, because as I swung my leg over I've bloody well slipped and nutted meself on the fence post. Legs scrambling, eyes watering, cheese swinging wildly, the fucking bastard dildo I had stashed in the worst place possible, wedged right up me bastard arse.

So later that night as I sat in me room squinting at just beyond the fence where the pool lay, watching the cause of my trouble doing a great job of appearing indifferent to the loss of her possibly prized cheese, cavorting in the pool with some bloke pretending to be her boyfriend, I spooned another mouthful of cheese off my new serving dip platter/dildo and sniffed as a solitary tear rolled down my cheek, and I felt a couple of stitches burst and a warm trickle of blood seeped out of me arse, I thought; trouble? We haven't even got started yet. First I gotta get rid of the boyfriend.

TROUBLE 2, A touch of Stew.

Couple of weeks later found me healed up relatively well and contemplating life with the hot chick of my dreams, through a 4 inch square hole I had managed to cut out of the curtain with tin snips. Other than an intense dislike for cheese and fancy serving platters I was in high spirits with no major lasting internal injuries, I read somewhere that ruptured spleens heal themselves but I was hoping it would be a bit quicker.

So, my first visit had gone reasonably well, I felt like we were on the cusp of having our friendship bloom, although I wasn't too keen on her fancy dip platters as my stomach roiled uncontrollably just thinking about it, but I reasoned that in time when I exerted more authority over her I would be able to change anything I didn't like. Which made me feel good.

I looked over to my new Pretender to Her Affection chart on one wall I had put together while I as unable to work the past few weeks. I had broken it down into a few basic catergories like interests, things I disliked about him, annoying things I had observed in his behaviour and a list of shit jokes he probably told, which I cross referenced on to the Hot Chicks` Happiness Ever After chart with her reactions listed to all the dumb comments he would make, then referenced to a probability equation I had invented.

Simply put, if the Pretender made a stupid joke, an idiotic comment or just stood there and was a wanker I would catalogue the Hot Chicks`reaction and give it a value. So A would be Minor, although Fucking Annoying and that would be breathing etc.

B would be a Medium, Sleep other Bed kind of shit, and that would be given out if he blocked my view, made small talk whatever else. C was the highest rating and came with a Fuck Right Off factor of 2 for anything like necrophilia, animal molestation, all the things he probably did. So I symbolised this with a stick on happy face every time he was a cock, basically. Me wall was starting to look like an emoji convention with all the yellow faces stuck to the bastard. In short, he was a cunt. I knew it, he probably knew it, I just had to convince the Hot Chick.

So, another sortie was in order. I really just wanted to check if they could actually spy on me from the pool, something I had been a bit worried about since one day while I happened to be shaking the magic beans, and they both looked up and laughed. I wasn't too worried though, obviously they had found out about the 6 blokes living in a 4 bedroom house or some such shit so I didn't let it break me concentration..

A perfectly valid reason, as I made my way back over the fence, with a Vertical Access Level 8 Care with Level 2 Ease.

I checked the back door, and of course it was unlocked, so I immediately gave him a Fuck Right Off score mentally. And then threw in a probability of being raped by an American obese woman and being suffocated I just made up on the spot. What a fucker, I would've kept the Hot Chick safe and secure and locked the bloody door.

The place was pretty much as I had left it before, although the pubic hair I had placed on her lingerie drawer had been moved. So, I started sifting through and saw a couple of new pairs of undies a size smaller than what she had and that hadn't been there before and I had a moment of clarity. Me stealing the cheese had been fate! Minus 1kg of cheese, the Hot Chick had lost enough weight to buy smaller undies! The weight that I had "stolen".... it wasn't stealing, I realised! We both shared the joy of having smaller knickers because I had carried the burden of a kilo of cheese, a ruptured spleen and too many internal stiches too count, and I bet that bastard of a Pretender hadn't even fucken noticed. So I made a note to check with immigration on the annual migration of American female serial man rapists to the Territory. I didn't know the number or who actually to ring, so I made an educated guess and came up with a probability of 100,000 sex starved man raping large American women in a town of about 100,000 at any one time. And it made me happy. The bastard could potentially get raped by one in every two people, in fact, he could be suffocating right now, under some oversize arse cheeks! and it made me laugh. But not for long, as I realised that it could possibly happen to me too, and my arse gave a violent twitch. I vowed I was going to be fucking careful if I left the house. Then I thought if I was with the Hot Chick, we would never leave the house. we would live on the fruits of love and I would throw the skins out the window and grow a giant condom tree famous for miles around. And a big sign would say, USA! A OK! Fat Fuckers Unite or something like that.

So I snapped the curtain rod where the window would open on to my tree so I could see it grow, set a new pube trap on the drawer and pottered around before heading to the kitchen. I was actually fucking famished to be honest, I hadnt been able to eat since the cheese escapade, what with chronic diahorrea then chronic constipation, neither of which lend themselves well to internal stitching. How stoked was I to find a great big pot of stew already made, sitting in the fridge, and a microwave next to that!

Before I even realised what was happening I had scarfed back the entire pot, possibly the Hot Chicks` dinner. And, I`d eaten the fucking lot. And I couldn't wash the pot because the Hot Chick would be perplexed as to who ate the stew, washed the pot and put it away, and I didn't want her to get frown lines. so I put the bastard back in empty, dirty and then washed the bowl I ate out of and put it on the bench. So it looked like she comes home, eats the stew, washes the bowl but puts the pot back in the fridge because she didn't have time to wash it and the Pretender was probably breathing his last onion salami smelling bum hole as he desperately tried to cling to life. Well, next time lock the fucking door! Which are the words I will write on his headstone.

Back over the fence, up to my war room and straightaway upgraded the Pretender to a new rating of Suffocation by Not Paying Enough Attention. There was a change coming, as I sat on the bed contemplating my next move. And if the Pretender had survived the sudden onslaught of horny rabid American women, I knew that he could feel a change too. And it could only mean one thing,

TROUBLE 3. With a Sherrin Football.

So things were starting to escalate fairly quickly. Seemed like the Pretender survived the swarm of fat raping yanks, although he was a good 20 minutes late home that night. Looked like a fair bit being said over there, so I gave him the rest of my smiley faces because I`m guessing he never rang to say he was late. The new binoculars I had bought made reading the Hot Chicks expressions so much easier, and this is probably how the conversation was going; "...thousands of them! They blocked the road three high and I couldn't get through" And she tossed her luxurious hair back, smiled and said; "Oh! I`m one Hot Chick!" And he`s probably saying, "The horror! Grown men, sucked into a giant vaginal vortex! Blah blah" But I wasn't paying him any attention. But I soon took a bit more interest when her mouth started moving and it looked like she was saying, "I. Am. Hot. You mean nothing to me, scab. I have been laying trails of pubic hair in that room with the little hole cut out across the fence there.." And I'm like, what the?? So I'm down on my knees frantically searching the carpet for her luscious pubic hair, even just one magical golden strand, but with no luck. Until I remembered some Hotties get lasers or what ever down there, so I turned out all the lights and searched but to no avail.

The conversation I thought I saw did seem odd in retrospect though, as she was pointing to a pot and bowl on the bench in her kitchen. He was obviously too lazy to do the dishes but I had run out of smileys. Fuck him, he was going down anyway.

I emptied a half dozen little three dollar kids footys onto my bed and prepared for the next part of my plan, and with the following day being a Saturday, it was time to make my move.

The Hot Chick had two dogs, a giant bastard dopey wolf thing called Bazza, and a savage bastard pitbull called Asterix or bloody * or however you spelt it. So i'd been slipping these dogs special herb muffins for the past couple of weeks so I could carry out me recons, they seemed a bit too relaxed now so I was a bit nervous, hoping my plan would still work out okay.

I had knocked a couple of extra sheets of iron onto the fence in the middle section about 20 ft long and 10 ft high between our two houses, which was great because it also hid his fucking Ford, and blocked their view of what I was trying to do.

So I grabbed a couple of footys and began. The idea was to kick the footy 10 or 15 feet away and high into the air behind the added on fence, hope the Hot Chick could see it, yell something like "Catch that! Macca!", run and catch the ball, yell out shit like "Nice one, Dazza!", kick the bastard back, while changing names, voices and characters. And kicking. And running. And I had too many fucking imaginary people playing and couldn't keep track of who kicked to who, whose turn next and after running flat strap for 10 minutes I was absolutely fucked. And I was trying so hard not to drop the ball, I forgot that the whole idea was to kick the bastard ball over the fucking fence so the dogs would eat it. I had to call a time out and get all the boys back in so I could catch me breath. And then I've had to say shit like "Yeah I'm fucked too" and "me too Davo" for the next 5 minutes to bring all the boys in.Then I don't know what the fuck came over me, but to make it a bit more realistic I'm like; "so I hear Big Tom pulled a root last night.." No fucking idea where that came from, but I've said the bastard now, and this is all going from bad to worse. And the Hot Chick is almost out of my grasp. For good.

Because for the next 10 fucking minutes I'm saying shit like, "ha ha! What was her name, Stevo?..." And forgot Stevo was supposed to be playing. And of course, he cracked the shits and went home. And somehow, because I am obviously not quite right in the head and couldn't stop it spiralling out of control, it turned out Big Tom didn't get a root. Instead he got a hand job off a bloke called Gazza out the back of the pub after closing. And was quite gay. And this had gone far too far too far. So, I'm yelling "you seven blokes, fuck off home. Big Tom, it's okay to be whatever the fuck you gotta be. Go home. Davo and Nige, stay and practice." And I had some sort of hysterical laughing, giggling episode when it turned out Davo had to go somewhere anyway and couldn't stay, and Big Tom wanted to have a few more kicks. And I had fucking well done this to myself. And I still hadn't got me breath back. So I picked up the first footy, roosted the bastard over the fence, and sat back quietly waiting for the dogs to rip the bastard to shreds. and waited. Pretty sure I had heatstroke by this stage, I was the only one who had done all the work. Then, Damo, who was a real person and lived in the granny flat under the house walked over, scuffing one foot morosely. And he shuffled up to me and said "Give the dogs some of this, this'll start them up..." and threw a chunk of Crystal Meth into their drinking bowl. I peered around the fence and the bastards hadn't even touched the first ball over, but were taking a big drink of water. And I was too tired to kick the ball over, just threw the bastard in to the two dogs who were now snarling, slobbering beasts from Hell and said "Thanks, Damo!" as brightly as I could, strolled straight up the stairs and passed out for 26 hours. The trap had been set.*

Well, I was that buggered the next day, I wasn't even sure if I had said goodbye to the remaining boys. I wasn't worried though, it didn't matter anyway, I don't even think the Hot Chick heard anything. But I was now on the second part of me plan, so I marched right out of the house, down the stairs and straight up to the adjoining fence. And looked over. and their yard was absolutely fucking well demolished. All trees had been chewed down to the roots, there was a pile of dead cats near the front door, tyres had been chewed off the cars and it looked like the dogs had somehow ringbarked the fucking house as there was nothing but steel mullions left all around, in a perfect ring three feet high where they had chewed timber, wall sheets and all the insulation. And shat it out and chewed it again. And sleeping very peacefully under what must've been their front door were the two dogs.

And I've screamed at the top of my lungs "What the fucking fuck!" because I can see a tiny scrap of kiddies three dollar football snagged on one of the dogs fangs. And I say "'I've got you know, Pretender", but only in my head because I can hear footsteps running in the house, matter of fact I can actually see their running legs thanks to their walls that no longer reach the ground and the she is in front of me, breathless. And against the back drop of her destroyed house and ravaged yard she is Hot.

She speaks but I cant hear her because of the blood pounding in my ears and I stagger to the fence and hang on tightly as my legs buckle. And when I can hear her she is saying "Are you okay? What is it?"

But, struck dumb by the Hotness of her, the very Chickness of her being, all I can do is point a trembling finger at the dog with the scrap of footy dozing under the ruined door. And she looks where I'm pointing and can see the tiny scrap, no bigger than a stamp hanging out of the dogs mouth. And her eyes go wide and she yells; "Bad Dog!" But of course she doesn't yell, her voice is a musical tinkle on a Baby Steinway Grand piano being played by a twelve inch pianist. "Naughty!" she coo's enticingly. So I give her a big smile, as if to say, Ha! Dogs will be dogs, the dear old things. Look how cute they are! And she smiles back, and I know she's thinking "If we were dogs, I want you to get your nut locked inside of me and not be separated by cold water, a plastic pipe or even old mates' dirty old thong slapping you in the other nut..." And we laugh. And because I don't want this to end I say to her, "They seem pretty content after their big day! Like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, after they chewed the football that my dying brother kicked the winning goal in the 2003 NTFL Grand Final a minute before fulltime, then dying, but still played the last minute with a broken spine and neck. While he was dead, although he only realised he was dead at the after party after the game. Mainly because the doctors trying to re-attach his spine got into a fight with some hookers and couldn't keep working on him."

And her pouty little mouth went into the shape of an O and because I didn't want her to get worry lines I said, "Oh no, no, don't be upset. Luckily one of the doctors knew judo or some kung fu thing, and owing to his years of anatomy study, he was able to kick their vaginas to the curb". And just like that, we were smiling at each other again. And would've kept smiling but the waste of space beside her was apparently talking and had been for a while but I wasn't paying attention. Something about replacing a footy but I blocked him out, and was saying to the Hot Chick; "No, my fault entirely, don't worry about it! Had a few of the footy boys over yesterday and we got a bit rowdy, and before we knew it, Stevo kicked the fucking ball out"

Now, I knew it, and she knew I,t but the Pretender had no idea that I'd just slipped in a Fucking mid sentence in such a way that I used it as a describing word, meaning fucking as being something that can only be described by the word fucking! Oh, she fucking knew it! And I made a circle with my left hand and slowly inserted my finger in and around while mouthing the word fucking just in case she didn't. But I could see her moist lips part slightly, I couldn't hear what she was saying, my finger continuing to explore around my circled hand, 'I'm bloody deaf! I cant hear her! Hang on, hang on, I had been staring at her mumble pants. And the Pretender said " I'll replace it". .And because she is still staring at the old in out in out of my finger I turned half to him and snarled "You fucking better', still going in out in out. Then I hissed at him.

"You better make a fucking salad as well and bring that over with the fucking footy" And paused, him watching me, her watching my finger suspended in mid air, ready for the climax that had been building since I moved in, rummaged through their belongings, stole food from their fridge and now this was all coming together perfectly as I had planned... And I smashed my finger into the circle of my other hand, I swear her knees buckled and in a voice I dredged from the deepest darkest side of me, the voice of everything wrong in this world and I bored into his eyes for the first time, saw through to his pretentious soul, and croaked with the sound of the devil "And. No. Fucking. Meat."

Dramatic? You bet! I didn't even say goodbye, I would've loved to have seen the look on their faces as I marched right back home. Now I was playing for keeps. I didn't even know where the no fucking meat thing had come from, but I well and truly fucking said it, And when I got to my war room to get ready for the next skirmish, I sat on the bed and thought, "Well, fuck, I don't like meat in salad anyway." And all was good with the world. And trouble was coming round. With a salad.

Teeth TROUBLE 4

Cool, calm and concentrated. Weeks of planning were coming to a head, and I think we were all starting to understand that there wasn't room for the Pretender. Not even an hour had passed since I had made the meat salad comment, but I knew they were coming. So I stood in the full length mirror and stared. I didn't primp. I didn't preen. I didn't adjust anything. I merely brushed the back of my hand across my crotch and straight away, better that any spare bed, was the place she could lay her head later. If I let her.

So I walked straight out of my room, confidence high. Into the kitchen. Raw whiting fillets rolled up, tooth picked and layered on a bed of cheese, on the dildo platter. It was time she knew. On the outside table in the middle of a wet season hot as fuck day. No worries with the fish, but I was planning to leave the half melted cheese alone.

By the time I strolled to the top of the external stairs, they were there. I didn't say hello. I had spoken, and now they came. I merely stared disdainfully at what ever the Pretender had in his hands, and sneered "What the fuck is that', not waiting for an answer, and smiling at the Hot Chick. And I said slowly, carefully and with precise enunciation, so there could never be any doubt that it was I who had spoke these words; "You cant make friends with salad" and walked through him to escort the Hot Chick to the outside table. Silence! I had floored them both, every word like a sledgehammer blow to the stomach. A monumental revelation with no equal. Possibly some bloke had said, I am God, at some time, but he possibly didn't say it to the girl of his fantasies, so mine was better. As we sat I brushed her fingertips lightly and murmured thank you for coming, and she instantly gave the Pretender a sharp look. He shuffled forwards like a retard and placed the pathetic limp salad on the table, and we all knew that it had served its purpose, and was only a dead albatross for him to hang round his neck. He left though, maybe to get my dead brothers footy or something so it was just Hot Chick and me.

I stretched back in my chair, fingers casually looped over the incredibly sharp, side tensioning buckles on my five dollar work shorts. And she knew what it meant and we shared a smile. It meant handle with care, or you may well end up with a nasty gash. And she could see in my eyes, I had never had a nasty gash I couldn't handle. "I may just have to be careful around you, I think", She mused out loud.

"Well, these are possibly the most dangerous shorts around with the buckles. If you need to get into these, you don't fuck around. You get into them". I responded, and just like that I dropped another fuck right at her. And I knew I was meeting my match when she took that fuck right on the chin, even lifted her face a bit to meet that fuck face first, and stared coolly back at me. Composure. This was the equivalent of two high speed freight trains colliding head on, in slow motion. There would be no give here. "Sushi", I waved a hand over the table. I ate a fair few right then and there too, to get to the cheese base which was half melting. I watched with anticipation as she reached down, scooped some raw fish and wrapped it in a few slices of cheese and lifted it to her mouth. Must've been something in my eyes flickered because she glanced back at the platter, at me, then crammed that warm fish and cheese mix into her mouth. I casually ate another fish roll, accidently uncovering the bit where she hadn't quite exposed the red plastic softness with the indentations. And there it was, in the open. And she didn't bat an eyelid.