I know each and every one of you has at one time either known or met an individual as I am about to describe. This particular person is a mental midget. He’s an older guy, probably in his mid to late 60’s. Definitely overweight topping the scales at a fat-ass weight of 260…280 when he hasn’t been active in a while. He was in WWII (or at least retired military) and he’ll tell you all about it…twenty or thirty times. He is the typical elderly driver that the DMV uses as a guideline for when to stop the elderly from getting behind the wheel, yet he’s still got a license. He’s always got a fatter wallet than I’ll have, yet he’ll bitch like hell over a fucking penny. Hence the name, "Finicky ol’ Bastard"

Saturday afternoon. I’m kicking back, watching TV when I hear a knock at the door. I get up to answer it and it’s him…The FoB. He’s come by to collect the rent from the other tenants he rents houses to. He’s actually trusted me to collect his rent for him, and then he cuts me a deal on my rent. Other than my place he’s got three other houses rented…all paid for including his. There’s a total of about $1500.00 in the envelope I hand to him.

"Here ya go." I say as I hand him the stuffed envelope.

"Thanks, did you get a chance to cut that limb above the house next door yet so I can call the insurance company?" he says.

"Uh, no. I haven’t been able to yet. My chainsaw’s in the shop right now and they had to backorder some parts"

"I’ll go buy a new one today while we’re out, that way you’ll have two." He says as he stuffs the envelope in his wallet.

Did I mention this guy pulls off scams on insurance companies that if you or I would try, they would put us up there with the Dumbest Crooks on TV? And what’s this about while we’re out? I never agreed to go anywhere with him.

"I need to go to the hardware store today and get some things and I might need your help. Do you want to take your truck or should I go back home and get my van?"

Well, considering my truck is brand new, I didn’t see a problem with it…besides it’d give me a chance to sport it around the chicks.

"Sure, we’ll take my truck. Lemme get some shoes on and I’ll be right out."

I go back inside and as I’m slipping on a pair of boots I keep thinking there is something wrong with this picture. I have never been somewhere with this guy that he didn’t make me feel like a circus freak. My stomach starts to turn.

We get to the hardware store and work our way down the aisles getting things for his "phantom project". He picks up some nails, a couple of hammers, some caulk, three light fixtures and a few other odds and ends. The whole time I’m wondering to myself "I wonder what he’s volunteered me to do today?"

We get to the lawn and garden section and he picks out a chainsaw. It’s a 19" Poulan and it’s damn pricey. I bought a $100 cheapy…maybe that’s why mine is in the shop. I try to tell him to either wait until mine is out of the shop or just buy a cheap one, but he refuses.

"I’m gonna go get the guys here to round up the rest of my stuff, so meet me at the checkout with this stuff, will ya?" He says as he heads for the customer service counter. I nod my head and like a slave, I shove the cart towards the front of the store.

I piddle around with a few of the gadgets hanging at the checkout counter while I wait on the ol’ bastard.

Shortly, he comes strolling up like an overweight, aging pimp.

"They’ll have the rest of the stuff waiting on us outside," he says as he hands the cute chick at the checkout the list that the other guys gave him.

"Other stuff?"

"Yeah, I usually buy some of their overruns and damaged stuff for a really good deal."

Well, maybe he got some good stuff that we can use out of it. I could sure use some supplies to start on a deck off the back of my house.

We finish checking out and head out the door with a decent load already.

"Why don’t you…. Uh…go bring the truck up here?"

I could sense the hesitation in his voice. Something’s wrong. I look around and notice nothing unusual, so I go get the truck and bring it up to the door.

"O.K., let’s get this stuff loaded and get outta here." I said, hoping to get his ass moving. I DID have other things to do today.

"Well, let’s load the other stuff first. It’s heavier."

About that time, two guys come around the corner. One guy is walking and the other is driving the forklift. Both of them are doing their best not to bust out laughing and it doesn’t take me long to figure out why.

The other stuff he had them get were 70 2x4’s that were so bent and warped that all you had to do was nail a fuckin chair to ‘em and you’d have a rocker that Granny would be proud of. Twelve cut or torn open bags of concrete, a lawnmower that looks like it was run over by a Mac truck and a CASE…. That’s right, a CASE of 48 dryer vents that had been smashed by a truck backing up and left out in the rain for a week.

"WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS CRAP!?!?"

"Oh, it was a really good deal. I couldn’t pass it up," he whined back.

"Alright, tell me then…WHEN are you going to use open bags of concrete…. Or 48 goddamn dryer vents?"

"I’m always doing something with concrete and at the price I bought the dryer vents for, I can salvage the good ones, sell them and still make money."

I didn’t say a word. I just started loading the 2x4’s. One of the guys started snickering at this point so I stopped, walked up to him and said, "Hey Bud, what’s your name?"

"Umm…Gerald. Why?"

"Why?" I asked, getting really pissed by now. "Because, Umm…Gerald, before I grab someone by the back of the head and proceed to slam their face into the pavement, I prefer to know their name in case nobody can ID you after I’m through. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

He and his buddy both quickly went back into the store. Probably to go hide in the corner and burn a fat one to calm down. I didn’t care if I pissed anyone off or not – I was already pissed.

I continue to load all of this crap into my truck. 2x4’s scratching the hell out of the bed, getting cement dust all over the paint, and that fucking lawnmower left a nice puddle of oil right in the middle of the damn cement dust. My level of aggravation is almost to it’s extreme right now considering it has been less than six weeks since my truck left the showroom floor.

"Hey, you wanna grab a burger on the way back?" he asks as we get ready to leave.

"Sure." At least he’ll buy my lunch for fucking up my truck.

"Let’s go to Burger King on highway 3"

"Highway 3?" I ask, knowing there’s one closer.

"Yeah, they are the ones that are having a 99 cent special on Whoppers. The rest of them aren’t."

"You mean to tell me that you’ll drive five miles to save a buck at most?"

"Well, I also know a few of the people that work there too, they treat you real nice." He said, winking like there was a Mob Boss that had a hideout in the basement.

I give in and take him clear across town to go to his "special" BK. At least it gives me time to release some of my anger on a few of the drivers along the way.

We walk in and, if you can picture the Cheer’s TV show when Norm walks in, they greeted him with, "Hey! It’s Double-Everything!" I knew something was really fucked up about this situation and we haven’t even gotten to the cashier yet.

He leans over and says; "I’m buying."

"No problem…I was expecting you to after the incident at the hardware store," I thought to myself.

"O.K., sure."

He leans over to the cashier and orders two whoppers with double everything…double lettuce, double tomatoes, double pickles, double ketchup, etc… and two senior citizen Cokes. I nudge him and tell him I don’t like pickles and tomatoes and all that crap, but he tells me not to worry about it.

We get our burgers and find a seat. "Ya know, I oughta go trade this senior citizen drink in for a large one. I am pretty thirsty after all that yelling." I tell him as I get ready to head back to the counter.

"Oh, no…don’t do that. It’s cheaper. Besides, you can get free refills."

I’m tired of dealing with this crap, so I just give in unwrap my burger. It has got to be the most disgusting, appetite stealing site I have ever seen…well, nah. That comes in a few minutes, but it is repulsive nonetheless with it’s massive mound of Mayo, ketchup, pickles, tomatoes…just so much it’s fuckin nasty.

I take a fork and rake all that crap off of my burger. I notice he’s doing the same. "Why do you order these burgers like this if you don’t like ‘em that way?"

He reaches over and gets the refuge I scraped off my Whopper and mixes it with his. I can tell that this is fixing to get rough. He’s now got a pile in front of him that defies common words. It’s fucking gross looking.

"I make a salad out of them. Because if you buy a salad its $1.99, but to get double everything on two burgers, it’s only 40 cents more."