Captain Cut-Throat Returns.

"You better get your hands off my sweater vest before I cut you."

No one is more shocked to hear me say this than I am, but what's even more shocking is that I meant every bloody word of it. My nostrils flaring, my eyes becoming wide, nearly pupil-less, and insane. Every molecule of my sweaty, tired body about to implode and obliterate the men's department of Kohl's in the violent energy-consuming power of the black hole that had already formed in my heart. I had been searching for this exact article of clothing for nearly three hours at this point. They adorned every mannequin in every shop I entered, but they were not to be found on any shelf or rack or backroom. I had all but given up hope, but I still continued my search and now I stood in my eighth clothing store of this entirely too aggravating afternoon and this man... This man appears out of nowhere to snatch my victory right from me in my most redeeming moment of shopping hysteria with a smile and a slap to the face. This man with his firm and unwavering hair line, his smug smirk hiding a perfect set of bleached teeth, the brilliant blues of his smiling eyes - This magnificent and poor bastard was about to get hurt. Very, very badly. We were both still clutching the sweater vest between us. I had cut him off in the middle of his ridiculous sentence. It was something like.

"Oh, that's perfect. You weren't really going to buy this, were you? It would go perfectly with-"

That's when I threatened to cut him and we've been deadlocked in a silent stare down with each other ever since. Our faces have become perfect mirror images reflecting equal parts of disgust and horror like imaginary mime ping pong balls back and forth between us.

"Maybe you didn't hear me or perhaps I didn't express myself adequately. Allow me to rectify the situation." I lean in. He flinched a little. I spit vitriol as I harshly enunciate each terrible syllable in no more than a whisper into his face. "You better take your damned hands off my fucking sweater vest or so help me I will rip you apart right here and now and redecorate this place with what's left of your broken, battered corpse and paint the room a nice, new shade of you. And then, I'll take my sweater vest to the check out counter and go on with my day. So, I'll ask you again to reconsider the consequences of your actions. Is it worth it? You better be sure, because I am." I breathe deeply. I'm shaking. I am trying to regain my composure and not release my anger monkeys to go completely bat shit crazy on this man and everything within a 5 mile radius. But, I have been searching for this garment all afternoon and if this guy thinks he's just going to casually step up and rob me of it... Well, that's not going to happen. What is going to happen? Either he is going to slowly release the sweater vest, give me a terrified look of reproach, and disappear as quickly and quietly as possible OR we are going to have our own very extreme death match brawl between the hanging slacks and silk shirt racks. He very wisely chooses the first, less physical option. I sigh. Victory through testosterone and adrenaline fueled dominance is such a beautiful feeling. It feels a lot like love.

I should add that an associate of mine suggested, and then lent me, the Katt Pack to watch. Katt Williams. Very, very funny man. He swears more than I ever could, which is saying a lot since I just love sparsely accenting my work with various profanities. I had watched two of the four discs that morning. In that moment when I felt the moment slipping away from me and into the hands of that man, all of the gears in my head screeched to a halt and only my temporary cache was accessible.

Yes, I channeled the spirit of a very hostile, angry, short-statured black man. I was pimping hard and thugging it up. Although, to be honest, Katt Williams seems like a pretty laid back dude. Like me, most of the time. I guess I shouldn't blame him. It's not his fault I'm a complete lunatic and clothing nazi. That is all me. Still...

"Cracker!" I called after him. I then admired my prize. Then, the unthinkable happened. "You have to be joking. Perfect." The size indicated on the hanger was not compatible to the size on the tag sewn into the collar. Small. Small? Small! Disaster. Predictably and classic me. Very typical. I had just threatened to destroy a man over a sweater vest I could only wear if I sawed myself in half right down the center of my body. I chuckled, nervously, and hung the sweater vest back on the rack. I then made my exit from the store - possibly just missing the welcoming embrace of security personnel - and drove like a mad man until I cleared the threshold of the rage-inducing aura of the mall.

Anyway, I did manage to find suitable attire for the interviews I'll be conducting on Wednesday, minus the fabled sweater vest that simply wasn't to be. The opportunities afforded to me to dress up rather than down are so few and rare that I really wanted to make the most out of the experience. Oh well, at least I'll be able to wear a tie again. That will have to suffice.

You'd think the cold would cause some shrinkage.

I'm going to be late for work. I run to my Jeep, hurl myself and my shit into it, and start the engine. I turn on the heat and activate my GPS. I set it for work and find that I can just make it on time if I don't stop for red lights. Then I notice my passenger side window. Someone has drawn something in the frost on the window. I try to activate the window controls but they are unresponsive. The crude picture is frozen in place and I don't have the time to get out and scrape it off. I push the nearest vent toward it and hope it melts as I drive to work.

When I get to town, I remember that it's 6:30am and a school day. I tense up. The picture hasn't disappeared. In fact, I almost think it's become more noticeable. I come to the dramatic conclusion that I may get arrested for public indecency in a school zone today. I hope no one looks at my vehicle as I pass. I hope no one sees the crude and enormous penis someone has drawn on my passenger side window as I drive at the appointed 25mph past all the little children and their god-fearing parents. I'm not as concerned about the tiny pixelated set of tits that simply weren't drawn to the same scale as the 12 inch crocked cock. It's absurd. The balls were depicted larger than the tits. In what universe is that possible?

I am freaking out.

I drive my penis-mobile to work and arrive just in time to jump out and go running like a madman into the building. As the day progresses, I forget about my ordeal. It's much warmer in the afternoon and the penis is invisible to the naked eye. I forget it's even there until the next morning as I am running behind again and I'm too late to do anything but going speeding along in my penis-mobile for all the world to see.

I am too overwhelmed by the comedy of the situation to be as pissed off about this as I probably should be. These kinds of things just don't happen to other people. They only happen to me. I text my outrage to everyone in my phonebook. Most people assume it's a forward and don't realize this is happening in real time and to me. That makes it even funnier. Irony is hilarious like that.

The next few days are warmer and the penis goes dormant. I forget about it again. I still haven't had the time or mindset to remember to do anything about the situation and now it doesn't matter. When I do remember, I speculate about the identity of the artist. I have two theories: someone at work and someone in my apartment building. I can't decide on a favorite. It could just as easily be either.

On another bitter and cold morning, it becomes more obvious that it is definitely someone in my apartment community. First, I notice the shotgun penis for possibly the fourth time. I roll down the window and then roll it back up. Nothing changes except the breasts are gone now.

"Well, that makes it so much better. Doesn't it? Wha... What the hell?"

I see something in my rear view mirror. I turn around in my seat and my jaw unhinges. Across the entire length of my rear window is a five foot penis that makes the previous one look prepubescent.

"Holy cock. What the hell?!"

I turn on my rear defrost. I start the car and activate GPS. The absurdity of my situation is almost too extreme. I consider getting out and correcting the situation. Then, I realize someone is probably watching me. The artist is probably enjoying this moment. I honk and wave at no one and nothing. Then I'm off, speeding through town in my penis-mobile. The difference today is that I don't forget.

I don't forget for the next ten hours. After work, I get gas and make sure to wash every single window of my Jeep. I have finally stopped the insanity. No one has confessed to being my penis-mobile artist, but I maintain my theories and wait anxiously for the next cold morning to come.

Domino effect.

It's 3am and I'm holding my breath. I'm listening. Someone just screamed What the fuck?! from the apartment directly above me and now they're walking around up there. I am frozen and actively trying to look through my ceiling tiles to see what's going on up there. Since my x-ray vision isn't working, I try my telepathy. Go back to sleep. Go the hell back to sleep. You're not being robbed. It was all a dream. I wait it out. Once twenty minutes goes by, it's safe to continue. Which reminds me, I need to replace the batteries in my kitchen clock. It's been 5:15 in my kitchen since October.

It all started Sunday. It could have actually started on Saturday and I was simply too rushed and crazy to notice anything until Sunday. I came home to a flooded kitchen. I took off my socks and tried to find the source of all the water. This proved impossible since it was everywhere and could have been coming up through the tiles for all I knew. I gave up and decided to have a Dr. Pepper. That's when I noticed the can was warm and the smell - like a coconut won a hot dog eating contest and then vomited in my refrigerator before setting itself on fire. But, having just come home from work and it being 2am, I wasn't that worried about investigating the smell. I simply adjusted the temperature controls in the back of the fridge and shut the door. I removed a large tumbler from my cupboard and opened the freezer expecting to find the 22lb. bag of ice that I keep there and instead finding only a waterfall that rushed out at me and soaked the rest of my clothing. I screamed and shut the door, too late to stop anything. I stood dripping and listening to the people upstairs investigating the disturbance. I put the cup down on the counter and canvassed the kitchen floor with towels. Thankfully, I had enough since I'm not in the habit of loaning them to neighbours. I am, however, just recently in the habit of waking them up at all hours of the night with screaming and kitchen insanity.

I had successfully solved the mystery of the flooded kitchen. My refrigerator was broken. During the course of one or more days, the ice in the freezer had melted and was slowly leaking out. I accelerated that process when I opened the freezer. Now, I needed a plan. First, I needed a solution and then a plan. But before I did anything, I had to be absolutely certain there wasn't a simpler explanation for my problem. A less expense explanation, possibly. I moved the refrigerator and utilized an alternate power outlet. Perhaps, it seemed, there was something wrong with the outlet. Maybe it shorted out or wasn't providing the proper wattage to sustain a refrigerator of that size. So, I would wait and see if I could salvage the thing. When it still remained unresponsive after nearly a day of waiting, I knew I needed to replace the thing.

Since I don't really use my refrigerator for much else than soda and occasional lunch meats, I opted for a small dorm-sized fridge. Once I obtained that, I set it up in my kitchen next to the other one. That solved half of my problem, but now I had a very large and completely useless appliance and no idea what to do with it. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I began the joyless task of food salvation from the larger fridge into the smaller one. I filled a 30 gallon garbage bag with spoiled food which I drug out to the dumpster in the box the new fridge came in. I noticed what a fantastic job the weighted box had done at plowing a path through the snow. I knew what I had to do next, but I would wait for a more opportune time to carry out the next phase of my plan.

Around 3am, I decided the time had come. I had acquired a dolly and convinced myself it would be so easy to simply load the thing, wheel it out to the dumpster, and be done with it. And under the cover of night, no one would have any idea. I wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone. The path I made earlier had been there all day long so anyone observant enough to notice it would have noticed it before and not necessarily be able to assume any connection between the two. People dump shit out there all the time. It's more like the community dumpster than just the apartment community dumpster. Yes, brilliant. I put way too much thought into all of it.

Before I tell you how it all went horribly wrong, I should take a moment to paint a more detailed landscape of my kitchen for you.

I have three cupboards, a lazy susan, and only one drawer in my kitchen. The drawer is about six inches wide. I have elected to store my vast cutlery set there. I've had to get very creative with my kitchen organization and storage. I have clear bins for utensils. I installed shelves for food stuff and cooking ware. It's been a process. I could make a career out of efficiently designing kitchens the size of bathrooms.

My mistake was overestimating the distance between the refrigerator and the shelves I installed. I would have been alright if they weren't the cheapest shelves I could find. Basically, they are strips of metal screwed into the wall which I then slide brackets into and then sit the painted wooden shelves on. They just hang there, precariously waiting for a disaster. They didn't have to wait long. When I heard the metal bracket bouncing back and forth between the fridge and the wall as it fell, I knew something terrible was about to happen. Oh shit. I thought helplessly. Something terrible just happened. I decided that if I didn't move, everything would be fine. I could maintain the status quo of impending doom and keep it at bay by simply forbidding the inevitable from occurring. I would simply stand there holding my refrigerator at a 45 degree angle while simultaneously wedging a bracketless shelf between the refrigerator and the wall forever. Because of the extreme nature of the situation, I couldn't reach anything to do much else without altering the angle of the fridge and disrupting the fragile balance of my tiny kitchen universe. Damn it. I thought, setting the refrigerator back up into a fully upright position. Gravity and the domino effect did the rest.

What happened next was total insanity. I watched in horror as the shelves collapsed - each one unbalancing the next, metal brackets went flying, cooking ware crashed and smashed through boxes of food stuff. For about five seconds, my kitchen was possessed by furious demons. I clamped both hands over my mouth to keep from screaming or laughing or something. Someone in the apartment above me shrieked What the fuck?! in a way that sent chills rippling through me. They were truly frightened which frightened me. I stood there in complete shock just looking at the carnage. Once the footsteps stopped upstairs, I relaxed a little. I remained silent, like a kitchen devastating ninja, for the next twenty minutes while I chain-smoked and not much else but sigh.

It actually was rather easy moving the refrigerator after that. I decided I would reclaim the kitchen when I woke up later that morning. I would even vacuum once the floor dried completely.