"6 & Davidson Series" (True) Life Stories By; Roberto Dilemma

"6 & Davidson Series" Vol#2 "Vicky's Bloody Dive" Roberto Dilemma

     Across the little side street from that, “kitty Corner” from our house was a  little house where, “Vicky” and her man lived.(we never knew his name) This I mention because she would be the only neighbor that we ever really knew. The little old man and his wife that lived next to our lot, we cut his grass, shoveled his snow. He thanked us very politely but that all we knew of them. Not even their names.

    When we moved in we met the landlord. He was a lawyer. He ran for circuit court judge and won.

So he was also a judge. His Name was Lumley. He told us his first name, but I don’t remember it . We never used it. That’s what he wanted us to call him. But I pinned the nickname Chumley on him and it stuck. You see I thought he was “fucked up in the mind.”

    When we were first moving our furniture in we found some nasty magazines. Now these weren’t your run-of-the-mill fuck books, “Playboy” or “Hustler” or any of that semi-normal shit. These were expensive, Hundred dollar, snuff, torture, gross cut  your titties off “sick ass shit.“  Not, “fancy knots”, tie your lover up, even that would have been much, “Saner” then this trash. I never seen anything like it before, or since. I could barely look at the pictures, and I was an grown man.

In the room where the magazines were there was a wood burning stove, and a over stuffed chair. (We threw that out later.) We took a very heavy hide-a-way bed/couch up there. It would make a nice sitting room. It had two very nice, rather large windows facing the front of the house. They over looked the branches of the ash tree. Anyone that has ever owned a couch/bed knows they are a pain in the ass heavy!

So a friend and I carried it up. I seen those nasty, gross, fucked-up magazines and being really busy moving.  I just shoved them under the couch with my foot. I was thinking I’d throw them away later. I didn’t want anyone to see that sick shit.

    Well later that day, while we were setting every thing in place, Chumley comes in excited to the point of almost being frantic.

    He says, “did you find my magazines, they’re really expensive, I hope you didn’t throw them out, do you know where they are. I forgot them here”

    Remembering sliding them under the sofa/bed I say, “those fucked up nasty, snuff, shit rags”?

Since I was used to truthfully speaking my mind, I went on, “you’re a sick mother fucker if you get your nut checking that fuckin’ bloody torture/murder shit out, and you’re a fuckin’ judge, figures, gotta be the straight ass lookin’ meek, lawyer mother fucker that ends up being a psycho piece of shit with legs”.

    He blurts out, “you didn’t throw them out?… They are very expensive and hard to find magazines”!

    Only my friend that helped me carry the couch up saw them.  Everyone else in the house didn’t have a clue what the fuck the “new Landlord” was babbling about.

    Now I want this idiot to calm down, take his sick ass books and get the fuck out of my sight.

    I say, “calm the fuk down, I’ll get them for you, no one threw them out”.

   He seemed relived. I know he would have dug through garbage for them. He stands there quietly, looking around nervously, while I run upstairs and get  them. I give them to him. Very red-faced, he quickly leaves.

Everyone’s, like, “what the hell was that all about”. I explain. There a lot of, “oh no shit“... “And wow fuked“, being mumbled around the room. He’d probably get a fire going. The enclosed back porch  was well stocked with split oak. More cords of it in the yard. He’d get it nice and cozy in there. Pull out his sick books, and spend the evening tuggin’ it in his comfy chair.