Oh! I almost forgot about Ronny Hancock, or maybe Handcock, I’m not to sure about the spelling. A couple of weeks before they fired me Mercury Insurance hired a guy named Ronny Hancock to do my job. Of course it was my duty to train him. Ronny Hancock was ordinary in every way but one. I had seen him online in a gay porn film. Ronny was in a swing getting banged by some dude. I did not hold this against him in any way shape or form. What he wants to do on his own time is his business, I thought.
But I did not really want to hang out with this guy either. I told you how they were always moving us all around at Mercury Insurance, well in the end I was stuck in a cube with Ronny Hancock. It was like we were sharing an apartment together. I swear I am not making this up. Then one day Scott Villwock came up to me and asked what bus I was taking to work, he said he wanted to know because Ronny was going to put his car in the shop and maybe he would be taking the bus a few mornings. I did not really want to tell Scott what bus I was taking in the morning. I thought the guy might just drive by and shoot me at my bus stop –oh the joys of public transportation- you gotta stand there and wait. It’s part of the fun! I actually told Scott Villwock , my boss this. Then I told him I didn’t really want Ronny Hancock on the bus with me. I did not tell Scott Villwock I had seen Ronny Hancock in a porno movie online. I may have called Ronny Hancock a weirdo. I know, I know who am I to be calling other guys weirdoes? I guess I didn’t want to be on a bus with Ronny Hancock because I did not want to befriend him, because I did not want to be in an online porno movie fucking him in the ass while he was all trussed up in a sex swing. There I said it. Just like pulling a band aid off. Real quick and there’s just about no pain at all.
I take almost full responsibility for the Ronny Hancock debacle. See Mike Murphy had once asked me what I would be doing if I could be doing anything I wanted.
“Two more inches and a full head of hair and I’d be doing gay porn,” I said. I was joking.
I was joking. Of course back then I was still healthy. I had wash board abs and no one to share them with. Ronny Hancock. What a character he was. He had a goofy catch phrase, something he would say often that he may or may not have know he was saying, but right now I can’t remember it.
So it’s April 2005. I am unemployed and unemployable, and the sons of bitches they still won’t leave me alone.
For me the best thing about not having to work was the video games. I still had my Xbox with Xbox Live, and a broad band connection to the internet through Time Warner posing as EarthLink. The next best thing was collecting unemployment without ever leaving my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1 Largo Florida 33770.
I would apply for jobs, but because I am a convicted felon, not many employers were calling me for those interviews. So I hold up in my apartment and played games like
Rainbow Six, Rainbow Six Black Arrow, Halo 2, and Splinter Cell Chaos Theory.
I went on a massive gaming binge playing a demo of a game called Battlefield 2 Modern
Combat.
It would have been perfect, except someone stalked me into the virtual world. I’m pretty sure it was the care taker at 810 1st Ave NW Apt. 1 Largo Florida 33770. The caretaker at the Westside apartments was a cop named John. John had an Xbox. But I haven’t ruled out anyone that I had been working with at Mercury Insurance including guys like Mike Murphy and Shawn Phillips.
Zozer-X. That was my gamer tag through the Xbox live service. You get voice over IP with Xbox live and one time I heard Ronny Hancock loud and clear. There was just no denying it was him because he blurted out his little catch phrase. To bad I can’t remember it now.
I hate to admit it, but following my dismissal from Mercury Insurance I started to drink again. I would walk a few blocks over from my apartment to a little place called O’Houstons Irish Pub at 518 W Bay Drive Largo Florida 33770. I never got totally trashed, but I would catch a pretty good buzz sometimes. Admitting I drank after the DUI is the only behavior I am ashamed of in this entire story. It just isn’t right. Even if I was not driving. If you drink after an arrest for DUI you really are an alcoholic.
Did I tell you that Mike Murphy’s mother worked at Mercury Insurance in the Legal Department. She did. I was completely indifferent about this woman. I had no real feelings about this lady one way or the other. But I’m sure her and one of her friends popped into O’Houstons Irish Pub one night while I was there drinking. She pretty much called me an old dirty bastard. I just smiled and passed her the wine list.
I should have thanked her. Her bad behavior was just enough incentive to get me to quit drinking. I ran into my neighbor Tony at O’Houstons Irish Pub one night. He told me that his brother is in the CIA. Yeah I mean that CIA-the Central Intelligence Agency.
Yawn. Sure…and I’m the Queen of England in a clever disguise.
I got to see “Star Wars Revenge of The Sith” at a midnight show on May 19, 2005. I wasn’t working but I had money in the bank, was collecting unemployment, and have been a huge Star War fan since 1977. The prequels suck. But it was nice that I had no where to be that night.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
Interlude: Retractions, thoughts on hitting the big 4-0.
I won’t name any names at this time, but people are once again implying paranoid schizophrenia. I have issues. Everyone does. I am not a paranoid schizophrenic.
Let’s take a look at the story I told about Ellie Ardalani. Remove the money from the story and the story is still true. Forget I mentioned the bonus money. I worked in an office with a woman who couldn’t stand me simply because I could not blow a little Irish Catholic Sunshine up her ass. (I’m not even sure there is such a thing as Irish Catholic Sunshine).
I’m willing to remove the money from the story because we had 4 hurricanes in Florida one year. Mercury Insurance had been writing home owners insurance policies and it’s possible that they took a pretty good loss when Charley, Ivan, Frances, and Jeanne blew through town.
I started writing my story because I had to, and because I knew that someone would be reading it. I wanted someone to read it, otherwise why would I have bothered to write it.
I have one other retraction. My grandmother on my father’s side of the family passed away in November of 2005, not 2006 as I may have mentioned in the Peanut Butter Confessions.
I’m standing by everything else in the story with no other retractions of any kind.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I was born July 3, 1967. Do you know what they called that summer? They called it the summer of love.
Turning 40 was easy. Thinking about turning 40 was the hard part! I dreaded it for years.
You know what I wanted for my 40th birthday? I wanted to weigh 145 lbs. I wanted to be physically fit. I almost made it. My 40th birthday came and went with no notice by anyone at all, and I was a little sad about that, but mostly I was just relieved. Thank god I didn’t have to look at those black balloons you see around offices sometimes when someone turns 40. Over the hill!
Over the hill my ass!
I can’t tell you if I made my goal weight because I no longer have a bathroom scale and the reason I no longer have a bathroom scale is because I no longer have a bathroom. In July of 2006 I became a homeless man. Three days shy of my 39th birthday I lost everything. Hell I’m sitting here writing this in a public library, and I’m wearing some other guy’s clothes. The only things I have that are truly mine now are my thoughts.
Being homeless is just like living in a third world country, only every once in a while you get to visit the United States of America and you don’t have to get on a plane.
I won’t name any names at this time, but people are once again implying paranoid schizophrenia. I have issues. Everyone does. I am not a paranoid schizophrenic.
Let’s take a look at the story I told about Ellie Ardalani. Remove the money from the story and the story is still true. Forget I mentioned the bonus money. I worked in an office with a woman who couldn’t stand me simply because I could not blow a little Irish Catholic Sunshine up her ass. (I’m not even sure there is such a thing as Irish Catholic Sunshine).
I’m willing to remove the money from the story because we had 4 hurricanes in Florida one year. Mercury Insurance had been writing home owners insurance policies and it’s possible that they took a pretty good loss when Charley, Ivan, Frances, and Jeanne blew through town.
I started writing my story because I had to, and because I knew that someone would be reading it. I wanted someone to read it, otherwise why would I have bothered to write it.
I have one other retraction. My grandmother on my father’s side of the family passed away in November of 2005, not 2006 as I may have mentioned in the Peanut Butter Confessions.
I’m standing by everything else in the story with no other retractions of any kind.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I was born July 3, 1967. Do you know what they called that summer? They called it the summer of love.
Turning 40 was easy. Thinking about turning 40 was the hard part! I dreaded it for years.
You know what I wanted for my 40th birthday? I wanted to weigh 145 lbs. I wanted to be physically fit. I almost made it. My 40th birthday came and went with no notice by anyone at all, and I was a little sad about that, but mostly I was just relieved. Thank god I didn’t have to look at those black balloons you see around offices sometimes when someone turns 40. Over the hill!
Over the hill my ass!
I can’t tell you if I made my goal weight because I no longer have a bathroom scale and the reason I no longer have a bathroom scale is because I no longer have a bathroom. In July of 2006 I became a homeless man. Three days shy of my 39th birthday I lost everything. Hell I’m sitting here writing this in a public library, and I’m wearing some other guy’s clothes. The only things I have that are truly mine now are my thoughts.
Being homeless is just like living in a third world country, only every once in a while you get to visit the United States of America and you don’t have to get on a plane.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
On Friday April 5th 2005 I was excited about leaving the office of Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762 because I was going to be taking a week off. Instead I got the rest of my life off because the guy running the BI dept., Scott Villwock, fired me for no reason at all. He fired me after a failed attempt to “manage me out” that included poisoning me so often that I had started to come to work wearing surgical gloves and a painters mask.
This time when Scott called me into a conference room for a little chat he didn’t even mention the gloves or the mask. You know what ground the idiot stood on? He said I was missing to much time from work. Missing to much time from work? You’ve got me wearing surgical gloves and a mask just so I can be healthy enough to come to the office and kiss your sorry ass-and you’re going to sit there and tell me I’m missing to much time from work. I busted my ass while I worked for Mercury Insurance. Hell I even became a “yes man” of sorts. They tried repeatedly to get me to lose my cool, but for the most part I never did. When the man said jump-I said How High?
There was no big scene. They told me to pack up my troubles so that’s what I did. The only thing that really pissed me off is for some stupid reason while I was in the conference room they had “cleaned off” my desk. So on my way out I could not get me gym bag. I told you I had the habit of going to the gym either on my lunch break or after work. Well I would bring a gym bag with a change or two of clothes and I would put it under my desk. They had to go and take my gym bag. So I marched the fuck on out with out it. What was I gonna do? I get just about to the curb of Ulmerton Road and two fools come out of the building carrying my gym bag. Golly thanks guys. You’re all heart.
I wish the story ended there but it doesn’t. Not yet. There is more to tell about Mercury Insurance. I cut a lot out. I should tell you about Ellie Ardalani. Not her real name. She was from the Mid-east, and her real name was hard for most people to pronounce- so she came up with an alias that she used. I mean she had a fake name on the door of her corner office.
I told you that I am polite. That I say please. And thank you. That I never really use curse words. Especially at work. But I have a way of being extremely impolite. It’s not on purpose. It’s just the way I am. Here’s how I am impolite. If I bump into you some where-it doesn’t matter where- I may not look at you or even acknowledge you. What could be ruder than that? But I often feel insecure-even shy and if I feel this way I may or I may not look you in the eye and give you a greeting. You know how I feel about this. I feel if I do not –well tough shit.
Ellie Ardalani hated me for this, probably from the day I got to Mercury to the day I walked out without my gym bag. She would send these smarmy emails to the whole company and preach about smiling and saying hello to your coworkers. Yeah just what my coworkers need a little sunshine from the crazy Irish Catholic Motherfucker.
It wasn’t enough that I did my job with a ruthless efficiency…I had to make this bitch happy to be alive every time I bumped into her. I swear if I could have jammed a giant Hallmark up her ass and called it a day…I would have!
Ellie Ardalani may have been second in command. Meaning she was behind only Jack Daugherty in the chain of command at Mercury Insurance. One of her jobs was deciding who got how much when bonuses were passed out. One year I got over two grand. I swear I am not making that up. The next year I got just over six hundred dollars. You should have seen the look of disappointment on Ellie Ardalani’s face when I thanked her profusely for my six hundred dollars and got the hell out of her office. To this day I figure the reason they call it a bonus is that it is money you didn’t necessarily earn. So it was an EXTRA six hundred dollars. Of course an EXTRA six hundred is not the same as an EXTRA two thousand. But you don’t sweat it when someone is giving you money. You just don’t. Six hundred bucks. That’s what I got because I could not make this bitch in her corner office happy with a smile and greeting every time I bumped into her.
Did I tell you I like coffee? I think Dunkin Donuts makes the best coffee on the planet. But it ain’t cheap. So in the mornings as I was getting ready to go to work at Mercury Insurance I would make some coffee and drink it in my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1 Largo FL 33770.
One morning I am sitting at my desk at work and I am drinking a cup of coffee that I bought at this little café on the first floor at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater Florida 33762, and Mike Murphy comes up to me and asks why am I so tired that I would need 3 cups of coffee to get going. This really freaked me out, because this was only my FIRST cup of coffee-at work. He was right. I had had two other cups-while I was in my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt 1 Largo Florida 33770. I stayed cool, and was actually thankful that this stupid fat bastard had finally perjured himself and had finally let slip what I had known for some time. That they had bugged my apartment, my phone, my car and my computer.
There was a young lady at Mercury Insurance named Priscilla Bowling who jumped at every chance she could to be a total and complete cunt to me. Sorry to use that kind of language but there is just no other way to describe this woman’s behavior. She once bitched at me for about five minutes because she didn’t care for the way I answered my phone at work. Here’s how I answered my phone, “Mercury Insurance this is Ken how can I help you?” I can see how that would really piss you off SURE I can. I’m such a bad boy.
Now it’s May 2005. I’m unemployed and unemployable. And the sons of bitches they still won’t leave me alone.
This time when Scott called me into a conference room for a little chat he didn’t even mention the gloves or the mask. You know what ground the idiot stood on? He said I was missing to much time from work. Missing to much time from work? You’ve got me wearing surgical gloves and a mask just so I can be healthy enough to come to the office and kiss your sorry ass-and you’re going to sit there and tell me I’m missing to much time from work. I busted my ass while I worked for Mercury Insurance. Hell I even became a “yes man” of sorts. They tried repeatedly to get me to lose my cool, but for the most part I never did. When the man said jump-I said How High?
There was no big scene. They told me to pack up my troubles so that’s what I did. The only thing that really pissed me off is for some stupid reason while I was in the conference room they had “cleaned off” my desk. So on my way out I could not get me gym bag. I told you I had the habit of going to the gym either on my lunch break or after work. Well I would bring a gym bag with a change or two of clothes and I would put it under my desk. They had to go and take my gym bag. So I marched the fuck on out with out it. What was I gonna do? I get just about to the curb of Ulmerton Road and two fools come out of the building carrying my gym bag. Golly thanks guys. You’re all heart.
I wish the story ended there but it doesn’t. Not yet. There is more to tell about Mercury Insurance. I cut a lot out. I should tell you about Ellie Ardalani. Not her real name. She was from the Mid-east, and her real name was hard for most people to pronounce- so she came up with an alias that she used. I mean she had a fake name on the door of her corner office.
I told you that I am polite. That I say please. And thank you. That I never really use curse words. Especially at work. But I have a way of being extremely impolite. It’s not on purpose. It’s just the way I am. Here’s how I am impolite. If I bump into you some where-it doesn’t matter where- I may not look at you or even acknowledge you. What could be ruder than that? But I often feel insecure-even shy and if I feel this way I may or I may not look you in the eye and give you a greeting. You know how I feel about this. I feel if I do not –well tough shit.
Ellie Ardalani hated me for this, probably from the day I got to Mercury to the day I walked out without my gym bag. She would send these smarmy emails to the whole company and preach about smiling and saying hello to your coworkers. Yeah just what my coworkers need a little sunshine from the crazy Irish Catholic Motherfucker.
It wasn’t enough that I did my job with a ruthless efficiency…I had to make this bitch happy to be alive every time I bumped into her. I swear if I could have jammed a giant Hallmark up her ass and called it a day…I would have!
Ellie Ardalani may have been second in command. Meaning she was behind only Jack Daugherty in the chain of command at Mercury Insurance. One of her jobs was deciding who got how much when bonuses were passed out. One year I got over two grand. I swear I am not making that up. The next year I got just over six hundred dollars. You should have seen the look of disappointment on Ellie Ardalani’s face when I thanked her profusely for my six hundred dollars and got the hell out of her office. To this day I figure the reason they call it a bonus is that it is money you didn’t necessarily earn. So it was an EXTRA six hundred dollars. Of course an EXTRA six hundred is not the same as an EXTRA two thousand. But you don’t sweat it when someone is giving you money. You just don’t. Six hundred bucks. That’s what I got because I could not make this bitch in her corner office happy with a smile and greeting every time I bumped into her.
Did I tell you I like coffee? I think Dunkin Donuts makes the best coffee on the planet. But it ain’t cheap. So in the mornings as I was getting ready to go to work at Mercury Insurance I would make some coffee and drink it in my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1 Largo FL 33770.
One morning I am sitting at my desk at work and I am drinking a cup of coffee that I bought at this little café on the first floor at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater Florida 33762, and Mike Murphy comes up to me and asks why am I so tired that I would need 3 cups of coffee to get going. This really freaked me out, because this was only my FIRST cup of coffee-at work. He was right. I had had two other cups-while I was in my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt 1 Largo Florida 33770. I stayed cool, and was actually thankful that this stupid fat bastard had finally perjured himself and had finally let slip what I had known for some time. That they had bugged my apartment, my phone, my car and my computer.
There was a young lady at Mercury Insurance named Priscilla Bowling who jumped at every chance she could to be a total and complete cunt to me. Sorry to use that kind of language but there is just no other way to describe this woman’s behavior. She once bitched at me for about five minutes because she didn’t care for the way I answered my phone at work. Here’s how I answered my phone, “Mercury Insurance this is Ken how can I help you?” I can see how that would really piss you off SURE I can. I’m such a bad boy.
Now it’s May 2005. I’m unemployed and unemployable. And the sons of bitches they still won’t leave me alone.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
So they decided to murder me instead. I swear I am not making this up.
Now it’s February 2004. I get an invitation to my sister Cathy’s wedding. This is to be her 3rd, but my first. Meaning I was not in attendance at her previous 2 trips down the aisle. She’s getting married on Valentines Day. Feb 14 2004.
I decide that yes I will be going to this wedding. I was hoping to save what was left of relations with my Irish Catholic family. Hell I went out and bought two new suits for the occasion. Not to mention a couple of bottles of Korbel.
Some really odd things happened that night. My sisters insisted that I stop out at a Gazebo somewhere out on St. Pete Beach. It’s raining and there I am in my new suit standing alone at this Gazebo. Now they tell me the reason I am standing there in the rain is that they are planning to have the wedding ceremony at this Gazebo and the reception out at my sister’s place. Who am I to doubt them? But the weather is not so great, it’s windy and rainy. My half-assed recon mission out at the Gazebo on St. Pete Beach is called off and I am instructed to head to my sisters place. The wedding and the reception will take place right there.
I have to be honest; I did not think getting married on Valentines days was such a hot idea, in fact, I thought it was like giving your marriage the kiss of death even before it got started. But it was not my wedding.
Maybe things would have turned out differently if I had been drinking beer. But it was an occasion and so instead of beer, I was drinking champagne. No it’s not true. It would not have made any difference no matter what I was drinking.
Did I tell you I am a convicted Felon? Those are scarlet letters. Hell those are scarlet NEON letters. I can’t even get a job. I can’t vote in the presidential elections. I can’t leave the country.
But I was not a convicted Felon on the night of February 14 2004. Back then I was just citizen Donnelly. Kenneth G. Donnelly.
I left my sister Cathy’s wedding reception at around 11 P.M., but instead of going home, I stopped by my favorite bar Georgies Alibi.
On the night of my sisters wedding, Valentines Day someone slipped me the date rape drug. You know Gamma Hydroxy Butyrate. GHB. How do I know this? Because in the early morning hours of February 15, 2004 I was involved in a high speed car accident. I totaled the Geek Mobile, and when someone pulled me from the wreckage of my own car you know what really hurt? My ass. My buttocks, as in someone slipped me the GHB, fucked me like a doll and then put me into my little Geek mobile and sent me off like a torpedo to die. And I probably would have except I was wearing my seat belt and the air bags deployed. I swear I am not making this up.
You know how many people I’ve told about my sore ass? Exactly none. But guess who starts talking about anal tearing and rape at Mercury Insurance? You guessed it. My favorite BI Adjuster, Mike Murphy. He desperately wanted me to know that he had something to do with what happened to me. You gotta love the guy. You really do. Milk of human kindness and all that. But once again I stayed cool.Guess who acted shocked to see me when I did show up for work? Old Scott Villwock. It wasn’t meant to be!
He had the look of a man who was sure he was seeing a dead man walking. A ghost!
Other than my torn ass, the only injury I had was from the seat belt. It dug into my chest pretty good. I had some upper body pain. One small cut on my elbow. I can’t figure the injury to my elbow. I was wearing my suit including the jacket. The jacket wasn’t torn but I had a small cut on my elbow. I refused to go for treatment. A couple did leave the scene of the accident in an ambulance, but they were mostly scared and shaken up. They were not seriously injured. There was no blood at the scene of the crash. The other car could have been driven from the scene had the couple not gotten into the ambulance. I refused to get into the ambulance because I knew that I was not seriously injured, and I also knew that a ride in the ambulance was running about one thousand dollars at that time.
I could have walked away from the scene of the accident. The state troopers were running the scene and none of them seemed to realize that I had been driving one of the vehicles involved. Hell they had the Geek Mobile up on a flat bed and were about to hall it away when I walked over and asked where they were taking it.
That’s when I was arrested for DUI. Trooper Cross. That was his name. He drove me around for a while. Made me take the field sobriety test.
By March of 2004 I was a convicted felon. But I was still working for Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater, FL 33762.
I hung on for another year or so, thanking god all the while for the joys of public transportation. People in the BI dept. seemed to groan. They just couldn’t figure my luck. How could I still be making it to work each day?
The bus ran right by my apartment. Number 98. And it took me right to the office.
Getting home wasn’t as easy, but it was doable.
And then they started to poison me again. With the drug that leaves my throat scratchy. I was hustling across the street after work each day and picking up orange juice at the Publix. It seemed to help with that odd sensation in my throat, but it did nothing for the insomnia and the horrible feeling when I would wake up and not feel rested at all.
So I started to wear the surgical gloves and the painters mask to work again.
Now it’s February 2004. I get an invitation to my sister Cathy’s wedding. This is to be her 3rd, but my first. Meaning I was not in attendance at her previous 2 trips down the aisle. She’s getting married on Valentines Day. Feb 14 2004.
I decide that yes I will be going to this wedding. I was hoping to save what was left of relations with my Irish Catholic family. Hell I went out and bought two new suits for the occasion. Not to mention a couple of bottles of Korbel.
Some really odd things happened that night. My sisters insisted that I stop out at a Gazebo somewhere out on St. Pete Beach. It’s raining and there I am in my new suit standing alone at this Gazebo. Now they tell me the reason I am standing there in the rain is that they are planning to have the wedding ceremony at this Gazebo and the reception out at my sister’s place. Who am I to doubt them? But the weather is not so great, it’s windy and rainy. My half-assed recon mission out at the Gazebo on St. Pete Beach is called off and I am instructed to head to my sisters place. The wedding and the reception will take place right there.
I have to be honest; I did not think getting married on Valentines days was such a hot idea, in fact, I thought it was like giving your marriage the kiss of death even before it got started. But it was not my wedding.
Maybe things would have turned out differently if I had been drinking beer. But it was an occasion and so instead of beer, I was drinking champagne. No it’s not true. It would not have made any difference no matter what I was drinking.
Did I tell you I am a convicted Felon? Those are scarlet letters. Hell those are scarlet NEON letters. I can’t even get a job. I can’t vote in the presidential elections. I can’t leave the country.
But I was not a convicted Felon on the night of February 14 2004. Back then I was just citizen Donnelly. Kenneth G. Donnelly.
I left my sister Cathy’s wedding reception at around 11 P.M., but instead of going home, I stopped by my favorite bar Georgies Alibi.
On the night of my sisters wedding, Valentines Day someone slipped me the date rape drug. You know Gamma Hydroxy Butyrate. GHB. How do I know this? Because in the early morning hours of February 15, 2004 I was involved in a high speed car accident. I totaled the Geek Mobile, and when someone pulled me from the wreckage of my own car you know what really hurt? My ass. My buttocks, as in someone slipped me the GHB, fucked me like a doll and then put me into my little Geek mobile and sent me off like a torpedo to die. And I probably would have except I was wearing my seat belt and the air bags deployed. I swear I am not making this up.
You know how many people I’ve told about my sore ass? Exactly none. But guess who starts talking about anal tearing and rape at Mercury Insurance? You guessed it. My favorite BI Adjuster, Mike Murphy. He desperately wanted me to know that he had something to do with what happened to me. You gotta love the guy. You really do. Milk of human kindness and all that. But once again I stayed cool.Guess who acted shocked to see me when I did show up for work? Old Scott Villwock. It wasn’t meant to be!
He had the look of a man who was sure he was seeing a dead man walking. A ghost!
Other than my torn ass, the only injury I had was from the seat belt. It dug into my chest pretty good. I had some upper body pain. One small cut on my elbow. I can’t figure the injury to my elbow. I was wearing my suit including the jacket. The jacket wasn’t torn but I had a small cut on my elbow. I refused to go for treatment. A couple did leave the scene of the accident in an ambulance, but they were mostly scared and shaken up. They were not seriously injured. There was no blood at the scene of the crash. The other car could have been driven from the scene had the couple not gotten into the ambulance. I refused to get into the ambulance because I knew that I was not seriously injured, and I also knew that a ride in the ambulance was running about one thousand dollars at that time.
I could have walked away from the scene of the accident. The state troopers were running the scene and none of them seemed to realize that I had been driving one of the vehicles involved. Hell they had the Geek Mobile up on a flat bed and were about to hall it away when I walked over and asked where they were taking it.
That’s when I was arrested for DUI. Trooper Cross. That was his name. He drove me around for a while. Made me take the field sobriety test.
By March of 2004 I was a convicted felon. But I was still working for Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater, FL 33762.
I hung on for another year or so, thanking god all the while for the joys of public transportation. People in the BI dept. seemed to groan. They just couldn’t figure my luck. How could I still be making it to work each day?
The bus ran right by my apartment. Number 98. And it took me right to the office.
Getting home wasn’t as easy, but it was doable.
And then they started to poison me again. With the drug that leaves my throat scratchy. I was hustling across the street after work each day and picking up orange juice at the Publix. It seemed to help with that odd sensation in my throat, but it did nothing for the insomnia and the horrible feeling when I would wake up and not feel rested at all.
So I started to wear the surgical gloves and the painters mask to work again.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
The people at Mercury Insurance started to drug me. I swear I am not making this up.
How do I know this? I know this because from 2002 until April 2005 I worked for Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762, and from about December of 2003 I had been completely impotent. I only mention the impotence, because while I was at work I started to pop some really great boners. Erections again. At last! Yeah for my team! Only it totally freaked me out because I knew that they were spiking Ken’s coffee, or slipping me the Mickey – you know a little something /something in my bottled water or whatever.
I told you that I had fallen in love with someone at work and that it was painful to see them every day. I told you that I didn’t really want to be in love with them but that I was.
I had fallen in love with someone who was way too young for me. But if I am the first idiot on Earth to fall into this trap I really do want my freaking trophy. That’s the real reason I stopped by the trophy store the morning that my old man called me the trashcan man.
At Mercury Insurance the real boss was a guy named Jack Daugherty. He was the guy at the top. Jack looked like he was about 12 years old. I swear I am not making this up. He was almost always dressed in a suit. He was THE MAN after all, but he always looked like he was about 12 years old to me. I heard a rumor that he went to Harvard, but I never saw a degree and I never asked him about it. I was tempted once or twice. I once walked into Jack’s office on the top floor of Mercury Insurance wearing a pair of rubber gloves and a mask. The kind of mask you would wear if you were painting the house or working with fiberglass. I think I even handed him a file to get his signature. He didn’t say a word. What do you say to a guy who works in your office and walks around wearing rubber gloves and a mask? But they were poisoning me with something and my solution was simple. I didn’t leave any drinks at my desk unattended. I didn’t eat any food that was not individually wrapped and sealed. I wore rubber gloves and a mask.
I wore surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. At work. I had to. They were poisoning me.
Think of how much of a prisoner you would be if you were impotent and someone at work slipped a little Viagra into your coffee or your bottled water? I mean I wanted the boner-don’t get me wrong, but at work? What the fuck was I going to do with a raging hard on at work? I’ve mentioned that when I was healthy I would jerk off at least once a day. I’ve mentioned that I looked at porn and never even gave it a thought.
I never did any of these things at work. The same way I never use curse words at work. I am polite to the point that people often mock me or parody me, and my politeness and I just take it as a complement. Please and thank you. They mean something to me. Excuse me. Pardon me. These are things that I say. I have never used or abused the Internet at work. Not at any job. Including Mercury Insurance. What I did in the privacy of my own home was my own business.
What they did to me right there at Mercury Insurance 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762 is just unforgivable.
But I dug in. I made my stand. And the gloves and mask really helped. They really did.
“Why are you wearing gloves and a mask?” One of the Johns asked me. I think I was standing at the printer sorting through the pile of printed documents.
“Well,” I said. “I’m thinking about becoming a proctologist. I mean if I’m going to be working with so many ass holes. Why the fuck not?”
By this time the man in charge of the Bodily Injury Department was a guy named Scott Villwock. He was from Wisconsin, but he had the good sense to support the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
The gloves and the mask really angered old Scott Villwock. He actually called me into his office for one of those uncomfortable talks that bosses will give now and again. You know a one on one that is essentially a disciplinary action.
Scott had the annoying habit of mentioning the CIA all the time. And by CIA…I mean that CIA the Central Intelligence Agency. I could never figure out if this fool thought I was with the CIA or if he was trying to imply that he was. I do remember thinking, “I don’t care if you’re with the entire alphabet and half of fucking Sesame Street you stupid asshole.”
Scott would often ask me if I had any guns at home. Even before they started dosing me with boner juice and I started to come to work wearing surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. Scott had a college education but apparently he could not master the technology of the Internet or read a map. How do I know this? I know this because one day Scott came up to me and all but forced me to show him the location of a place called Breezy Point.
It’s in New York out by Rockaway. It is the location of my grandfather’s summer home.
Yeah, old Scott Villwock he pulls out a map or an atlas or something and the fucking fool makes me point to Breezy Point on a map. What a genius this guy is. And he’s running the department that I work in. Ain’t life grand?
Scott would often shout, “Pound the Rock. Pound the Rock,” across the office.
Apparently it’s a Tampa Bay Buccaneers thing. I counted my blessings. At least he wasn’t walking around the office with a Green Bay cheese wedge on his head!
No matter how many times I assured Scott Villwock that I do not own any guns, or even enjoy guns, the look of fear in his eyes never went away. Scott was always somewhat afraid of me. If the guy had any guts at all he used them all up the day he fired me.
Me, I’m not so sure I have guts, but man have I got the biggest set of balls.
The only thing that was certain at Mercury Insurance is that you would be moving. From desk to desk. Floor to floor. Whole departments. The company was going through a growth period and whole departments were moved on a weekly bases. You just never really knew where you were going to be sitting or even on what floor. I stopped counting how many times I moved at 6. And I was there for just over 3 years counting the beginning of my employment as a temp.
For all my talk about being in love with someone at work the truth is I hardly ever saw this person. They were not in my department and were often floors away. But I usually got to see the person I think of as “other Murphy” at least once a day. In the beginning anyway. Why “other Murphy”? See I had the Mike Murphy that I didn’t like so much and the “other Murphy” that I liked a lot.
Now I know why they call it falling in love. Turns out love is the bottomless pit. You just keep falling.
Other Murphy would show up at my desk about once a day because I would process the expense checks for the Bodily Injury adjusters, and they would print somewhere else in the building. Other Murphy would deliver the checks at about the same time each day.
I can’t even remember what department Other Murphy worked in. Something to do with fraud or fraudulent claims.
The point is Other Murphy didn’t actually work with me.
But the company had us all moving around all the time. And in the end Other Murphy wound up sitting just a few desks away from me. And that’s when they stared dosing me with boner juice. I have no idea what they expected my reaction to be, but I thought my solution was brilliant. Gloves and a mask.
But Scott Villwock did not like my solution. So he calls me into his office and tells me that I can not wear the gloves or the mask because they are creating a distraction in the workplace that is effecting productivity. I’m trying to avoid being dosed with boner juice and this idiot has to go and mention productivity.
I took the gloves and the mask off. It was work with out them or not work at all.
That’s when they started to poison me with something else. I have no clue what this stuff is, but here’s what it does. It puts and odd sensation into my throat. It…almost feels like I’m coming down with a cold. It brings on the worst insomnia. And when I do fall asleep it’s NOT normal natural healthy sleep. It’s like passing out. No dreams of any kind. It’s like being dead…only with a heartbeat. When I get out of bed in the morning I feel the exact opposite of what a human being is supposed to feel after waking. I do not feel refreshed. I feel worn out. See now they just want me to fucking quit. But I just won’t. I will not quit.
So they decided to murder me instead. I swear I am not making this up.
How do I know this? I know this because from 2002 until April 2005 I worked for Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762, and from about December of 2003 I had been completely impotent. I only mention the impotence, because while I was at work I started to pop some really great boners. Erections again. At last! Yeah for my team! Only it totally freaked me out because I knew that they were spiking Ken’s coffee, or slipping me the Mickey – you know a little something /something in my bottled water or whatever.
I told you that I had fallen in love with someone at work and that it was painful to see them every day. I told you that I didn’t really want to be in love with them but that I was.
I had fallen in love with someone who was way too young for me. But if I am the first idiot on Earth to fall into this trap I really do want my freaking trophy. That’s the real reason I stopped by the trophy store the morning that my old man called me the trashcan man.
At Mercury Insurance the real boss was a guy named Jack Daugherty. He was the guy at the top. Jack looked like he was about 12 years old. I swear I am not making this up. He was almost always dressed in a suit. He was THE MAN after all, but he always looked like he was about 12 years old to me. I heard a rumor that he went to Harvard, but I never saw a degree and I never asked him about it. I was tempted once or twice. I once walked into Jack’s office on the top floor of Mercury Insurance wearing a pair of rubber gloves and a mask. The kind of mask you would wear if you were painting the house or working with fiberglass. I think I even handed him a file to get his signature. He didn’t say a word. What do you say to a guy who works in your office and walks around wearing rubber gloves and a mask? But they were poisoning me with something and my solution was simple. I didn’t leave any drinks at my desk unattended. I didn’t eat any food that was not individually wrapped and sealed. I wore rubber gloves and a mask.
I wore surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. At work. I had to. They were poisoning me.
Think of how much of a prisoner you would be if you were impotent and someone at work slipped a little Viagra into your coffee or your bottled water? I mean I wanted the boner-don’t get me wrong, but at work? What the fuck was I going to do with a raging hard on at work? I’ve mentioned that when I was healthy I would jerk off at least once a day. I’ve mentioned that I looked at porn and never even gave it a thought.
I never did any of these things at work. The same way I never use curse words at work. I am polite to the point that people often mock me or parody me, and my politeness and I just take it as a complement. Please and thank you. They mean something to me. Excuse me. Pardon me. These are things that I say. I have never used or abused the Internet at work. Not at any job. Including Mercury Insurance. What I did in the privacy of my own home was my own business.
What they did to me right there at Mercury Insurance 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762 is just unforgivable.
But I dug in. I made my stand. And the gloves and mask really helped. They really did.
“Why are you wearing gloves and a mask?” One of the Johns asked me. I think I was standing at the printer sorting through the pile of printed documents.
“Well,” I said. “I’m thinking about becoming a proctologist. I mean if I’m going to be working with so many ass holes. Why the fuck not?”
By this time the man in charge of the Bodily Injury Department was a guy named Scott Villwock. He was from Wisconsin, but he had the good sense to support the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
The gloves and the mask really angered old Scott Villwock. He actually called me into his office for one of those uncomfortable talks that bosses will give now and again. You know a one on one that is essentially a disciplinary action.
Scott had the annoying habit of mentioning the CIA all the time. And by CIA…I mean that CIA the Central Intelligence Agency. I could never figure out if this fool thought I was with the CIA or if he was trying to imply that he was. I do remember thinking, “I don’t care if you’re with the entire alphabet and half of fucking Sesame Street you stupid asshole.”
Scott would often ask me if I had any guns at home. Even before they started dosing me with boner juice and I started to come to work wearing surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. Scott had a college education but apparently he could not master the technology of the Internet or read a map. How do I know this? I know this because one day Scott came up to me and all but forced me to show him the location of a place called Breezy Point.
It’s in New York out by Rockaway. It is the location of my grandfather’s summer home.
Yeah, old Scott Villwock he pulls out a map or an atlas or something and the fucking fool makes me point to Breezy Point on a map. What a genius this guy is. And he’s running the department that I work in. Ain’t life grand?
Scott would often shout, “Pound the Rock. Pound the Rock,” across the office.
Apparently it’s a Tampa Bay Buccaneers thing. I counted my blessings. At least he wasn’t walking around the office with a Green Bay cheese wedge on his head!
No matter how many times I assured Scott Villwock that I do not own any guns, or even enjoy guns, the look of fear in his eyes never went away. Scott was always somewhat afraid of me. If the guy had any guts at all he used them all up the day he fired me.
Me, I’m not so sure I have guts, but man have I got the biggest set of balls.
The only thing that was certain at Mercury Insurance is that you would be moving. From desk to desk. Floor to floor. Whole departments. The company was going through a growth period and whole departments were moved on a weekly bases. You just never really knew where you were going to be sitting or even on what floor. I stopped counting how many times I moved at 6. And I was there for just over 3 years counting the beginning of my employment as a temp.
For all my talk about being in love with someone at work the truth is I hardly ever saw this person. They were not in my department and were often floors away. But I usually got to see the person I think of as “other Murphy” at least once a day. In the beginning anyway. Why “other Murphy”? See I had the Mike Murphy that I didn’t like so much and the “other Murphy” that I liked a lot.
Now I know why they call it falling in love. Turns out love is the bottomless pit. You just keep falling.
Other Murphy would show up at my desk about once a day because I would process the expense checks for the Bodily Injury adjusters, and they would print somewhere else in the building. Other Murphy would deliver the checks at about the same time each day.
I can’t even remember what department Other Murphy worked in. Something to do with fraud or fraudulent claims.
The point is Other Murphy didn’t actually work with me.
But the company had us all moving around all the time. And in the end Other Murphy wound up sitting just a few desks away from me. And that’s when they stared dosing me with boner juice. I have no idea what they expected my reaction to be, but I thought my solution was brilliant. Gloves and a mask.
But Scott Villwock did not like my solution. So he calls me into his office and tells me that I can not wear the gloves or the mask because they are creating a distraction in the workplace that is effecting productivity. I’m trying to avoid being dosed with boner juice and this idiot has to go and mention productivity.
I took the gloves and the mask off. It was work with out them or not work at all.
That’s when they started to poison me with something else. I have no clue what this stuff is, but here’s what it does. It puts and odd sensation into my throat. It…almost feels like I’m coming down with a cold. It brings on the worst insomnia. And when I do fall asleep it’s NOT normal natural healthy sleep. It’s like passing out. No dreams of any kind. It’s like being dead…only with a heartbeat. When I get out of bed in the morning I feel the exact opposite of what a human being is supposed to feel after waking. I do not feel refreshed. I feel worn out. See now they just want me to fucking quit. But I just won’t. I will not quit.
So they decided to murder me instead. I swear I am not making this up.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
What really pissed Mike Murphy off most of all I think was the claim files. See when a claim came into Mercury Insurance it would start out in the PD dept. PD stands for property damage. Now if the PD rep. discovered that the claim involved an injury, he would send an email to me and I would set up a new claim file in the Bodily Injury Dept.
It was also my job to assign these claim files to the various BI adjusters. I would go into a computer and look at the notes actually typed into the claim file and based on these and the reserves (or amount of money set aside to resolve the claim) I would assign the claim to an adjuster. We really had two kinds of claims. Attorney represented claimants and non attorney represented claimants. The non rep’d claims involved less severe injury in most cases, but you know how it goes. Anyone can get an attorney.
As I would assign the files I would also update various Excel spread sheets so that each person in the dept could take a look at who got what. Each adjuster had one spreadsheet, and then there was a separate spreadsheet that showed all the claims for one day.
The thing is, at the time, and basically right from the start, the BI adjusters were over worked. They were expected to handle way to many claims. Some of these people had more than 3 four drawer file cabinets pretty much full of claim files. My point is they did not want any more claims to handle. So a visit from me was a huge pain in their ass because I was piling work on them. It was my job. I swear I am not making this up. One lady would actually growl at me when I went near her in box. It freaked me out. It really did.
I think it was my zeal for fitness and the fact that I assigned the damn claim files that really pissed Mike Murphy off. There were a lot of claim files and a bunch of adjusters.
Sheri Fry, Keitha Nibert, Sandra Newton, Doug Schmidt, Ernie Black, John Folk, (We had more Johns than I can remember, but John Folk’s name has stayed with me for some reason).
We had Shawn Phillips, Mike Murphy, Lynne Simmons, Chris Landrum…
…When I started there were only five or six adjusters and when I left I think there were more than 11. I had my work cut out for me. I really did.
Then there were the bosses. The people who wound up running the BI dept. We had Gary Stone. Scott Villwock. Amy Worman.
Amy Worman really pissed me off because at the time I had the habit of saving pennies. I would put them into a huge jar I kept on my desk in my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1, Largo FL 33770. And of course when the jar got full I would dump it out, put all the pennies into those paper money rolls they will give you at the bank if you ask for them, and then I would take my pennies to the bank and get some cash.
I do this in the privacy of my own home. Amy Worman walks up to me at work and starts off with blah blah blah I can’t believe you save pennies. She didn’t say it to be mean, but I was freaking out because what’s going through my head is how does she even know that I was saving up my pennies and then cashing them in. I was really mean to her. I can’t remember what I said, but I think I may have gone with: “GO AWAY”.
Amy wasn’t the boss at the time, but still I was pretty mean. I just can’t figure out why she thought I would want to talk about a private thing like that. I was living on the edge financially and all…I sure didn’t want to talk about it at work.
Meanwhile the comedy team of Doug and Ernie, they’re always working the same angle. They would crack subtle jokes about things they should not have known about at all.
I didn’t have cable, it was way beyond my means and since I lived alone I thought it was just a waist. But I did have access to the internet. At some point I think I even sprung for broadband.
Netflix. I signed up with Netflix as soon as I heard about them. For some crazy reason Netflix sent me a movie I didn’t even order.
“Two Weeks Notice”, with Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. Have you seen it?
I remember liking it, but I didn’t order it. Was someone trying to tell me something? I had fallen in love with someone I worked with, and the movie seemed to hit a little to close to the mark for my taste. But it was good.
I told you I was broke right? That’s not entirely true. What little discretionary income I did have I was pissing away at singles bars. I would go out on Saturday night and live it up, always hoping to meet someone and never really doing so.
See I had fallen in love with someone and I couldn’t stop loving them even though they didn’t give a crap about me. I would see them every day at work. It was a killer. This person gave the best rejection I have ever had. I swear I am not making this up.
Unrequited love. Could anything be more *ucked up? I swear to you I tried so hard NOT to fall in love, but I just couldn’t help it.
I never really pursued this person, but I did ask to have lunch once. The answer was a very polite, almost sweet, but emphatic no. I swear to you I moved on. No it is. Good enough, but my heart; my heart would not move on. In fact if I was moving one way, my heart had moved into some kind of half assed retrograde.
My heart was caught in a white skinned, dark haired, blue-eyed tractor beam. My heart was being pulled in and the rest of me got dragged along.
I started to pray for death. This was the worst situation I had ever found myself in. I couldn’t leave work and I couldn’t stop being in love with someone who was never going to care about me at all. Had I been a year or two younger I would have walked out of work one day and never gone back. I had to stick it out. What choice did I have?
Then things got even worse.
I told you I was looking at porn and *astur*atin* at least once a day right?
Well I kind of found a doppelganger. I found someone online who looked so much like the person that I was in love with-it was just spooky! I found someone online in pornographic pictures that looked just like the person I had fallen in love with. An evil twin! I know. I know. Just what this sad tale of woe needed right?
Hey? How come when you point a camera at two animals *uckin* it’s a nature show, but when you point a camera at two humans *uckin* it’s porn?
Now it’s 2003. September. I’m in love. In pain. Messed up beyond all hope or reason. Alone. And it gets worse again. For the love of god and all that is good and holy in the universe it gets even worse.
Georgies Alibi. It’s a gay bar, in St. Pete Florida. The one I liked to drink in on Saturday nights.
Someone I met gave me a shirt. It was baby blue and it said *ucker on it in red letters.
I swear I am not making this up.
I had the shirt on and I was drinking at the Alibi one night in September 2003 when I was approached by a Mexican guy. He was cute.
He called me bro. Not the Mexican. The one I fell in love with at work. This scared the living crap out of me. Black magic. Voodoo. Rolling Bones. Satan Worship.Anything would have been better. Called me bro. My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly, but if people are going to talk to me at all they just call me Ken. You put bro and ken together. What do you get?
Broken.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I am one ___ked up little monkey. I really am.
But we’re almost to the end now. So stick with me. It gets good. I swear.
The Mexican. It almost didn’t happen. But it did. I wanted him.
**warning. warning. Homophobe alert ! Queer Factor 9!! If you enjoy and employ the “I’m not gay seat” when you go to the movies you should skip this next part. It involves gay stuff. And I mean the sticky icky kind! Warning **warning.
What can I say. The Mexican is the one person in this story that I hold completely blameless. It’s not like he had a gun to my head. I would have taken him home but I was to drunk and I don’t think he would have come with me. We did it in my car. Well we tried to do it in my car. I will not tell you what kind of car I was driving. I bought my car brand new in 97, but I always hated that damn car. I called it The Geek Mobile! It was small. I could have parked it inside my little apartment and still had plenty of room.
Sex of any kind was out of the question. Believe me. I know. Me and The Mexican tried.
It was not physically possible. But touching of all kinds was possible. Not only did I give my self completely to The Mexican, I attacked him like a hungry animal. I swear I could not control myself. Sounds came out of me as I _____and ____uched him that I had never heard before. Well not coming from me any way. Something about not being able to touch in the way that we both wanted to added such a great comical element to the whole thing, you know it added this goofy odd ball playfulness. The windows of the Geek Mobile fogged up. I remember ______ing his belly. He was not fat by a long shot, but he was not skinny like me and I remember _____ing his belly and wondering what he was thinking about the way I was _____ing him. It came down to heavy petting. Nothing else was really possible in the confines of the Geek Mobile. The Mexican (censored) first and his (censored) drenched my chest. I was _hit faced drunk and took a little longer. When it was over I was covered in, drenched in, (censored). Then it was over. I wiped myself off. The Mexican put his clothes back on. I got dressed. The Mexican spoke to me. Before this all of our communication had taken place mostly in body language. Something he said freaked me out. I understood that it had not been a chance encounter. He had come looking for me. I stayed cool. Don’t I always? We agreed to meet back inside the Alibi for another drink. He left me in the parking lot. I still had some cleaning up to do. To tell you the truth what I really needed was a “Silkwood Shower” you know where someone hoses you down and scrubs you for radio active material. If I could have gotten cleaned up a little more I would have followed him back into the bar, but I could not get cleaned up enough so I drove on home.
What did he say to me? What does it matter? I know that someone I worked with, whether as a joke or as a kindness sent The Mexican to Georgies Alibi as a kind of *uck assassin.
Did I tell you that someone had bugged my house, my phone, my car and my computer?
The next morning …uh the next afternoon when I woke up there was a rash on my chest.
And I never get rashes.
So there’s this rash on my chest. I wake up and there’s this rash on my chest. And what do I do? I freak out. I guess staying cool isn’t exactly my forte after all. I mean I really freak out. A rash! On my chest! And The Mexican had been at the Alibi specifically looking for me. And you know who sent The Mexican? My least favorite sports loving Mercury Insurance Bodily Injury adjuster, Mike Murphy, that’s who.
I couldn’t eat. Or sleep. I could barely think. I was consumed with fear. I really was.
And because I thought I was carrying the HIV, I stopped cruising singles bars. I just couldn’t risk getting someone else sick. Do you know anything about the virus? It can be in you and you wouldn’t know it. You have to wait six months. It doesn’t show for six months. For the love of god and all that is good and holy in the universe. Six fucking months. I stayed home a lot.
And I’m still in love with someone that I have to see every day at work. I still couldn’t just leave Mercury Insurance, and by now my family the crazy Irish Catholics-they’re actually encouraging me to quit. I swear I am not making this up. When it became clear that I was not going to quit they started to encourage me to move out of my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1 Largo Florida 33770. But my rent had not gone up; in 2003 I was still paying only $310.00 a month. I couldn’t see moving either. Despite all the harassment. I figured why should I move? Why should I quit? They’re the ones who should be minding their own business. They actually got a realtor after me. And guess where the crazy son of a bitch is calling me from? Ft. Lauderdale. Lauderdale for god sake. Did I tell you my grandfather the ex NY PD Blue boy has a condo in Lauderdale?
I’m sweating bullets and finally one of my sister’s calls and she tries to talk me down.
It helped. It really did. But it wasn’t enough to prevent what was to come. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the good folks at Mercury Insurance had done me dirty. So I go for the HIV test. I’m to fucked up and way to –Irish- to invite someone into this problem of mine, so I don’t bother with a clinic or a testing facility. I go for one of the home testing kits. You prick your finger and smear the blood onto this card, bag the blood sample and Fed Ex it to some out fit somewhere and it’s all on the down low so that no one knows that it’s you.
That’s when the sweating really begins let me tell you. Because now it’s so fucking real. This is not some made for T.V. movie you are watching this is really happening. To YOU! To me. I can’t lie to you. My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I am one tough motherfucker. Period! I can be a goof ball, and love it when I am. But underneath all that I am hard as a fucking rock. I have the strongest will.
But I had got my freak on with The Mexican, and the Monday following Mike Murphy and the folks at Mercury Insurance knew all about it.
I started to beat off more than once a day. Is it possible I’m a victim of variables? And math was never my strongest subject.
The good news is that I do not have the HIV virus. I have tested several times since then and I am clean. The bad news is by December of 2003 I was impotent.
Hey, do you know what’s sexy about impotence?
Not a fucking thing!
Viagra. I should be glad for that right? But I’m not.
Fucking on Viagra is like doing ventriloquism with someone else’s dummy.
I have a vendetta. How could I not? My story is almost over.
I hate to sound like a cheesy infomercial-but wait there’s more!
Ginsu on you mother fucker!
Did I mention the caretaker at 810 1st Ave NW apt 1 Largo, FL 33770? His name was John. I know, I know, just what this story needed another John. John was also a cop.
And a homophobe. Call old Richard B. Howard. He knows. John’s a beach cop and in Pinellas county Florida the Beach cops are just about the dirtiest of the dirty. And John’s still out there.
The people at Mercury started to drug me. I swear I am not making this up.
It was also my job to assign these claim files to the various BI adjusters. I would go into a computer and look at the notes actually typed into the claim file and based on these and the reserves (or amount of money set aside to resolve the claim) I would assign the claim to an adjuster. We really had two kinds of claims. Attorney represented claimants and non attorney represented claimants. The non rep’d claims involved less severe injury in most cases, but you know how it goes. Anyone can get an attorney.
As I would assign the files I would also update various Excel spread sheets so that each person in the dept could take a look at who got what. Each adjuster had one spreadsheet, and then there was a separate spreadsheet that showed all the claims for one day.
The thing is, at the time, and basically right from the start, the BI adjusters were over worked. They were expected to handle way to many claims. Some of these people had more than 3 four drawer file cabinets pretty much full of claim files. My point is they did not want any more claims to handle. So a visit from me was a huge pain in their ass because I was piling work on them. It was my job. I swear I am not making this up. One lady would actually growl at me when I went near her in box. It freaked me out. It really did.
I think it was my zeal for fitness and the fact that I assigned the damn claim files that really pissed Mike Murphy off. There were a lot of claim files and a bunch of adjusters.
Sheri Fry, Keitha Nibert, Sandra Newton, Doug Schmidt, Ernie Black, John Folk, (We had more Johns than I can remember, but John Folk’s name has stayed with me for some reason).
We had Shawn Phillips, Mike Murphy, Lynne Simmons, Chris Landrum…
…When I started there were only five or six adjusters and when I left I think there were more than 11. I had my work cut out for me. I really did.
Then there were the bosses. The people who wound up running the BI dept. We had Gary Stone. Scott Villwock. Amy Worman.
Amy Worman really pissed me off because at the time I had the habit of saving pennies. I would put them into a huge jar I kept on my desk in my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1, Largo FL 33770. And of course when the jar got full I would dump it out, put all the pennies into those paper money rolls they will give you at the bank if you ask for them, and then I would take my pennies to the bank and get some cash.
I do this in the privacy of my own home. Amy Worman walks up to me at work and starts off with blah blah blah I can’t believe you save pennies. She didn’t say it to be mean, but I was freaking out because what’s going through my head is how does she even know that I was saving up my pennies and then cashing them in. I was really mean to her. I can’t remember what I said, but I think I may have gone with: “GO AWAY”.
Amy wasn’t the boss at the time, but still I was pretty mean. I just can’t figure out why she thought I would want to talk about a private thing like that. I was living on the edge financially and all…I sure didn’t want to talk about it at work.
Meanwhile the comedy team of Doug and Ernie, they’re always working the same angle. They would crack subtle jokes about things they should not have known about at all.
I didn’t have cable, it was way beyond my means and since I lived alone I thought it was just a waist. But I did have access to the internet. At some point I think I even sprung for broadband.
Netflix. I signed up with Netflix as soon as I heard about them. For some crazy reason Netflix sent me a movie I didn’t even order.
“Two Weeks Notice”, with Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. Have you seen it?
I remember liking it, but I didn’t order it. Was someone trying to tell me something? I had fallen in love with someone I worked with, and the movie seemed to hit a little to close to the mark for my taste. But it was good.
I told you I was broke right? That’s not entirely true. What little discretionary income I did have I was pissing away at singles bars. I would go out on Saturday night and live it up, always hoping to meet someone and never really doing so.
See I had fallen in love with someone and I couldn’t stop loving them even though they didn’t give a crap about me. I would see them every day at work. It was a killer. This person gave the best rejection I have ever had. I swear I am not making this up.
Unrequited love. Could anything be more *ucked up? I swear to you I tried so hard NOT to fall in love, but I just couldn’t help it.
I never really pursued this person, but I did ask to have lunch once. The answer was a very polite, almost sweet, but emphatic no. I swear to you I moved on. No it is. Good enough, but my heart; my heart would not move on. In fact if I was moving one way, my heart had moved into some kind of half assed retrograde.
My heart was caught in a white skinned, dark haired, blue-eyed tractor beam. My heart was being pulled in and the rest of me got dragged along.
I started to pray for death. This was the worst situation I had ever found myself in. I couldn’t leave work and I couldn’t stop being in love with someone who was never going to care about me at all. Had I been a year or two younger I would have walked out of work one day and never gone back. I had to stick it out. What choice did I have?
Then things got even worse.
I told you I was looking at porn and *astur*atin* at least once a day right?
Well I kind of found a doppelganger. I found someone online who looked so much like the person that I was in love with-it was just spooky! I found someone online in pornographic pictures that looked just like the person I had fallen in love with. An evil twin! I know. I know. Just what this sad tale of woe needed right?
Hey? How come when you point a camera at two animals *uckin* it’s a nature show, but when you point a camera at two humans *uckin* it’s porn?
Now it’s 2003. September. I’m in love. In pain. Messed up beyond all hope or reason. Alone. And it gets worse again. For the love of god and all that is good and holy in the universe it gets even worse.
Georgies Alibi. It’s a gay bar, in St. Pete Florida. The one I liked to drink in on Saturday nights.
Someone I met gave me a shirt. It was baby blue and it said *ucker on it in red letters.
I swear I am not making this up.
I had the shirt on and I was drinking at the Alibi one night in September 2003 when I was approached by a Mexican guy. He was cute.
He called me bro. Not the Mexican. The one I fell in love with at work. This scared the living crap out of me. Black magic. Voodoo. Rolling Bones. Satan Worship.Anything would have been better. Called me bro. My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly, but if people are going to talk to me at all they just call me Ken. You put bro and ken together. What do you get?
Broken.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I am one ___ked up little monkey. I really am.
But we’re almost to the end now. So stick with me. It gets good. I swear.
The Mexican. It almost didn’t happen. But it did. I wanted him.
**warning. warning. Homophobe alert ! Queer Factor 9!! If you enjoy and employ the “I’m not gay seat” when you go to the movies you should skip this next part. It involves gay stuff. And I mean the sticky icky kind! Warning **warning.
What can I say. The Mexican is the one person in this story that I hold completely blameless. It’s not like he had a gun to my head. I would have taken him home but I was to drunk and I don’t think he would have come with me. We did it in my car. Well we tried to do it in my car. I will not tell you what kind of car I was driving. I bought my car brand new in 97, but I always hated that damn car. I called it The Geek Mobile! It was small. I could have parked it inside my little apartment and still had plenty of room.
Sex of any kind was out of the question. Believe me. I know. Me and The Mexican tried.
It was not physically possible. But touching of all kinds was possible. Not only did I give my self completely to The Mexican, I attacked him like a hungry animal. I swear I could not control myself. Sounds came out of me as I _____and ____uched him that I had never heard before. Well not coming from me any way. Something about not being able to touch in the way that we both wanted to added such a great comical element to the whole thing, you know it added this goofy odd ball playfulness. The windows of the Geek Mobile fogged up. I remember ______ing his belly. He was not fat by a long shot, but he was not skinny like me and I remember _____ing his belly and wondering what he was thinking about the way I was _____ing him. It came down to heavy petting. Nothing else was really possible in the confines of the Geek Mobile. The Mexican (censored) first and his (censored) drenched my chest. I was _hit faced drunk and took a little longer. When it was over I was covered in, drenched in, (censored). Then it was over. I wiped myself off. The Mexican put his clothes back on. I got dressed. The Mexican spoke to me. Before this all of our communication had taken place mostly in body language. Something he said freaked me out. I understood that it had not been a chance encounter. He had come looking for me. I stayed cool. Don’t I always? We agreed to meet back inside the Alibi for another drink. He left me in the parking lot. I still had some cleaning up to do. To tell you the truth what I really needed was a “Silkwood Shower” you know where someone hoses you down and scrubs you for radio active material. If I could have gotten cleaned up a little more I would have followed him back into the bar, but I could not get cleaned up enough so I drove on home.
What did he say to me? What does it matter? I know that someone I worked with, whether as a joke or as a kindness sent The Mexican to Georgies Alibi as a kind of *uck assassin.
Did I tell you that someone had bugged my house, my phone, my car and my computer?
The next morning …uh the next afternoon when I woke up there was a rash on my chest.
And I never get rashes.
So there’s this rash on my chest. I wake up and there’s this rash on my chest. And what do I do? I freak out. I guess staying cool isn’t exactly my forte after all. I mean I really freak out. A rash! On my chest! And The Mexican had been at the Alibi specifically looking for me. And you know who sent The Mexican? My least favorite sports loving Mercury Insurance Bodily Injury adjuster, Mike Murphy, that’s who.
I couldn’t eat. Or sleep. I could barely think. I was consumed with fear. I really was.
And because I thought I was carrying the HIV, I stopped cruising singles bars. I just couldn’t risk getting someone else sick. Do you know anything about the virus? It can be in you and you wouldn’t know it. You have to wait six months. It doesn’t show for six months. For the love of god and all that is good and holy in the universe. Six fucking months. I stayed home a lot.
And I’m still in love with someone that I have to see every day at work. I still couldn’t just leave Mercury Insurance, and by now my family the crazy Irish Catholics-they’re actually encouraging me to quit. I swear I am not making this up. When it became clear that I was not going to quit they started to encourage me to move out of my apartment at 810 1st Ave NW apt. 1 Largo Florida 33770. But my rent had not gone up; in 2003 I was still paying only $310.00 a month. I couldn’t see moving either. Despite all the harassment. I figured why should I move? Why should I quit? They’re the ones who should be minding their own business. They actually got a realtor after me. And guess where the crazy son of a bitch is calling me from? Ft. Lauderdale. Lauderdale for god sake. Did I tell you my grandfather the ex NY PD Blue boy has a condo in Lauderdale?
I’m sweating bullets and finally one of my sister’s calls and she tries to talk me down.
It helped. It really did. But it wasn’t enough to prevent what was to come. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the good folks at Mercury Insurance had done me dirty. So I go for the HIV test. I’m to fucked up and way to –Irish- to invite someone into this problem of mine, so I don’t bother with a clinic or a testing facility. I go for one of the home testing kits. You prick your finger and smear the blood onto this card, bag the blood sample and Fed Ex it to some out fit somewhere and it’s all on the down low so that no one knows that it’s you.
That’s when the sweating really begins let me tell you. Because now it’s so fucking real. This is not some made for T.V. movie you are watching this is really happening. To YOU! To me. I can’t lie to you. My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I am one tough motherfucker. Period! I can be a goof ball, and love it when I am. But underneath all that I am hard as a fucking rock. I have the strongest will.
But I had got my freak on with The Mexican, and the Monday following Mike Murphy and the folks at Mercury Insurance knew all about it.
I started to beat off more than once a day. Is it possible I’m a victim of variables? And math was never my strongest subject.
The good news is that I do not have the HIV virus. I have tested several times since then and I am clean. The bad news is by December of 2003 I was impotent.
Hey, do you know what’s sexy about impotence?
Not a fucking thing!
Viagra. I should be glad for that right? But I’m not.
Fucking on Viagra is like doing ventriloquism with someone else’s dummy.
I have a vendetta. How could I not? My story is almost over.
I hate to sound like a cheesy infomercial-but wait there’s more!
Ginsu on you mother fucker!
Did I mention the caretaker at 810 1st Ave NW apt 1 Largo, FL 33770? His name was John. I know, I know, just what this story needed another John. John was also a cop.
And a homophobe. Call old Richard B. Howard. He knows. John’s a beach cop and in Pinellas county Florida the Beach cops are just about the dirtiest of the dirty. And John’s still out there.
The people at Mercury started to drug me. I swear I am not making this up.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
Now I want to tell you a story about Stephen King, (he’s the famous author), Stanley Kubrick the film director, my father Edmund Francis Donnelly, and me.I’m a huge Stephen King fan. When I was in 9th grade a kid named Tom Lassiter came up to me and said, “Have you read anything by Stephen King?”I hadn’t. Tom was a great guy. By that evening I had a copy of Twilight Zone magazine in my hands. Tom lent me his copy. And in that issue there was a story by a guy named Stephen King. The story was called, “The Raft”. I really liked it. I really did. I’ve always been a big reader, but there was something brilliant in what Stephen King had to say; at least for me. If that crazy bitch in “Misery” hadn’t said it first I swear I ‘d be telling you: “I’m his number one fan.” “It”. “Fire Starter”. “Christine”. “The Dead Zone”. I’ve read them all. But the one I like best is called “The Stand”. They made a T.V. movie out of it, but I didn’t think it was so great.Now what’s really weird about “The Stand” is I can’t stop reading it. I read it in my freshman year of high school, and every so often I just come back to it and read it again. There are two versions of “The Stand”. The original version, which I think of as the short version, and a kind of author’s cut, or long version. I’ve read the original version so many times I’ve lost count. I’ve read the long version so many times I’ve lost count. And every time I read it when I’m done I say to my self, “There, I’ll never read it again.” But I do. I just get a hankering to read “The Stand” and wham I dive right in. I like the beginning of the original version best. When Stu Redman can see the car coming as he is sitting at the gas station. In the long version you get the guy leaving the military base, kinda grabbing his wife and kid and fleeing just before the base goes into lock down mode. It’s cool, but I like the original version better. Now what does all this have to do with you and your dad and Stanley Kubrick you must be wondering right? Stick with me, because now it’s going to get really odd. I swear. I told you how messed up I was over the terrorist attacks right? Well that was the most fucked up thing that happened to me in 2001. The best thing that happened to me that year was getting a DVD player. They had already been around a while, but I had to wait for the prices to come down. I was working two jobs, paying the bills, but I hardly hand money for stuff.I bought a Toshiba at Wal-Mart. I paid just over one hundred dollars. I hate to admit it but I hooked it up to my T.V. sans surround sound. Blasphemy! I know. But it just wasn’t in the budget. I bought the movie “Fight Club” with it. Hey you gotta have something to look at right? Talk about a quantum leap. How could we all have been watching movies on VHS for all these years? Holy crap. The picture! It was beautiful. It really was. I was totally blown away. Then I rented Stanley Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove: or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.” I liked the ending when old Slim Pickens rides the bomb straight down to Armageddon,And then they play the song “We’ll Meet Again” sung by Vera Lynn. That’s a montage, almost a music video really, you see all these nuclear explosions. They’re scary as hell, but some how beautiful. Any way I beat off right there in my living room looking at the ending of Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove: or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.” I was just about horny all the time, because I had fallen in love with someone I worked with, and I knew that for some reason my Irish Catholic parents had bugged my apartment, my phone, my car, and my computer. And when I say they bugged my apartment I mean they set up web cams so that everything I did was beamed to …somewhere. I gave them something to think about let me tell you. Yeah, I jerked off, masturbated to the ending of Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove: or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.” You still don’t get it do you? Well in the book “The Stand” by Stephen King, there’s this character that’s a fire bug. You know. A pyromaniac. In the book he’s called The TrashCan Man, because when he was a kid and he started setting fires he started off lighting them in trash cans. He’s the guy that burned up old lady Semple’s pension check. Stay with me please. Now a week or two goes by and I wake up in a strange place. I’m in the back seat of my own car. I had been out drinking at a bar and I just couldn’t make it home. I was trashed.So I do the right thing and I just pull over and sleep it off in my car. When I wake up I am hung over like you wouldn’t believe. I gotta stretch so I get out of the car, and oh crap guess what? I lock the damn keys in it. Tell me you’ve never done this? It happens. I’ve got on a pair of pants and shoes but I’m not wearing a shirt and I feel kinda ridiculous. My cell phone, if I even have one is also locked in the car. I go find a pay phone, not easy because by this time they are already kind of a dying breed; and I call my parents. I don’t have anyone else to call. I really don’t. I didn’t call a tow truck, which is what I wanted to do because the pay phone I found didn’t have a yellow book. No book at all. I had nothing to write with and some of Kubrick’s nuclear bombs are going off in my head! I have a huge hang over. What I want my parents to do is just call a tow tuck for me, but one of them insists on coming out to where the car is. So here comes Edmund Francis Donnelly. He’s got AAA, and they can get the car unlocked in a jiffy, and it won’t cost either of us a dime! But now I am stuck waiting for the AAA guy, and my head is pounding and I’m standing there feeling ridiculous, because I have shaved my entire upper body, well except my eye brows, and I’m standing there with the guy who was big on telling me: “Eat your vegetables! It’ll put hair on your chest!” But he doesn’t seem to notice or care about my smooth appearance. What’s on his mind is masturbation and nuclear bombs. I swear I am not making this up. He says to me, “Hey Kenneth, you know who you remind me of? That guy in the Stephen King book “The Stand”. The TrashCan Man.” Now who would say a thing like that? To me? I’ve never lit a fire. Okay well once way back in like 1976 and it was an accident. It really was. But I have never been a big fire guy. Hell I never even chase the fire trucks and some people do. They like to watch stuff burn. But here’s my dear old dad Edmund Francis Donnelly and what has he got to say to me. “Hey Kenneth, you know who you remind me of? That guy in the Stephen King book “The Stand”. The TrashCan Man.” The only reason he would say something so stupid is because I jerked off to the ending of Stanley Kubrick’s “Dr. Strange Love: or : How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.” And even though I was alone in my apartment at 810 1st Ave. NW Apt. 1 Largo, FL 33770 when I did it my old man knew about it. How did he know about it. Because he was minding my business when he should have been minding his own. Did I tell you that I went to my family and I said I thought I was being harassed. Stalked. Bugged. This was before the masturbatory nuclear incident I mean.My dad. He prints out about 11 pages from the internet under the heading Paranoid Schizophrenia. And he gives them to me. But he betrayed himself that day as we were waiting for AAA. I mean really why on gods green earth would anyone look at another living human being and say, “You remind my of that guy in “The Stand”-The TrashCan Man” After that I kinda felt like The TrashCan Man-like I wanted to explode! But I stayed cool. What else could I do? Anyway the AAA guy got there. He sure looked at me and my dad funny. He couldn’t figure out what we were doing there in the first place. I had parked in front of a trophy store. You know, a place where they make the little statues that they hand out at little league games, and bowling leagues and whatever. I didn’t have the nerve to tell the guy apparently I was shit faced drunk and just stopped by to pick up my trophy. But it crossed my mind. You know who probably never got any trophies? Mike Murphy, the insurance adjuster at Mercury where I worked. If there’s anything on Earth Mike Murphy liked more than sports…it was food. Now there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a good meal. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying preparing a meal. Except he was heading for fat country, and he hated me because I tried to stay fit and would watch what I ate. I was drinking Slim Fast. I would eat Kellogg’s Nutri-Grain bars. I was big on apples. PB&J. Yeah, I would diet all week and then pretty much just eat whatever the hell I wanted on the weekends, when I could really enjoy a meal. Remember I was working two jobs and didn’t exactly have a whole bunch of time except on the weekends any way.
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