Dave and I during happier times.

Those of you who attended ConFab, Baby! back in June may remember Dave.

Dave is a karaoke regular at Southland.  He’s the guy who sings like he’s making a hostage tape.

He’s also just about the most annoying little cocksucker I have ever come across.  And I have come across a great many annoying little cocksuckers in my travels.

He is excruciatingly socially awkward.  He is needy.  He is clingy. He has the attention span of a housefly whacked out on crystal meth and Red Bull.

He used to think we were best buddies.  Every week he would text me during the week to make sure we were going to be at Southland.  He would always mention how much he values Turnbaby and I as friends.  We fended off several invitations to dinner.  I think he envisioned being the Robin to my Batman.  And I’m not even Batman.  At best I am Die Fledermaus.

Now, I am a nice guy.  No, really.  So I put up with Dave’s antics.  There were times when his idiocy amused me.  He would have made a great court jester back in the day.

But ultimately he was a pebble in my shoe.  A fly in my ointment.  A turd in my punchbowl.

I finally reached my limit last month.  There was a festival downtown that Turnbaby and I were going to be at.  Dave and Holly were also attending, and he made it clear that they wanted to hang out with us.  We wanted no part of that.  Even if I had, Turnbaby would have put the kibosh on it.  She hates Dave with that special brand of loathing that one usually saves for child molesters or mimes.

We managed to avoid them during the festival.  I ignored his texts.  I ignored his phone calls.  Eventually we ducked into a new Irish bar we had wanted to check out and we relaxed with a beer or two.

Finally I answered one his calls.  I pretended that I was falling down drunk.  It’s a role I’ve played to much acclaim over the years.  For once, I was the difficult one to talk to.  He couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.

Finally, some peace!

Well, for a few hours.  Then he sent a couple of texts asking me if we got home okay and if we were going to Southland on Friday.  I ignored them.

The next day was Sunday, and we were enjoying a nice peaceful day at home when the texts started again.  I finally snapped.   I saved some of the texts for your reading pleasure.  I have reproduced his just as he typed them.  My responses are in bold.

Did you guys make it home okay last night?  And also are you and (Turnbaby) going to southland on firday?  It will be good to see you.

Did you guys make it home ok yesterday?

We are fine. Don’t know about Sunday.

Can I give a ring?

No. Stop calling.

Your not mad at us are you?

If you are mad can I ask what we did?

I thought you were friends but I will take your number out of my phone and holly and will never again step foot in southland so why are u mad at us?

Can you tell me what the heck is going on I have to know what is going on

If you would can u call me we need to talk

Stop being a posessive psychotic little bitch. And stop fucking up my quiet Sunday.

Don’t worry I will never again show my face at southland I guess you was never are friends people at southland good I never fucked your sunday who said it

And with that text, I never heard from him again.  He has not been back to Southland, at least on Fridays when we go.  Karaoke is fun again.  I didn’t realize just how much of a drain he was on my psyche until he was gone.

What causes a 40 year old man to act like a 15 year old girl whose boyfriend is breaking up with her?  Have you ever seen such a thing?  It was bizarre.

By the way, he’s also a gun nut.  So if I am ever found dead outside a karaoke bar with a 9mm hollowpoint slug imbedded in the back of my head, you’ll know who did it.

Not a bad way to go.