You thought I had a hilarious roller coaster of unfortunate events yesterday? Ha! Wait until you hear about today. Let me set the scene...

Two nights ago, Melissa's friend from jail, Gary, stopped staying at our place. (He had been here for a three-night stretch, which for him, is a LONG time out of the slammer). Because I am a rational human being with a healthy fear of death and/or mutilation, I'm relieved. Because Melissa is not, I try to casually feign curiosity about his absence. "Is Gary gone?" I ask innocently. Melissa assures me he's gone and out of her life because he has pissed her off irrevocably by displaying some unforgivable behavior (which I can only assume was an unprovoked display of normalcy and/or kindness.)

Now bear in mind, this kid has been to jail twice since our introduction a month ago. To be honest, I liked the guy. I've only seen him sober, a state which reveals him to be a bright, charismatic, well-spoken guy. The second time he went to jail was for domestic abuse. That's where I became sure I don't care what my impression of him was. I don't want to be around for the Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde performance. Several times now, Melissa has come home and cautioned me not allow him in the apartment because he's on PCP and "out of control".

Of course, just a day or two later he'll be back in her bed and she'll be in love.

So I have been getting pretty used to the cycle. (Translation: I've taken to sleeping with a knife under my pillow. My dates find it quite disconcerting.) This morning, I woke up and heard a man's voice in Melissa's room that, most definitely, was not there last night. I go to the bathroom and see the toilet seat up. Could it be Gary? No, Melissa is too mad at him. Right? RIGHT?

Around noon, Melissa stumbles into the kitchen and I whisper, "is Gary here?". She sighs. I think to myself, "oh shit, here we go again". And this is what happens next, I swear to God. Melissa tells me Gary got kicked out of his place at 3AM. Gary interrupts with a yell from her bedroom, presumably to defend himself. "I did NOT get kicked out, I f-ing left," he corrects. "I stabbed a big black guy, and then I left that f-ing place!"

Oh.

Okay.

You stabbed someone. Of course. Did that myself just the other day, and damn, I'm exhausted, so if you'll excuse me I'll just be going out this front door right here...

But now, unfortunately, I'm an unwilling hostage in a conversation with Gary, who wants to tell me the whole story. "Come in here!" he shouts from Melissa's bed. Oh hell. I'm f-ing in a spot now, aren't I?

In Melissa's room, he recounts how he called the big guy "bro" and can't understand why he got pissed. He confesses that he "hates all black people anyway", which I can't imagine worked in his favor. Apparently, Gary asked the guy to "shut up and go buy me some beer," (I like to picture this scene with Gary in a wife-beater, on an old, Southern, wrap-around porch...feel free to do the same). I can tell by the way Gary stops abruptly and darts a glance at Melissa before the word "beer" that the sentence used to be, "shut up and go by me some crack." Anyway, the big man voiced some kind of dissent. Gary (who is 5 foot 11, but is certainly not someone I'd want to brawl with) decides he should "take it outside" with this 6 foot 4 tattooed guy. Not a choice I'd have made, but what I don't know is that Gary has a pen...and a plan.

In that order.

According to Gary, they fought, broke some furniture, and then Gary punched him in the face with a pen protruding from his knuckles. First Point: Gary. The guy is now raging and throws a chair that hits Gary in the eye. Point Two: Large Angry Tattooed Man. After this, Gary holds tight to the pen, then cranks it into the guy's side, just beneath his rib cage. Where it gets stuck and breaks. HOLY SHIT. Game, Set, Match: Gary.

I can't believe I'm I really hearing this...in my own apartment, no less. Melissa is laughing. I look at her, unable to say anything intelligent or remotely resembling English. I comfort myself with the idea that I must be having a nightmare and can simply wake up and reach under the pillow for my knife.

"Look, here's the ink still all over my hand," Gary boasts.

Melissa smiles and shakes her head like you'd see a housewife in the mid 50's do when her puppy messes on the floor. “What, oh what, are we going to do with this little rascal?" she asks. Oh, I don’t know. Can we start by locking his crazy, motherf-cking ass out?!

Gary concludes his story with, "so then I left to go get a beer or something, to calm down. Seven Eleven didn't sell beer that late, so I grabbed a Mountain Dew. Drank it. Came here."

Wow. This guy's thought-pattern astounds me. He assured me there's no need to worry, because the police weren't called. Oh, fantastic. Good to know my only hope for survival has been wiped out. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go load my glock.