I'm Not Crazy

~30~ On the care and feeding of Monsters

Oh, Mama, I'm in fear for my life
from the long arm of the law.
Hangman is comin' down from the gallows
and I don't have very long...

Styx ~ Renegade

👹👹👹

Just before the pizza shows up, we finally catch a much-needed break. Buddy calls Connie, to let us all know that he is taking my mom out to dinner and drinks with friends. Even better is that they'll probably be late coming home. Honestly, I'm not even bothered in the least by this last-minute change to my dinner plans. Especially, not after the crazy day we've just had at home here in the Madhouse.

So yeah, I guess I can call the Casa De Crazy home now? So what if I live in the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane? Because while it might be a madhouse run by homicidal lunatics, but for better or worse, it's my home now too. Cause like I always say, nothing like cleaning up an almost murder crime scene to bring everyone together.

"Awesomesauce." I nod along when Connie lets me know what Buddy had to say. "Then we have a couple of more hours to do what needs to be done then."

"Yeah, and we need it." He bobs his big brick head in agreement, looking down at the salted bloodstain on the floor. After which he haphazardly sprinkles some more salt around for good measure.

As soon as the super stoned pizza delivery guy shows up, we pay him off and send him on his way. Stevie runs a pizza up to Tommy's attic, and quickly then comes back down. Fetches a six-pack of "beer beer" out of the right beer drawer.

"Tommy wants more painkillers." He explains with a shrug in passing, before scurrying back up to the belfry again.

As if any of us are even remotely interested in why Tommy would want more beers. By my count, Connie is already five friends deep into his night. Based on what I've seen him put away on the daily, he isn't even close to hammered. As my dearly departed dead dad used to say, these guys can seriously put away the "brewskis" on a good day. And today has been anything but a good day at the ol' Casa de Crazy.

Stevie quickly returns, drops merrily into his spot with a sly smirk. Then starts the process of blotting off all the excess cheese oil of his slice of pizza with a napkin. Even though I know I should follow suit, I just don't have the strength to do the same. I just shove the greasy slice in my mouth, barely tasting the cheesy meaty goodness, and just start chewing mechanically.

Connie cracks open a couple of Fu Fu beers, which he offers them both to me and Stevie. But I shake him off with a mumbled, "No thanks, don't drink."

"It's okay, you both deserve a girlie beer after today." Connie practically insists.

Oh yeah Connie, good call. So let's get a couple of fourteen-year-olds hammered as a reward for helping to clean up the almost murder scene. Way to lead by example, Con! There's that irresponsible adulting I have come to know and love. So as tempted as I am to try out drinking myself into oblivion, I pass on the pass out and hand mine over to Stevie.

"I told Billy I'd take him out pizza, so any suggestions?" I look to both boys for any insights on how best to handle the care and feeding of the monster in the backyard.

"Meatlovers is his favorite." Stevie slides one of the hot boxes at me.

"Well, no shit Sherlock. But I meant the conversation about everything that happened." I counter dryly.

Connie won't meet my eyes again. Instead, he intently searches for some more of his truth at the bottom of the almost empty bottle. As if somehow all the answers to the universal mysteries might be engraved on the bottom of the beer bottle? Not totally unlike an Irish fortune cookie.