"No honour amongst thieves!"
Wow. It’s been a few days since I’ve posted, eh? I’ve been busy chilling with the ACN. It was as delightful as always.
I’ve also been much chagrined by the booting off of Nancy Silverman from ‘Canadian Idol.’ I mean, she worked so hard… we voted… and now…
I’m going to need a moment.
Okay, I’m cool now.
I think, boys and girls, that this is going to be another post where I admit something embarassing. I am not sure why I enjoy doing that. But, in the spirit of “I played E.T.” and “I’m a big girl,” here we go…
When I was in the 6th grade, I was in a Dungeon’s & Dragons “club.”
Let that sink in for a moment.
My memory of that time – and of last week – is pretty much of the sketchy. I do recall that there were a few of my friends, and then some high school guys.
It didn’t take too many orc battles for me to realize that these older dudes weren’t the coolest posse around these parts. I don’t really remember the older guys very clearly. There was one dude that we called “Enos the penis.” Though I don’t think his name was Enos. He’d threaten us with ass-kickings.
And then there was…
The dungeon master.
Now this dude was a character. He frequently walked around town wearing a purple cape. (Not that another colour of cape would make it better.) And, as far as I know, he was never Frank Costanza’s lawyer.
I hung out with the dungeon master’s younger brother, that’s what got me involved.
Though I kind of didn’t like the little brother, now that I think about it. He was little, but angry and agressive. He was the first child of divorce that I had ever met. In those days, in this Catholic community, people stayed married. And drank heavily.
I am not sure if that is why Broken Homey was such a pain in the ass, but at least once a week I felt an urge to punch him in the face. I never did because, 1) he was three apples tall. And B) My father’s “use your words” talk when I was a kid actually stuck with me.
I am not sure what my parents did, but I’ll be damned if a lot of it didn’t work. I still remember all the speeches my Dad gave me. And, for the most part, I followed his advice. With the exception of his sex talk – “wear a condom and don’t date girls from Louisdale” – it was all pretty much good stuff.
“Any job worth doing is worth doing right.”
“I REALLY don’t like liars or thieves.”
My parents kind of used the old “good cop/bad cop” routine. My mother was the spoiler, and my dad was the ass-kicker. Yet, and I didn’t realize it until I was in my 20s, he never really did any ass-kicking. But, the threat of it was a great motivator. My Dad is a big guy. And, as a kid, you believed that your ass could easily be kicked if you were a little bastard. And I think that is the key to good parenting. Because, let’s face it, given my genes, I could have easily become a little bastard.
Back to the club…
Our dungeon master was easily angered. He did not like it when during every single game his little bro would randomly say “There is no honour amongst thieves.” Seriously, every time we played. DM didn’t like it at all when I’d change the words to “Puff the Magic Dragon.” If memory serves I’d sing “Puff the magic dragon, lived on cocaine..” Actually, I think I also used to change the words to a Milli Vanilla song to “Blame it on cocaine…” So, apparently I was heavily influenced by Weird Al and Colombian marching powder.
I used to enrage DM, and I think he may have kicked me out of the club because of it, by asking whenever we encountered a new group of creatures if they had any prostitutes with them. “Before I throw my 20-sided die and attack with my cross-bow, might any dwarf whores get injured in the battle. I wouldn’t like that. ” Yes, I was in the 6th grade. Explains some things, doesn’t it?
I was never good at naming my characters. “Uhm… Peterzilla. Elf thief and protector of the whores.”
I was a bad D&D player.
The family of DM and little bro moved away when we were in high school. I didn’t think about them much, but while I was at university in “the YHZ” (this happens when you have been a part-time travel agent and a Snoop fan) I met up with little bro in a downtown bar.
He came out of nowhere and put his arm around me. He still looked like Steve Buscemi, only now he was wearing Peter Bogdanovich’s glasses. The first words that loudly came out of his mouth were…
“My girlfriend had an abortion today. I’m buying!!”
I still don’t know what to do with that.
I later heard that the dungeon master was working at a 24-hour gas station in the YHZ. One night he was robbed and hit over the head with a tire iron. Seems so unnecessary. He wasn’t a big guy, so I can’t imagine him putting up a fight. I am not sure how he is doing now.
I guess there really is no honour amongst thieves.