Hookers, Pitbulls, Weed, Meth, Beer, and Screaming

Hopefully this story won't inspire moral controversy...



My heart sank the second I laid eyes on it. Surrounded by a chain-link fence, this abode of horrors came complete with two massive pitbulls prone to jumping so high you almost get a doggie-dickslap and were foaming at the mouth, a beanbag chair covered in mud on the lawn, no walkway (also mud), and apparently a free legal dispute with the Times judging by all of the unopened papers strewn about.



I had been here before, and all you need to know about that experience is that since then, all technicians in my area have specifically requested to NOT be sent there anymore. To my knowledge that is the only client that has happened to in my area.



After navigating the yard, which was only missing a broken down dodge and some red party cups, I went in. The place looked like the floor of a dog hair coat factory. Newspapers, porn, beer cans, hair, food, dog food, and pizza boxes were all strewn about, and sitting on the dilapidated couch was what I at the time had to assume was a prostitute. She was no older than thirty, but was so worn out by life she could have passed for 45. Leathery skin from way too many tanning sessions, crazy brown/black wiry hair, wearing what basically amounted to a belt for a skirt, and strung out like the slot jockeys at a shitty casino. She waved amicably to me and said "HI!" like she had known me for years. I had a brief suspicion this was all an elaborate ruse to lure me into a crazy gang-sex fantasy and if I ran the guy would sic the pitbulls on me.



Fortunately he gestured in the direction of the computer and said "there it is, fucking thing crashed, just get my porn off it, I'm going to the store" and left. There wasn't a TV in the livingroom, so I was forced to endure some largely one-way small talk with the woman, lets call her Meth.



"So, how do you know Bob?" Drowsy, but friendly.

"I don't really know him, I'm just his computer guy."

"Right but how do you know him?" Increasingly vacant.

"He called my company..."

"Ohhh. When did you meet?" Totally gone now.

"About six months ago."

"Cool! I've known him that long. He's SO GREAT. How did you meet?"



It just kind of trails on from there. She was beyond the point of high that I would have suspected her of hitting on me, so I just said enough so she would continue on. In retrospect I should have paid attention more because it probably would have been funnier.



Bob came home with some beer and offered me some, but I wanted to make sure I was fully aware of my surroundings. See what I go through for you people? He put the dogs outside, and his brother came out and asked me some stupid questions. Bob and his brother look exactly same, except his brother Steve has about 50 pounds on him. Both mid-thrities, really thick Brooklyn accent.



The sprinklers came on.

Steve panicked. "DID YOU PUT THE DOGS OUTSIDE?"

Bob: "Yeah, so?"

Steve: "WHAT IF HE SLIPS? HES AN OLD DOG AND HE'LL HURT HIMSELF"

Bob:" Dude, he's out there everyday, shutup"



*Yelping*



STEVE: "YOU MOTHERFUCKER"



Steve runs outside and starts SCREAMING at the top of his lungs, "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, HE SLIPPED! HE'S HURT! OH GOD HIS ANKLE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER I'LL FUCKING KILL " (at this point he is crying) "YOU LOOK WHAT YOU DID OH MYFUCKINGGODLOOKATYOU OH NO OH NO OH NO YOU BASTARD, YOU RAT FUCKING BASTARD" Steve comes in with the pitbull in his arms, and puts him down. The dog is fine, just a slight limp. The dog promptly comes over and jumps on me.



STEVE: "YOU RAT BASTARD" (crying like a baby)

Bob: "The dog is fine shut the hell up."



This banter continues for literally fifteen minutes. Meth is just staring at the wall. I'm backing up really gross internet porn. The dog licks my pants. Steve screams. Steve crys. Bob lights up a bong load.



Steve begins to make out with the dog.

We have lost cabin pressure.

He made out with a pitbull. Not like smooch, HE WAS SHOVING HIS TONGUE DOWN ITS THROAT WITH GREAT VIGOR. FOR LIKE THREE MINUTES.



This abomination ends, and five minutes later, Bob MAKES OUT WITH THE SAME DOG

THEY ARE COVERED IN DOG SLOBBER

TO THEM THIS IS NORMAL





I finish the last porno.

Bob pays me in cash and as I leave I tell my office that "Yes, I would love to go back to Bob's house if he ever needs my help again."



Animals and porn, welcome to tech support.