Circumcision: Just the Tip of Dandy DiVito
Oct 3, 2018 12:30:15 GMT -5
Roy Speede, Evander Cage, and 1 more like this
Post by Dandy DiVito on Oct 3, 2018 12:30:15 GMT -5
circumcision [sər-kᵊm-ˈsi-zhən] the act of circumcising especially the cutting off of the foreskin of males that is practiced as a religious rite and by others as a social custom or for potential health benefits - Merriam Webster
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In a 24-hour Tim Horton’s just outside of Detroit, a pair of waitresses are bussing the many empty tables and waiting on a mostly empty cafe. It’s a late night at a 24-hour joint, so the comers are few and far between but those who are there, stay for the long haul. In the back booth, nursing a coffee and intermittently holding an ice pack to his jaw, sits the AW’s newly undefeated Dandy DiVito. His gaze is fixed on the fork at his table. He mutters to himself.
DD: I just wan’ed to use the damn fork to stab ‘im in the fuggin’ head. Was that too much to ask?
DD pushes the fork off of the table and on to the floor just as a waitress walks by.
Waitress 1: Everything ok here, sir?
DD looks up to her.
DD: Yea. I mean, I guess.
Waitress 1: Can I get you more coffee?
DD: Yea.
DD pushes the coffee cup toward her, and she promptly fills his mug up for what seems like the dozenth time of the night. When it’s full, he pulls the cup back solemnly. This is not a new course of action for Dandy on the night.
Waitress 1: You from around here? I haven’t seen you in here before, and I’m not used to too many unfamiliar faces on this shift.
DD: Nah. I’m from Jacksonville.
Waitress 1: Florida?
DD looks at her with a face that screams That was a dumb fucking question.
DD: Nah. Bismark.
The waitress ignores DD’s smart ass remark and looks at her watch.
Waitress 1: It’s about time for my break. Mind if I join you?
DD: Wha’ the fugg you wan’ do that for, waitress?
Waitress 1: Look, the name is Melissa, and I see all of these people every other night of my life. I figure you will at least give me an interesting story.
DD: Fair ‘nough, Melissa. Take a seat and tell me why people come here so often for your locked bathrooms and shitty coffee.
Melissa: Dude, if you’re just going to be a hostile asshole, I’ll find somewhere else to take my break.
DD back pedals. Melissa is a 20-something with tied up shoulder length, chestnut hair. She’s not drop dead gorgeous, but she’s definitely someone DD would be inclined to try take home well before 3AM when he’s too far gone for sexist standards. Melissa is cute, and DD knows it.
DD: Nah, sweetheart. I promise this dog is back on a chain.
Melissa: Melissa.
DD: Dandy.
Melissa: No, Dandy. I mean don’t call me sweetheart.
DD: Uh, ok… Sorry?
Melissa melts into the both opposite DD.
Melissa: So, uh, what brings you here, Dandy? Wait, no. I’m sorry. Are you fucking kidding me? Is your name really Dandy?!
DD: ...you can call me “DD.”An’ I’m here ‘cause of work.
Melissa: What do you do?
DD replies proudly.
DD: I’m a fighta’.
DD smiles, but grimaces in pain and lifts his ice pack up to his mouth.
Melissa: Fight didn’t go well, I guess?
DD: Oh, no. It went real well, swee… Melissa.
Melissa: Good catch, DD.
DD: I’m tryin’.
Melissa: It’s appreciated.
The two sit in silence for a moment, DD nursing his jaw and cup of coffee and Melissa staring out the window over the city skyline.
Melissa: Tell me about your fight?
DD: A’ight, so, I work for Action Wrestling, and I had my first fight ‘gainst this guy who calls himself a Lion. He fought a good fight, sure, but I fought a betta’ one and drove my elbow through his damn chest. I might be icin’ my mouth, but he’s prolly laid up in a whole damn tub of ice right now.
Melissa: That was your first fight? Your debut?
DD: Yup. Just the tip a’ my career. Ain’t nobody cuttin’ that shit off on me.
Melissa snickers at DD’s unintended double entendre.
DD: Wut?
Melissa: You didn’t mean for that to be about your dick?
A look of confusion grows on DD’s face.
DD: Wha’ the fug you on about?
Melissa: Ha. Just nevermind, DD. Forget it.
DD: ...
Melissa: So you got any more fights coming up?
DD: Next week. I’ve got a battle with this big motherfugga. Gonna be real fun.
Melissa: More fun than your debut?
DD: We’ll see. There’s always somethin’ to be said for your first time, but I know this one’s a tougher matchup. But it ain’t nuthin’.
Melissa: What do you know about your opponent?
DD: I know he’s a big fella and he likes money, and I may be a little fella but I like vi’lence. One a’ these t’ings is more important than tha’ other, and it’s advantage Dandy.
Melissa: You in town for the week?
DD: Yup. Fought here in my first one, and I’ll fight here again in my second one. I’m undefeated in this city.
Melissa: (skeptically) It’s a pretty small sample size to start bragging about being undefeated.
DD: Melissa, have I lost? … Have. I. Lost?
Melissa: I, uh, I guess not.
DD: Yea! Tha’s right. Un! De! Feated!
DD maintains intense eye contact with Melissa and sips his coffee.
DD: This coffee tastes like shit.
Melissa: I’ve refilled that cup so many times I lost count. Do you often obsessively consume shit?
DD: Ha.
Melissa: I’m stunned you haven’t had to hit the can yet though, DD. You’ve been absolutely pounding that coffee.
DD: Bathroom’s locked.
Melissa: Not at this location. It varies from Hortons to Hortons. We don’t lock ours up.
DD: Ain’t what I saw on da’ news.
Melissa: The news?
DD: Yeah. Don’t you remember that lady that dropped a shit in the lobby at a Hortons? She tried to use the bathroom. The staff wouldn’t let her, so she dropped trou’ and shit on the floor.
Melissa: Oh, god. I vaguely remember hearing about this. Somewhere in Canada, right?
DD: Yeah. Tha’s it. When she dropped tha’ shit on the floor, she threw it at the lady behind the counter. She was like the Oprah of shits. You get a shit! You get a shit! And you get a shit!
DD pauses for a beat as he laughs at his mental picture
DD: Ma’ girl Oprah gave me some ideas, but I don’ think I need ta’ be shittin’ in your lobby today, Melissa.
Melissa: Uh… thank… you?
DD: It ain’t no thang, Mel-Mel.
Melissa cringes.
Melissa: Never heard that one before.
DD smirks and nods at his originality.
Melissa: So it’s Monday night… Well, Tuesday morning… And you’re here all week waiting for your next fight?
DD: Yup. Sure am.
Melissa: Where are you crashing in this city for a week?
DD: I been here a few years ago. Back around college times. Came up to Detroit to gamble and hit a hockey game. We stayed at a place called the Corktown Inn.
Melissa: Woah, wait. The Corktown Inn? Isn’t that the place where so much shady shit happened they had to close it and rejuvenate the whole place’s image? New name, new lobby, new rooms, everything?
DD: Tha’s the one. When I stayed there, it felt like home to me. Walked in tha’ fron’ door and the clerk was behind some fake ass, supposed-to-be-bulletproof plexiglass. Behind the clerk, they were sellin’ TV dinners out of, like, four big stand up freezers. They sold panties in the vending machines and had a closed-circuit camera feed of every security camera in the public spaces running on a loop on the tv. It was the kind of place that had an hourly rate. It was my home away from home. I figured I’d stay there now
Melissa: Isn’t it a ton different now though?
DD: (sigh) Yeah. It’s super differen’ nowadays. They call it the Trumbull and Porter now, and it’s made up to look all fancy. I booked my room there before I knew how different it would be. I checked in Sunday, and I been disappointed. I wanted a room that felt like someone got murdered in it, not one that seemed like some hipster lady made some kind of fancy craft beer in the bath.
Melissa: Why the hell would you want want to stay in a place ike that?
DD: I wan’ be wit’ my people, and fancy places don’t bring people like me ‘round.
Melissa: Who exactly are your people?
DD: Hard livin’ motherfuggers. Drug traffickers. Hookers. Addicts. Gun totin’ murderers. My people: criminals and thugs.
Melissa: Why? Did you grow up with a difficult childhood or something? Mom and dad split up? Poor and desperate?
DD: Nah. Parents are still together and they rich as hell. I just ain’t got interest in rich people things or fancy shit.
Melissa: But why?
DD: I like trouble.
Melissa: Did you ever really get in trouble though?
DD: I mean, yeah.
Melissa: You mean to tell me your folks didn’t give you a golden parachute? Take care of your problems when you got in trouble? Hire the best lawyers? Make sure you didn’t get expelled from school or put in jail?
DD is silent.
Melissa: Ah, yeah. That’s what I thought. You just like feeling being trouble adjacent. You don’t know shit about real trouble, do you, Dandy?
A sour look spreads across DD’s face.
DD: Man, what is this shit? You go from real sweet to trappin’ me lik’ dis? Wha’ th’ fuck?! What’s your problem, Ms. Thang?
Melissa looks at her watch and sighs.
Melissa: I guess that’s about it for my break anyway.
DD grabs his coffee cup and empties it on the table top.
Melissa: What the fuck, DD?
DD: Clean it up, bitch. I ain’t here to make your job easier. I’m here to do wha’ I wan’ and get wha’ I wan’.
Melissa: Well I “wan’” you to get the hell out of here.
DD: Fine. I got better shit to do tonight than sit in this shit shack, babygirl.
Melissa: Do you always turn into a petulant child when someone asks you a question you don’t like? … You know what? Forget I asked. Just get the hell out. Don’t even worry about the tab. It’s on me. Just leave.
DD: Nah. I want to talk to your manager. Go get ‘im. I got things to say to ‘im about his disrespectful employees.
Melissa: Fine.
Melissa stomps off toward the kitchen and disappears. A few moments later, a short, pudgy, balding, middle-aged man walks out from the kitchen. He is wearing a collared shirt that’s only half tucked in. He looks like a bit of a wreck. DD laughs to himself at the man’s expense before loudly speaking up. His name tag displays the name Melvin.
DD: Man, what the hell happened to you?
Melvin: What seems to be the problem, sir?
DD: You tell me, Big Boy.
Melvin: Sir, I was told you requested to speak with me about the work of an employee?
DD: I wanted to talk to you, yea, but now that I seen you, I can’t bring myself to look at you.
DD snickers openly to himself. His previous violent anger has subsided and become childish laughter at the manager’s difference.
Melvin: I cannot have you in my cafe belittling and abusing my employees, sir.
DD laughs at him and takes a step closer until he is looking down his nose at Melvin.
DD: Whachu gonna do about it, fat boy?
Intimidated, Melvin swallows hard and remains silent.
DD: I SAID… whachu gonna do about it, fat boy?
Melvin: (timidly)I need you to leave my restaurant, sir. Please don’t make me call the police. We just want you to peacefully walk out those doors and not come back to Tim Hortons.
DD: Why the fug would I wanna come back to this dump?
Melvin: That is of no concern to us, sir. We just need you to leave.
DD balls a fist and steps even closer to Melvin.
DD: You gonna make me, Pillsbury Douchbag?
Melvin is getting understandably frustrated. He has kept his cool for so long through this interaction! However, as DD needles him more and more and more, his cool is wearing off.
Melvin: Listen here, asshole! You need to leave now. My employees deserve better than this bullshit behavior from a supposed adult. Pick your childish ass up and get the hell out of my restaurant.
DD weighs his options in response to Melvin’s blow up.
DD: You know, Melvin, you’re lucky I’m tired and nursing some wounds from my fight tonight. If I was feelin’ 100, I’d crush your ass. Given the size of your ass, it would take a lot of work, but yesterday, I would have been up for it… Today, I’ve got other fat bastards to concern myself wit’.
Melvin: (dismissively)Oh I’m sure, sir.
DD reaches into his wallet, grabs a $100 and throws it down on the coffee drenched table top. DD yells out at the top of his lungs.
DD: MELISSA! HONEY! I HA’ TO RUN! KEEP THE CHANGE, ‘K? IT'S JUS' THE TIP, YEAH? DON’ WORRY AT ALL, PRETTY MOMMA... IT’S ALL DADDY’S MONEY ANYWAY, RIGH’?
DD puts his wallet back into his pocket, throws on his light jacket and pie faces Melvin with his open hand as he walks out of the Tim Hortons into the Detroit night.
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In a 24-hour Tim Horton’s just outside of Detroit, a pair of waitresses are bussing the many empty tables and waiting on a mostly empty cafe. It’s a late night at a 24-hour joint, so the comers are few and far between but those who are there, stay for the long haul. In the back booth, nursing a coffee and intermittently holding an ice pack to his jaw, sits the AW’s newly undefeated Dandy DiVito. His gaze is fixed on the fork at his table. He mutters to himself.
DD: I just wan’ed to use the damn fork to stab ‘im in the fuggin’ head. Was that too much to ask?
DD pushes the fork off of the table and on to the floor just as a waitress walks by.
Waitress 1: Everything ok here, sir?
DD looks up to her.
DD: Yea. I mean, I guess.
Waitress 1: Can I get you more coffee?
DD: Yea.
DD pushes the coffee cup toward her, and she promptly fills his mug up for what seems like the dozenth time of the night. When it’s full, he pulls the cup back solemnly. This is not a new course of action for Dandy on the night.
Waitress 1: You from around here? I haven’t seen you in here before, and I’m not used to too many unfamiliar faces on this shift.
DD: Nah. I’m from Jacksonville.
Waitress 1: Florida?
DD looks at her with a face that screams That was a dumb fucking question.
DD: Nah. Bismark.
The waitress ignores DD’s smart ass remark and looks at her watch.
Waitress 1: It’s about time for my break. Mind if I join you?
DD: Wha’ the fugg you wan’ do that for, waitress?
Waitress 1: Look, the name is Melissa, and I see all of these people every other night of my life. I figure you will at least give me an interesting story.
DD: Fair ‘nough, Melissa. Take a seat and tell me why people come here so often for your locked bathrooms and shitty coffee.
Melissa: Dude, if you’re just going to be a hostile asshole, I’ll find somewhere else to take my break.
DD back pedals. Melissa is a 20-something with tied up shoulder length, chestnut hair. She’s not drop dead gorgeous, but she’s definitely someone DD would be inclined to try take home well before 3AM when he’s too far gone for sexist standards. Melissa is cute, and DD knows it.
DD: Nah, sweetheart. I promise this dog is back on a chain.
Melissa: Melissa.
DD: Dandy.
Melissa: No, Dandy. I mean don’t call me sweetheart.
DD: Uh, ok… Sorry?
Melissa melts into the both opposite DD.
Melissa: So, uh, what brings you here, Dandy? Wait, no. I’m sorry. Are you fucking kidding me? Is your name really Dandy?!
DD: ...you can call me “DD.”An’ I’m here ‘cause of work.
Melissa: What do you do?
DD replies proudly.
DD: I’m a fighta’.
DD smiles, but grimaces in pain and lifts his ice pack up to his mouth.
Melissa: Fight didn’t go well, I guess?
DD: Oh, no. It went real well, swee… Melissa.
Melissa: Good catch, DD.
DD: I’m tryin’.
Melissa: It’s appreciated.
The two sit in silence for a moment, DD nursing his jaw and cup of coffee and Melissa staring out the window over the city skyline.
Melissa: Tell me about your fight?
DD: A’ight, so, I work for Action Wrestling, and I had my first fight ‘gainst this guy who calls himself a Lion. He fought a good fight, sure, but I fought a betta’ one and drove my elbow through his damn chest. I might be icin’ my mouth, but he’s prolly laid up in a whole damn tub of ice right now.
Melissa: That was your first fight? Your debut?
DD: Yup. Just the tip a’ my career. Ain’t nobody cuttin’ that shit off on me.
Melissa snickers at DD’s unintended double entendre.
DD: Wut?
Melissa: You didn’t mean for that to be about your dick?
A look of confusion grows on DD’s face.
DD: Wha’ the fug you on about?
Melissa: Ha. Just nevermind, DD. Forget it.
DD: ...
Melissa: So you got any more fights coming up?
DD: Next week. I’ve got a battle with this big motherfugga. Gonna be real fun.
Melissa: More fun than your debut?
DD: We’ll see. There’s always somethin’ to be said for your first time, but I know this one’s a tougher matchup. But it ain’t nuthin’.
Melissa: What do you know about your opponent?
DD: I know he’s a big fella and he likes money, and I may be a little fella but I like vi’lence. One a’ these t’ings is more important than tha’ other, and it’s advantage Dandy.
Melissa: You in town for the week?
DD: Yup. Fought here in my first one, and I’ll fight here again in my second one. I’m undefeated in this city.
Melissa: (skeptically) It’s a pretty small sample size to start bragging about being undefeated.
DD: Melissa, have I lost? … Have. I. Lost?
Melissa: I, uh, I guess not.
DD: Yea! Tha’s right. Un! De! Feated!
DD maintains intense eye contact with Melissa and sips his coffee.
DD: This coffee tastes like shit.
Melissa: I’ve refilled that cup so many times I lost count. Do you often obsessively consume shit?
DD: Ha.
Melissa: I’m stunned you haven’t had to hit the can yet though, DD. You’ve been absolutely pounding that coffee.
DD: Bathroom’s locked.
Melissa: Not at this location. It varies from Hortons to Hortons. We don’t lock ours up.
DD: Ain’t what I saw on da’ news.
Melissa: The news?
DD: Yeah. Don’t you remember that lady that dropped a shit in the lobby at a Hortons? She tried to use the bathroom. The staff wouldn’t let her, so she dropped trou’ and shit on the floor.
Melissa: Oh, god. I vaguely remember hearing about this. Somewhere in Canada, right?
DD: Yeah. Tha’s it. When she dropped tha’ shit on the floor, she threw it at the lady behind the counter. She was like the Oprah of shits. You get a shit! You get a shit! And you get a shit!
DD pauses for a beat as he laughs at his mental picture
DD: Ma’ girl Oprah gave me some ideas, but I don’ think I need ta’ be shittin’ in your lobby today, Melissa.
Melissa: Uh… thank… you?
DD: It ain’t no thang, Mel-Mel.
Melissa cringes.
Melissa: Never heard that one before.
DD smirks and nods at his originality.
Melissa: So it’s Monday night… Well, Tuesday morning… And you’re here all week waiting for your next fight?
DD: Yup. Sure am.
Melissa: Where are you crashing in this city for a week?
DD: I been here a few years ago. Back around college times. Came up to Detroit to gamble and hit a hockey game. We stayed at a place called the Corktown Inn.
Melissa: Woah, wait. The Corktown Inn? Isn’t that the place where so much shady shit happened they had to close it and rejuvenate the whole place’s image? New name, new lobby, new rooms, everything?
DD: Tha’s the one. When I stayed there, it felt like home to me. Walked in tha’ fron’ door and the clerk was behind some fake ass, supposed-to-be-bulletproof plexiglass. Behind the clerk, they were sellin’ TV dinners out of, like, four big stand up freezers. They sold panties in the vending machines and had a closed-circuit camera feed of every security camera in the public spaces running on a loop on the tv. It was the kind of place that had an hourly rate. It was my home away from home. I figured I’d stay there now
Melissa: Isn’t it a ton different now though?
DD: (sigh) Yeah. It’s super differen’ nowadays. They call it the Trumbull and Porter now, and it’s made up to look all fancy. I booked my room there before I knew how different it would be. I checked in Sunday, and I been disappointed. I wanted a room that felt like someone got murdered in it, not one that seemed like some hipster lady made some kind of fancy craft beer in the bath.
Melissa: Why the hell would you want want to stay in a place ike that?
DD: I wan’ be wit’ my people, and fancy places don’t bring people like me ‘round.
Melissa: Who exactly are your people?
DD: Hard livin’ motherfuggers. Drug traffickers. Hookers. Addicts. Gun totin’ murderers. My people: criminals and thugs.
Melissa: Why? Did you grow up with a difficult childhood or something? Mom and dad split up? Poor and desperate?
DD: Nah. Parents are still together and they rich as hell. I just ain’t got interest in rich people things or fancy shit.
Melissa: But why?
DD: I like trouble.
Melissa: Did you ever really get in trouble though?
DD: I mean, yeah.
Melissa: You mean to tell me your folks didn’t give you a golden parachute? Take care of your problems when you got in trouble? Hire the best lawyers? Make sure you didn’t get expelled from school or put in jail?
DD is silent.
Melissa: Ah, yeah. That’s what I thought. You just like feeling being trouble adjacent. You don’t know shit about real trouble, do you, Dandy?
A sour look spreads across DD’s face.
DD: Man, what is this shit? You go from real sweet to trappin’ me lik’ dis? Wha’ th’ fuck?! What’s your problem, Ms. Thang?
Melissa looks at her watch and sighs.
Melissa: I guess that’s about it for my break anyway.
DD grabs his coffee cup and empties it on the table top.
Melissa: What the fuck, DD?
DD: Clean it up, bitch. I ain’t here to make your job easier. I’m here to do wha’ I wan’ and get wha’ I wan’.
Melissa: Well I “wan’” you to get the hell out of here.
DD: Fine. I got better shit to do tonight than sit in this shit shack, babygirl.
Melissa: Do you always turn into a petulant child when someone asks you a question you don’t like? … You know what? Forget I asked. Just get the hell out. Don’t even worry about the tab. It’s on me. Just leave.
DD: Nah. I want to talk to your manager. Go get ‘im. I got things to say to ‘im about his disrespectful employees.
Melissa: Fine.
Melissa stomps off toward the kitchen and disappears. A few moments later, a short, pudgy, balding, middle-aged man walks out from the kitchen. He is wearing a collared shirt that’s only half tucked in. He looks like a bit of a wreck. DD laughs to himself at the man’s expense before loudly speaking up. His name tag displays the name Melvin.
DD: Man, what the hell happened to you?
Melvin: What seems to be the problem, sir?
DD: You tell me, Big Boy.
Melvin: Sir, I was told you requested to speak with me about the work of an employee?
DD: I wanted to talk to you, yea, but now that I seen you, I can’t bring myself to look at you.
DD snickers openly to himself. His previous violent anger has subsided and become childish laughter at the manager’s difference.
Melvin: I cannot have you in my cafe belittling and abusing my employees, sir.
DD laughs at him and takes a step closer until he is looking down his nose at Melvin.
DD: Whachu gonna do about it, fat boy?
Intimidated, Melvin swallows hard and remains silent.
DD: I SAID… whachu gonna do about it, fat boy?
Melvin: (timidly)I need you to leave my restaurant, sir. Please don’t make me call the police. We just want you to peacefully walk out those doors and not come back to Tim Hortons.
DD: Why the fug would I wanna come back to this dump?
Melvin: That is of no concern to us, sir. We just need you to leave.
DD balls a fist and steps even closer to Melvin.
DD: You gonna make me, Pillsbury Douchbag?
Melvin is getting understandably frustrated. He has kept his cool for so long through this interaction! However, as DD needles him more and more and more, his cool is wearing off.
Melvin: Listen here, asshole! You need to leave now. My employees deserve better than this bullshit behavior from a supposed adult. Pick your childish ass up and get the hell out of my restaurant.
DD weighs his options in response to Melvin’s blow up.
DD: You know, Melvin, you’re lucky I’m tired and nursing some wounds from my fight tonight. If I was feelin’ 100, I’d crush your ass. Given the size of your ass, it would take a lot of work, but yesterday, I would have been up for it… Today, I’ve got other fat bastards to concern myself wit’.
Melvin: (dismissively)Oh I’m sure, sir.
DD reaches into his wallet, grabs a $100 and throws it down on the coffee drenched table top. DD yells out at the top of his lungs.
DD: MELISSA! HONEY! I HA’ TO RUN! KEEP THE CHANGE, ‘K? IT'S JUS' THE TIP, YEAH? DON’ WORRY AT ALL, PRETTY MOMMA... IT’S ALL DADDY’S MONEY ANYWAY, RIGH’?
DD puts his wallet back into his pocket, throws on his light jacket and pie faces Melvin with his open hand as he walks out of the Tim Hortons into the Detroit night.