I Was Tested and I Failed

I Was Tested and I Failed. Miserably. Dismally. Abysmally.

Let me tell you this up front. I thought I was a nice guy, deep down, a kind possessing a real soul and rare sensitivity to boot, despite my rough, repulsive exterior of having a pock-marked face, balding hair, yellow teeth, sallow complexion, and packing 285 lbs  on a frame of 5'10".

I thought when the chips are down, I would rise to the occasion and show the world what a nice, decent human being I really was. But yesterday I was tested and I failed. What you see from the outside is what is inside me.

I arrived at my office late. The traffic was a bear. Two, not one, accidents on the same damn freeway I-45. So by the time I closed the door of my office, and settled down to do some work, I was already in a foul mood. That changed instantly with a phone call.

-Roberto, this is your buddy Silvio.
-What's the fuck you want? Listen, I was late for work this morning and I've got tons of things to do.
-Fuck the work. I've got something you need to know. You wouldn't believe what I'm gonna tell you.
-Spit the fuck out. I don't have all day.
-Okay, pal. The Asshole was dead.
-What? You're not shitting me, right? But how the fuck do you know this? Who told you?
-Nobody. I was there. I couldn't believe it. Just like watching a movie.
-What do you mean you were there?
-I was there when the bastard got shot and died.
-Now, back up and tell me everything. If this is one of your stupid jokes, I will cut your dick off  and slice and dice it into hundreds of pieces and feed to the dogs.
-Don't go too postal on me. Do you want to hear what happened or not?
-Silvio, cut the crap out. Just tell me what happened.
-Okay. You know the Asshole and I weren't really buddy buddy, but I tolerated him, while you all hated his guts. Yesterday evening he called me up and asked me if I wanted to go bar hopping with him. Something was bothering him, he said, he needed to talk to somebody about it. He even said, please. I felt sorry for him. I said, can't you just tell me over the phone. He said, no, I would rather talk over a few beers. Then he added, don't worry, I'm buying. That clinched it for me. He picked me up. We were driving and some Mexican dudes cut us off. The Asshole got mad, honked the horn and flipped the bird to those guys. The next thing I knew was the Asshole slammed hard on his brakes. I almost got my head snapped off due to the whip saw effect. His Mustang stopped right behind a bright red Corvette. Two big, well dressed beaners got out and walked towards us. One to the driver side, one to me. The Asshole wanted to get out of the car, but I hissed "Don't be stupid. Stay in the car." By that time, the Mexican on the Asshole side already was at the window. The Asshole pushed the window button down and snarled, "What you want?". The Mexican softly spoke. "Sir, why did you honk and why gave us the finger?" I got the chill running up my spine, when I heard the Asshole snorted and screamed, "Because you assholes cut me off!". I jumped right in, "Sir, we are very sorry. My friend here got too much to drink. I apologize." The Mexican was nodding his head after hearing what I said. But the Asshole turned and screamed at me, "Shut the fuck up, Silvio, let me talk. Why you have to lie? We haven't started drinking yet." By the time he turned back to the Mexican, he was looking at a Glock just inches from him and then bang! bang! Most of his head was gone, his blood and brains all over inside the car. I froze and thought I was going to die, too. But the two beaners just walked back to their 'Vette and then drove off slowly, as if nothing happened. Meanwhile cars honked and passed by us left and right. Stunned and dazed and embarrassed because I just shit in my pants, I then slowly got out of the car, being careful not to get run over. I got to the sidewalk and collapsed and called the cops. I just got back to my house from the police station about two hours ago. I cleaned up, took a long bath and called you the first thing I got out of the bathroom. I still didn't know what was bothering him. I am really curious. Are you going to his funeral?

-No, I will go visit his grave. I'll bring my little Chihuahua with me. I'll command it to piss and shit on his grave.
-Wow! Why you hated him so much, man. I never quite understand what was going on between you two.
-Silvio, I don't have time to go into all the gory and glorious details. Trust me, I knew him more than you did. Many others did, too. You were probably the only guy who could stand him. Nobody else did. But you're weird, anyway. A self-proclaimed philosopher. A perennial unemployed carpenter. And a preacher. Who do you think you are? A modern-day Jesus? Want a real job? You could come and work for me. But, first, you have to buy some real clothes. I've got to go. Thanks for the call. You made my day.