The story continues as Psycho Headliner finds my address, and decides to come on over.
There he stands with an enormous bouquet of red roses.
We awkwardly chitty-chat for a moment. He wants to explain himself.
We sit across the room from each other with my unfriendly Rotts not taking their eyes off him. Rotts are awesome. On the one hand: loving and loyal. On the other: dangerous menaces.
Headliner defends himself by saying he “asked a couple friends” and they said they didn’t think he is abusive or has anger issues. Well, okay, I’m convinced! Case closed.
I don’t let him get away with that.
I point out how insulting the things he says are, how negative, and cynical he is. I tell him he needs professional help.
He launches into his life story. He talks about his abusive childhood, and his drunken ex-wife.
It’s becomes clear that almost every interaction he has with anyone ends in chaos.
He has a druggie ex-girlfriend he leaves alone in his house. Wasted on drugs, she enters the cage of his pet jaguar. The jaguar mauls her, chews off an entire ear and swallows it. The gf is left brain-damaged. She sued, and Headliner was upset—not over her injuries–but about being held responsible.
Right in the middle of his
heart-wrenching whiney confessions, he changes the subject. He asks, “When did you get your boobs done because in your profile picture you look flat chested?”
Caught off guard, I respond, “I had them done at the time it was taken. How would you be able to notice anyway from a tiny photo?”
“Oh, I blew it up and printed it out,” he answers as if this is a normal every day thing to take a woman’s profile photo, blow it up, and do a comparative analysis of her cup size when he meets her.
That’s it. “It’s time for you to leave.”
He looks surprised ’cause he thought we were connecting. He has no clue how socially inappropriate he is.
“We’re cool, right? We’re friends? ” he asks as I shove him out the door.
“Yeah, but let’s not keep in touch.”
I should send him a link to this blog, and ask if he remembers me. He probably doesn’t.
Read the actual date in Part I of the story here.
Read Part II here.