Parrhesia (par-rez’-i-a): Either to speak candidly or to ask forgiveness for so speaking. Sometimes considered a vice.
“I’m gonna tell you like it is, The last ten years with you have been like living on that French prison island—Devil’s Island. I’m breaking out of here. Free of you I’ll be somebody.“
I said this ten years ago when I split up from my wife, Sloopy, who hung down at the local bar “Dick’s Kicks” bumming drinks an flirting with the truck drivers who hung out there.
It’s ten years later and I’m still nobody. My nickname is “Dead End Darrell.” I’m 49 years old and I’m still hoping to hit the big one. TV, cigarettes, and beer have kept me on track all these years, consumed by night from the embrace of my velveteen lounger. By day, I’m a workin’ man, nervous most of the time—nervous because I never paid Sloopy any alimony. I wrote cordial letters, but never sent a check. I “disappeared” five years ago. It takes years of absence to be declared dead. I am almost there—almost dead! No more worries!
But in the meantime I hide & work. My jobs are low profile and under the table. I switch jobs frequently to stay under the law’s radar. I work for a collection right now. It is humorousLY called “Rat’s Ass Collection Agency.” it is a branch of a giant loan sharking conglomerate called “Hell’s Interest” to warn people—so they can say “We told you so, sucker” when guns are drawn, the car is flaming and the daughter has been shipped off to Abu Dhabi,
I specialize in knuckle busting. I wield a two-pound hammer with a beautiful leather wrapped handle and “Dead End” engraved on it. I can’t say I enjoy the work. I really get tired of the begging and screaming with pain, but every month I aspire to be employee of the month, so I try to ignore it. Just last week I “busted” somebody who owes us a cool million. In a sense, it was professionally rewarding. The guy was a real schmuck before I landed one on his FU finger—that he was pointing at me. Bam! and he was a new person, the arrogant bastard became a lame duck. Ha ha!
Before working for “Rat’s Ass” I worked filing serial numbers off handguns. I went through special training at “Smoothies” where I learned how to take serial numbers down with a Diamond-gritted file, by hand. It was hard work. So, I quit.
I just wish I could get my shit together. Through no fault of my own, I have become a bottom feeder.
I’ve got a new job lined up at “Smoke on the Water” a mafia operation specializing in arson. They burn down the homes of financially strapped people and split the insurance payout, and charge a fee. I will be a “match man” actually igniting the fires with a BIC Firestick.
I think this will be a good career move.