Kudzu Queen

By Tamara Ducote

I had these two male friends, whom we’ll call Scum and Scummier. They weren’t REAL friends (you’ve heard the adage: Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies.), but since they had cheerfully moved some seriously heavy furniture for me recently, I figured I’d promote them from acquaintances to quasi-friends.

My Sinaloan milk snake was traumatized by a feisty mouse. Ever since, she will only accept dead prey. Although I have done many terrible, reprehensible things in my time on this planet, I cannot bring myself to kill a mouse. It’s called “braining,” and you’re supposed to put the hapless mammal in a sock and sling the sock up against the wall.

I could no more do this than I could steal Brad Pitt away from Angelina Jolie. Figuring that braining mice is man’s work, anyhow, I began prevailing upon my quasi-friend, Scummier, to do the deed. He was good at it. Granted, it’s not rocket science, but I appreciated his deftness with a sock. I therefore promoted him to full-fledged friend status, with all the attendant rights and responsibilities. Scum got promoted too, by association. They are housemates and best friends, so it’s just easier to keep them on the same page.

I’d go by their house and we’d drink beer and gossip about everybody we mutually knew. There is no creature on earth more gossip-mongering than an unemployed man (Did I mention that they don’t have jobs?). I don’t know how these dudes pay their bills. They’re obviously not drug dealers, because Scummier doesn’t have a vehicle, and any drug dealer worth his salt has a fine auto, which serves as mobile housing for his super-fine stereo system. Scum and Scummier are what my mother would call “white trash loser-ass bums.” I collect loser buddies like some people collect coins, matchbooks or salt & pepper shakers, so their status did not bother me.

Then one day Scum threw me out of his house and invited me to come back shortly after hell froze over. This fascinated me, so I went back a week later. Again, Scum verbally evicted me and let it be known that my presence was about as welcome as dysentery. Now I am beyond fascinated. I am positively enthralled. Enchanted. Captivated.

I don’t mind being thrown out of decent peoples’ homes, because I probably landed there by accident, anyway. But to be thrown out of Scum & Scummier’s hovel? It boggles the mind. I suppose it should hurt my pride, but mainly it just intrigues me. What in God’s name could I possibly have done to offend these two dirtbags? Every facet of their existence is offensive to nice folks. And now I’M not allowed back over there? WTF?

It might have been my iguana, Goo. Goo was having a behaviorally challenging day. He gave me two nasty bites before noon, and he developed this bad-ass hissing stance when I came near. Goo is always cooler and calmer when in a strange environment. He’s just like a child, in that he saves his very worst behavior for at home. So I decided I’d put on my Kevlar vest and my welder’s gloves, wrestle Goo into the dog carrier, and go visit Scum and Scummier. I did not let the fact that I was in no way, shape or form actually INVITED deter me.

I bopped on in and Scum and Scummier suddenly became highly agitated. True, Goo was behaving badly, but he was still in the dog carrier. I made a move to liberate Goo from the carrier and all hell broke loose. You would have thought I’d burst in on my friends with a live hand grenade or something, and just commenced to pull the pin. Scummier fled towards the back of the hovel, without so much as a “How you doin’?,” “Pull up a chair” or “Grab a beer and let’s gossip.” Scum proceeded to get loud and verbally ugly. I’d never seen that side of him before. I’d always assumed he was too lazy to get angry. But he was actually pretty gosh-darned worked-up. I’m sure it took a lot out of him. He probably slept for two days, afterwards.

This episode has me questioning the whole purpose of having friends. What are they for, if not to go visit unannounced with a large, aggressive lizard that is behaving badly?

Scummier has this totally cool iguana T-shirt I’ve always admired. I have used every feminine wile at my disposal to separate him from this shirt, to no avail. Heck, if somebody wears a lizard shirt, you wouldn’t expect him to be lizard-phobic, would you? He has evidently been falsely advertising.

I’m scared to death of spiders. You don’t catch me wearing a brown recluse T-shirt, do you? I don’t sport no black widow jewelry. I don’t have a bumper sticker that says, “My Spider Could Bite Your Honor Student And Kill Him.”

I think I’ve reached a new low. I think I’ve gone positively subterranean.

I can’t believe that I am barred from Scum and Scummier’s trashy little house. I’d better call my mother, pronto. This is something that Judy Must Know.

Contact Tamara Ducote at TDDucote6@aol.com.

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