JC and the Three Clowns

Everybody know that 'cc' stands for cubic centimeters. They don't know that they can also stand for 'careless' and 'considerate'. Those are the character traits that torpedoed my marriage.

The 'careless' contribution to the disaster was my neighbor's dog. He decided to take a shit on my doormat, which also happened to be approximately the same shade of brown. I might have noticed it if I had been paying attention to my feet and what was on the mat, but I wasn't.

The 'considerate' part was because I felt something 'squish' underfoot, looked down and saw the mess. Smelled it, too. Rather than track fresh dog-shit onto our carpet, I slipped out of my shoes and left them outside. Nice husband, right? Fully cognizant of the duties and obligations expected of a spouse, right?

My wife's car wasn't in the driveway, and I would have been surprised if it was. I had called her earlier and said I was tied up with a client and she said that she was going to use the time to run some errands. That, and the fact that her car wasn't in the driveway, meant that I didn't make my usual stupid joke. (My wife's first name is Lucille. If you have ever watched reruns of the old sitcom I Love Lucy, you will remember that her husband used to call out 'Lucy, I'm home!' to announce his arrival. I know I don't have the most refined sense of humor, but I thought it was funny to use that line to announce my arrival home.) Since I didn't think she was home, I didn't say it.

That sets the stage for the ensuing disaster. I was walking across a carpeted floor, wearing only socks on my feet. I wasn't trying to be quiet, it's just that feet in socks don't make very much noise. I headed straight to the master bedroom to get my slippers. Once again, I was being considerate. Even with those inserts that are supposed to keep your feet from smelling, after a long day at work they are less than fresh. Her carpets were always clean, and my feet might have been smelly. That's being considerate, right?

I suppose you have an idea what's coming next, don't you? It's a cliché, but the reason they're considered clichés is because they happen so often. I walked into the bedroom and there on my bed was a guy fucking my wife! Its funny what you notice when you've just been surprised. The guy was shorter than I was and his ass was a bit flabby. More than a bit hairy, too. He had managed to get rid of his pants, but he was still wearing his socks. I thought it was only in tacky porn movies that guys wore their socks in bed, but I was apparently mistaken. My wife is usually quite vocal while having sex, but her silence was explained by the presence of the other guy. He was kneeling by my wife's head and, by the angles involved, he had his dick in her mouth.

I wasn't sure about the identity of Flabby-Ass, but I recognized her Dick-in-the-Mouth partner. Doesn't everybody recognize their next-door neighbor? I didn't stand there long, maybe five seconds, but I could have stood there for a lot longer without the three of them noticing. They were busy with something else. The didn't even notice when I pulled out my cellphone and snapped a couple quick pictures.

Cell phones must be a bane to divorce attorneys and private eyes. There's no need to spend money on a private eye, just whip out your phone, click and you have your evidence. It also doesn't let your attorney bill you for a lot of extra hours while everybody wrangles with the 'he said/she said' crap, either. Lucky thing I had a pre-nup in place, that would keep the financial negotiations simple. (I had luck on both sides of the coin. It was good luck that I had a phone and a pre-nup when I needed them and bad luck that I needed them at all.)

As long as I was in evidence-collecting mode, I snagged Flabby-Ass's pants off the floor and went back into the living room. Now I knew who both guys were. I suppose some people would say that I should have dragged both guys off my wife and beat the shit out of them. Why would I want to do that? I no longer cared who fucked my soon-to-be ex-wife and I had better ways of dealing with the assholes.

One guy was easy to deal with, I know Janet's temper. (Janet is the wife of Dick-in-her-Mouth, better known as Bud Miller.) If I kicked his ass, I'd probably be spending time in the gray-bar motel. (County Jail, if you're not used to that particular idiom.) I decided to let Janet handle the ass kicking, because she was not only good at it but also because she could get away with it.

You see, jealous husbands go to jail if they kick ass because that would be considered assault. It isn't against the law to fuck someone else's wife, in spite of the fact that some men wish it was. It was technically against the law for an outraged wife to kick her husband's ass, but they rarely went to jail for it. (That's what Janet had done with her first husband. Bud should have paid more attention to the details of his wife's previous marriage.) Maybe I could get the same effect a different way. I'd need information for that, which was why I'd snagged the pants.

Surprise, surprise! Floppy-Ass was going to be even easier that Dick-in-the-Mouth! His name was Clarence Walter Worthington, III. He was my wife's boss at work. I'd met him, I just didn't recognize him from the view I'd gotten. There are a lot of out-of-shape middle-aged men out there and his ass wasn't that distinctive. His name sounds like money but that's all it is, it just sounds like money. His wife had the money in the family, she owned the business and he was just the manager. He was particularly stupid because I knew she had a pre-nup, too. (I wasn't in the habit of discussing pre-nup agreements with people, but I'd met her in the waiting room of my lawyer's office and we got to chatting. It just came up in conversation that Beverly was having him update her pre-nup at about the same time I was having him update mine. We remarked on the coincidence that we were both there for the same thing. There had been some minor changes in the applicable state laws and our attorney believed in being thorough, which is why we had back-to-back appointments.)

I have no idea why Flabby-Ass was fucking my wife. She's attractive, sure, but in the girl-next-door fashion. Beverly was a fucking goddess! Long legs, nice ass, trim waist, perky tits, and a pretty face, she had it all. Clare was a moron. (He was an officious little prick and I had disliked him the minute I laid eyes upon him. I had shortened his name and started calling calling him 'Clare' instead of Clarence because it sounded like the girl's name 'Claire' and he hated it. I kept 'forgetting' that he didn't like it.) Anyway, if she had a pre-nup, chances were good that she was going to enforce it. I'll have to look at that picture again and see if there's any way Bev can recognize him... Shit! I'd neglected to consider the mirror over the bed. There his face was, clear as day in the reflection. This was better than two birds with one stone, this was two fuck-heads with one click!

Why would I need to stoop to violence? My soon-to-be ex was going to be out on her ass with relatively nothing, and so were her fuck-buddies. Maybe they'll all end up in the same homeless shelter and they can all fuck each other there! OK, I'll admit it. I can be a bit vindictive when I think I've been wronged. If Lucy had been civilized and urbane about it and come to me and said, 'I've met someone and I'd like to explore my feelings for him' I wouldn't have been vindictive. I'd want a divorce and I wouldn't have been happy, but I wouldn't have been vindictive. Why try to keep someone that doesn't want you anymore? The way my soon-to-be ex-wife actually found to let me know about it wasn't civilized and urbane, it was rude and tacky. I was offended and I wanted them to realize it.

I just realized, I forgot to introduce myself! You know all the major players in this little drama except for yours truly. I'm John Christian Fahlberg, better known as just 'JC'. I got the name because my father's a science-fiction nut, and there was a book from the seventies, West of Honor, that he liked. The protagonist's name, in that book and the sequels that followed, was John Christian Falkenberg and, due to the similarities in our family names and the fact that my father liked the character, I got named after him. When I was a kid, I didn't like the name, hence the nickname. When I got older and actually read the book, I kind of liked the name but it was too late to shed the nickname. John Christian Falkenberg was a smart, honorable and resourceful man that did battle with the bad guys. Not a bad role-model.

Anyway, back to the action. Janet should definitely be the next step. She was right next-door, so why not get started immediately? I put on the sneakers I kept in the hall, ditched the jacket and tie and went next door to start World War III.

"Hi, Janet! Would you mind coming next door and taking a look at something for me? I could sure use a second opinion."

She grinned at me and said, "Sure thing gorgeous! I'll do anything for you, anything your little heart desires. Now?"

"If you wouldn't mind. It's sort of time-sensitive."

"Then now is the best time. Let's go."

"Watch out for the dog-shit on the mat at the door and the filth in the bedroom, OK?"

That was the closest that I was going to get to giving her a heads-up. She was strong enough to deal with the shock and I wanted to let her temper flare without constraint.

It did. "You bastard! You mother-fucking, low-down cock-sucking son-of-a-bitching asshole! You get your sleazy ass out of that fucking bed and your pathetic excuse for a dick out of that whore's mouth! Goddamn-Shit-Piss-Crap-Fuck! I'm going to take a goddamned baseball bat and cram it up your ass so fucking far I'm going to rupture your eardrums from the inside. I'm going cut your fucking nuts off and drop them in the blender and hit the Puree button. JC, you wouldn't have a bucket of very-fucking-cold water we can throw on them, would you? I don't think my mother-fucking garden-hose will reach my asshole husband."

I did say she had a temper, I just forgot to mention her command of the English language. Pretty impressive for an impromptu performance. No wonder the bedroom cleared so rapidly.

When they got to the front door, act two of the Sleazy, Dopey and Dummy Follies began. Did I forget to mention that the pile of dog-shit on the doormat was a BIG pile of dog-shit? Well, it was. This particular neighborhood dog was a Great Dane, and he must have eaten at least ten or twenty pounds of dog-food today. Sleazy, AKA Lucy, was the first one out the door and she slipped in the squishy deposit, fell on her ass in it and got a liberal coating. Dopey, AKA Bud, was right behind her so he tripped over her and got his own coating. Dummy, AKA Clare, saw the obstruction at the door, but thought he could jump over it. With the flab on that ass and his beer-belly? He was so out of shape he wasn't really running. Trundling or waddling would be better descriptions for his endeavors. Anyway, he joined the other two and made it a trio of shitsicles. (Hey, if frozen pop on a stick is a popsicle, what else would you call idiots covered with shit?)

They weren't having much success regaining their footing, either. Anytime one would get halfway to their feet, they'd either slip or trip over one of the other two. I was standing there watching when Janet came up behind me.

"Wow. I already thought my doofus was pathetic but he's hit a new low! He needs a hose to clean him up more than he needs a bucket of water. Yours, too. I don't care about the pudgy one, but we're temporarily married to the other two clowns. You are going to divorce your clown, aren't you? I'm getting rid of mine, but not until I torture him a bit. Let him think he's still got a chance before I lower the boom, that kind of thing."

"Oh, it's over and the divorce is coming as soon as I can get the papers filed. I won't bother with the torture. I'm going to offer to hose the worst of the doggy crap off her, so she can come inside and get dressed before she gets the fuck out of my house. Pre-nups are nice things to have. Have you got one, or do you have to fight over the divorce?"

"Oh, I've got one. I learned from my first mistake. Evidently not enough to pick a better prospect than I did last time, but enough to protect myself. Damn, I am going to have to find a lawyer, though. The one I used to have retired and he was a sole-practitioner. Any suggestions?"

"I've got a guy, the one that did my pre-nup. If he's not taking new clients now, he can recommend someone who will. I don't mind sharing him, if he can see you and you don't mind. My guy will use the pictures I took if my clown gets stubborn and you can, too. It will be easier if we use the same lawyer."

"That's not a bad idea. I forgot to take pictures, I kind of got blindsided, you know."

"Sorry about that, that was my fault. I figured you ought to have a chance to see for yourself. I didn't mean to cause you any more upset than what would come naturally when dealing with a cheating spouse."

"Actually, it wasn't a bad way to handle it, kind of like pulling off the band-aid with one pull and getting it over-and-done as opposed to doing it slowly and suffering longer. Quick and sharp is better than slow. Should we, or should we not, offer the hose?"

"We should. At least to our own shit-birds. Clare can drive himself home and stink up his own car-seats."

Janet giggled. "Claire? His name is Claire? Like in the song where the guy named his son Sue?"

"It's actually Clarence Walter Worthington the Third, I just shorten it to 'C-L-A-R-E' because I dislike the little fucktard and enjoy pulling his chain. He's Lucy's boss."

"Ooh! Big money lawsuit? Deep pockets and a big settlement?"

"Nah, there are deep pockets involved but those pockets belong to his wife. She's a nice lady, I wouldn't want to try to take any money away from her. She didn't do anything bad to me, she's just another victim of a cheating spouse."

"You going to warn her? I mean, it might hurt but she deserves to know."

"I think if she doesn't know it, she's prepared for it. The same lawyer that does my pre-nup does hers. I've see Clare at office parties. He's the type that flirts heavily in public situations, right up to the line but not quite over it. I think Beverly knows that either he'd already crossed that line in private and hasn't gotten caught yet or that he will cross it eventually. You'd like her, she's almost as gorgeous as you are."

"You know, I'm going to very upset if I find out that the lady's looks are only average. If I'm only a little better looking than she is, I want her to be a fucking supermodel!"

"I'd say she looked a lot like Kate Upton except in her late twenties or early thirties instead of her mid-twenties. Is that good enough?"

"Ooh! That's nice. You flirt very well, sir. I have to warn you, I'm in a very vulnerable position at the moment."

"I don't flirt with married ladies, unless they've announced that they're getting a divorce. Even then, I don't ask her for a date until my divorce is settled. Even when it's a really hot redhead."

"OK, now we definitely need to use the same lawyer! I want to be in a position to know immediately when your divorce is settled. Do you really like redheads? I've got freckles, too. Some people don't like them."

"There's a technical term for people like that, and that term is 'idiot'. Freckles are just a dusting of extra spice, not something to dislike."

"Does that tongue come with a warning label? It should, you could talk a girl right out of her panties with that thing!"

"It does require a label, but only for what happens after I've talked her out of her panties. That's when my tongue is most dangerous."

"Shit, you're really good at flirting! I didn't know that, you always ignored it when I flirted with you."

"That's because a married guy flirting with a woman is generally considered to be making a serious pass while a married woman flirting is considered to be just teasing. That's kind of a biased way of looking at it, but that's the way most people think. So, I never flirted with you. Once you mentioned that you're planning a divorce, as am I, I decided I could relax from my previous position. If it bothers you I can stop."

"It doesn't bother me in the slightest and don't you dare stop! I like it."

"Damn. I just thought of something. The third shit-bird? The one we weren't going to hose down? We need to get the shit off him, too. He doesn't own the Caddy, Beverly does. It wouldn't be fair to make something happen that would get her seats all dirty, she didn't do anything to us. This was all the fucktard's idea."

"You're a nice man. I agree, he gets the hose, too. Can I hose my doofus off? I'm not handicapped by being nice, and I know exactly where I want to aim the cold water. I'd like to do the whore, too, if you don't mind. Kind of a personal pay-back."

"You can. Knock yourself out. You do need to watch your terminology, though. A whore fucks for money, and has a few standards. Not many, but a few. When you're talking about my soon-to-be ex-wife, you're talking about a person with no morals, no standards and no class. The appropriate term for someone like that is 'gutter-trash slut'. If you want to be polite, you can just say 'slut'. It's not as accurate, but it's still considered more polite."

"OK, correction accepted. May I hose-down your 'gutter-trash slut', please?"

"Yes, you may. You might as well use the hose on all three of them. I should call Beverly and warn her what's coming, she may want to put down some newspapers for him to drip on. I can get her E-mail and shoot her copies of the pictures at the same time."

"I'm jealous. You've been collecting phone numbers from hot blondes when you wouldn't even flirt with me! I assume she's a blonde like the gorgeous Ms. Upton."

"She is and I did not collect her number for any nefarious purpose. I have their number because Beverly called me about a charity she works for and I donate to. My phone numbers are on their mailing list. I missed the call, she left a message and I returned it. That's it."

"Just teasing! If you wouldn't flirt with me until your marriage imploded, I can trust you. By the way, you said 'whore' was the wrong term for her but you used the term 'dick-head' can I assume that's acceptable?"

"Sure, 'dick-head', 'fart-face', 'shit-bird', 'penis-breath', 'fucktard' or any variation of those. I mostly use 'dick-head' but I use 'fucktard' when I'm really pissed. It's not gender-specific so you can use it for men and women, both. The way I heard it, it's a contraction of 'fucking bastard'. It's relatively new, but it's gaining in popularity."

She grinned at me and grabbed the hose. "OK, Fucktards! Stop playing in the shit and line up. When I get you all hosed down, you get to go home. Bud-the-Fucktard goes to mine, Lucy-the-Fucktard to JC's and Clare-the-Fucktard to Beverly's. What happens then depends on how well you grovel and how badly you've pissed off your spouses. Understand?"

They had all managed to get to their feet, and were probably looking forward to getting the shit off their bodies, so they all nodded. That wasn't good enough for Janet.

She cupped her hand behind her ear and channeled her inner Marine Corps Drill-Instructor. "I can't HEAR you, Fucktards! Say it like you mean it!"

I was laughing to myself all the way back inside. I went into my den and briefed my lawyer with the first call and then pulled up my address-and-phone list on my computer and placed the second call. I decided to try their home number first, and then use her cell number if that didn't work.