“All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.” - Tennessee Williams


So I was being frank with her... Well, that makes sense. It was my duty to share how I felt about her as a person.

I just didn’t do with words.

I let her fall down the stairs. And I did it so I could be forthright with her... Honest with the bitch, honest with myself. I wasn’t to blame for what happened; after all, she pushed me to the point.

So I let her fall.

Down and down she goes...

I knew the stairs were there. I knew the light bulb was out. It was my house, for crying out loud.

Where she’ll land, no one knows...

I had no idea what she was about to land on because it was too dark to see the bottom - That alone is a scary thought. But she pissed me off and I was sick of her.

So down she went.

SeeyaBabye.

Her name was, is, Keri. No, I didn’t kill her. But the thought had crossed my mind.

Keri likes to fabricate every word that comes out of her mouth. I did not appreciate the fact that she thought I was stupid enough to believe her lies, and I was tired of listening to one made up story after another. I only wished that our good friend, who shall remain nameless (Steve), hadn’t started dating her.

The first time I met Keri, she was Bobby’s blind date. Within the first 5 minutes of meeting her, she had diarrhea of the mouth and spilled out her entire life story.

The entire bar learned about her photo debut in Hustler’s Beaver Hunt – guess that was her fifteen minutes of fame – about a previous career in exotic dancing (and graced me with the question of if I was dancer myself – I’m like why, do I look like one??), about being bipolar (that one I believed), about being on meds that help her ‘stay calm’, about being part gypsy, about being a Wicca, about being famous for her drawings of fairies, about having two timber wolves as pets back at her house (turns out they were German Shepherds), about being in a car accident so bad that half of her body is made of metal, about skydiving from 30,000 feet with out a parachute so she could land by diving into the ocean, about parasailing and telling everyone she was only hanging by her ankles, about stepping on a piece of glass that went 5” into the top of her foot and she had to give herself stitches, about all the piercings she had in all the wonderful places and how the one in her cooch-cooch tickled so much she asked for another, and how she had equally as many tattoos all over.

Part of Keri’s charm was her appearance. She had a very obvious and very unsophisticated 3-inch tattoo of a tribal scorpion clenching a pentagram in her cleavage. She boasted several times that she had designed it herself and sold it to the tattoo artist for $100, even though it was very basic and I’m certain I’ve seen the exact design on the walls of many tattoo parlors. She also told me she had the same scorpion, only larger, down below and pointing the other way so that the claws were “wrapped around her ___” (sounds like wussy).

I didn’t ask to see it.

Within that next hour, Bobby left Keri at the bar and told her to walk home.

What did her head look like? She had a very mousy face with lots of make up and crooked, narrow mousey teeth. She had a very mousey, whiney voice, she had feathery mousey-brown hair, and her eyes were brown and squinty... like a mouse.

How did she dress? I’m going with the word “skank”. She had on a dangerously low cut spandex shirt that was not quite long enough to cover the belly fat hanging over her skin-tight jeans. Let’s not forget her little pointed toed, spiked heal, 1980’s leopard print ankle boots. You know, the kind no one wears anymore.

How did she dance? Like a stripper on an invisible pole. Slowww and snakelike. No matter how fast the music. She’d shut her eyes and smiled like she was having sex with the song.

So now you know what she looked like. You know what she sounded like. You know how she danced, how she dressed, and you know her conversation skills were insulting to anyone with a brain.

And our good friend Steve decided to go out with her. Well that gave me lots of opportunities to hear more of her crazy ass stories.

I soon learned of her cat that was diagnosed with kidney failure at the age of 12, so she fed it Chamomile tea and it lived to be 28.

We learned that she had been mugged leaving the bar one night... Said she had to go to the ER and get stitches... Only to find out later that she fell on the ice leaving the bar and had cracked her head open...

We learned of her misconstrued notion that every man on the planet wanted her skanky ass. One day while we were all walking, she passed a guy who looked at her, and out of her mouth came “he just licked my cleavage!” Steve felt the need to question the guy -

And Earl put a stop to that fight.

So you can see why I let her fall. But it’s so much meaner than just letting her fall - It was the whole premeditated thing...

#1 - She was already at my house, and she was drunk (bonus!)

#2 – I was in a bad mood.

#3 - I had an old coal room.

But first, I had to get her down into the basement. Boy, that just sounded so serial killerish. So of course, I told her there were ghosts down there and asked her if she wanted to go see them. She, having ESP and all sorts of paranormal abilities, jumped to go investigate.

Like feeding candy to a baby...

We made our way down the basement stairs and I had her stand in the middle of the room. I asked her to use her senses and tell me where she thought the ghosts were hiding. She closed her eyes and pointed at the wrong door. I said well yeah, they could be in there but more so behind the door over there, and pointed to another one. She then moved her pointed finger to point at the door I was pointing at and said that was the one she was pointing at all along.

So, I led her over and opened the door for her.

“Darn. The bulb is out.” I glanced down into the coal room and could not see the floor. It. Was. Dark. “Boy, it’s a scary room… Can you feel their presence?”

“Oh wowww. Yeah I cannn.” She put her hand on the door and started to walk into the room.

I stood back and looked down at her spiked heal ankle boots. I watched her take one step... then another step...

And then she was no more.

She made a loud noise when she hit bottom. I don’t know what she landed on, but it broke.

And I stood there in the doorway. And I looked down into the darkness and I could not see her.

And I thought to myself - if I shut the door, would it remind her of The Ring?

And I heard a small “oowww” come from somewhere below.

And I smiled.

I smiled and wondered if I locked her in there, would Steve believe me when I told him that she suddenly went home. And if I turned up the music, would it drown out her cries for help.

It seemed a long time had passed since she took the tumble, so I mumbled the inevitable question, “You alright down there?”

“Yeahhhh. I think I’m gonna have a bump on my head.”

“So, is there anybody down there with you?” I asked.

“I think so. I don’t like this room.”

I spied a little hand on the bottom step, and then another little hand on the next step. Then there was her mousey little head, popping up out of the dark, and then a boot.

She crawled up to the top stair – where instead of extending a hand to help, I raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Then I turned my back, and I walked back upstairs.

“Steve, your girlfriend just fell down the stairs. You should go see if she’s alright.”

He, however, did not seem too concerned and continued to sit. Keri wandered up eventually, rubbing her head.

I cracked a beer and had myself a drinky-poo.

Definition of Mean;
b : characterized by petty selfishness or malice c : causing trouble or bother
Being below the normal standards of human decency and dignity -
Cruel, unkind, uncaring, malicious, shameful, despicable, callous.

So to be truly Mean, one must be cruel. Let’s break that one down…

Definition of Cruel;
1 : disposed to inflict pain or suffering : devoid of humane feelings
2 a : causing or conducive to injury, grief, or pain - a cruel joke - b : unrelieved by leniency - Pitiless, ferocious, severe, vindictive, vicious, merciless, heartless, ruthless, harsh.

So in other words, to be mean is to be a real BITCH.

Right then. Been there - done that.