I won.

Here is a gripping tale of what happens when I am in a foul mood and you try to ring my doorbell at 8:30PM to try to sell me shit:

I am not going to lie. Lately, I have been something akin to an asshole. Ask Tamye and she will adamantly confirm this statement. Regardless of the rainclouds, I am still a very level headed and reasonable person, which is why I am completely right in this situation.

I am in bed, Grayson just went to sleep, and thank god for that because he was being particularly grumpy that night. Out of no where my less-fat beagle Walter starts howling in the living room, putting the odds of G waking up very very high. Obviously this irked me slightly so I calmly got out of bed and scolded the dog (also very calmly). Walter just could not be swayed from his hate and that's when I noticed the pale gentleman standing retardedly outside my front door. I say retardedly because just looking at him you can tell he was completely retarded.

I open the front door and he starts his pitch without me even saying a word to him.

A quick side note, I think I am wearing only boxers and possibly a wife beater. If I was a door-to-door salesman and someone answered the door like that, I would probably ask if there was a better time to talk.

I gave him all of 3.5 seconds and kindly asked him to get the f*ck out of my house (or something like that. I know the expletive was used, I just don't remember which sentence i used it in).

He left, I went back to bed where I was immediately given a hard time about my poor treatment of other humans. Well, blood pressure boiling at this point, I decided to do the man thing and poor myself some scotch and read a book in my study*.

*Orange juice and back patio, actually.

It was dark out, and a little chilly, so I had my hood up, thus unfortunately letting my guard slightly down. The sales-douche approached front behind and had me in a choke hold before I could set my scotch down on my mahogany coffee table. With cigar and scotch finally in their proper places I was able to uppercut his urethra, thus disabling him just long enough for me to pick him up with my left arm (my right arm decided I needed another sip of my scotch) and throwing him through our sliding glass door. Tamye came rushing out in her lacy nightie to see who I was beating up this time. The salesman made a quick recovery and grabbed a glass shard and rushed towards my wife. I would be having none of that so I quickly grabbed one of the katana's I keep above the fireplace and chopped off his doorbell ringing hand.

Tamye had obviously fainted (due to her delicate lady-heart and all) so I scooped her up and placed her back into bed. During this minor distraction that salesman stole my cigar and was making a break for the property line! I fetched my trusty steed and the chase was on!

To make an already long story shorter, I know have a head mounted above my katana's, which are above the fireplace, if you weren't listening.

Believe it or not, Tamye is still disappointed in how I treated the salesman. I was in my boxers and a wife-beaters riding a horse while waiving a katana above my head and I'm the asshole??

David.