Operation Desert Steve

December 16, 2008

THE winter of 1991 found me living on Mt. Washington in the city of Pittsburgh. For those that are not familiar with Pittsburgh, it is the spot that the city is usually photographed from; highlighting the three rivers and the downtown skyline. But my roommates and I did not live on this vantage point – we lived on the back side on Boggs Avenue which, at the time, was pretty fucking seedy. Tons of crackheads and crazies. 

This was also the run up to operation Desert Storm (it was still Desert Shield at the time), and my roommates and I were all freaked out at the prospect of a renewed draft for the perceived Third World War. We didn’t have a lot of money but we did have CNN and we would sit in front of it and wait for the live telecast of the shit storm that we expected. Yet we still managed to fuck off even with impending conscription.
ONE night, roomie Steve decided to make eggs for himself as we settled in for an evening of Wolf Blitzer. Paytosh, Steve and me; the triumvirate of a shit kingdom, filled with Paytosh’s empty two liter bottles, pizza boxes and CoGos hotdog wrappers a foot deep. Literally, a foot deep. The scenario was usually the same, John and I versus Steve. Steve might start picking on John, so I would jump in on Steve or the roles might be reversed. See, Steve was a little bit of a narcissistic loony with delusions of grandeur and really poor art skills. He was also in a hardcore band back in Buffalo where I guess he had a few male groupies so his expectation seemed to be that we should jock him too. We didn’t.

Steve sat on one end of the couch as Paytosh laid on the other, next to a light up Santa lawn ornament that was liberated from a random yard in Paytosh’s hometown of Bay Village. Santa was great at providing a nice ambient light. I sat on a chair diagonal from the TV. As I recall, Steve started in with Paytosh as he ate his Eggs and Ketchup. We ended up running him off, but in the process he spilled eggs and ketchup on the floor and he smacked the Santa, knocking him over. Steve was now our Saddam Hussein.

In usual, troubled ‘genius’ fashion, he storm off to the upstairs bedroom that he and Payday shared to smoke weed and jack off until he passed out. We made a list of peace proposals that included Steve withdrawing his eggs from the carpet and the restoration of Santa. As we stood at the bottom of the stairs and told Steve what he would have to do to avert war, he told us to “FUCK OFF!” and threw some change at us. We then told him that our demands would have to be met by 12 midnight Eastern Standard time if he wanted to avert a war. His response was to throw more small items to the bottom of the steps.

Thinking back, this probably occurred around 10 PM on a Thursday night. I promptly called Honky Kong who was then a student at Point Park College to inform him of the impending war and to build our coalition. 
“I’ll catch the next bus…”

When John arrived we interrupted Steve’s smoke/tug session to inform him that we now had a coalition and reminded him of the deadline. More cursing followed and we were forced to chuck handfuls of pennies up the steps which hit his bookcase that shielded his bed. We realized that we would need more substantial munitions so John began filling two liter bottles half full in preparation. 

AT midnight, we stood at the bottom of the stairs and I made an air raid siren wail. 

“Whoooooo… Whoooooo… WHOOOOOO… WHOOOOOOOO…” 

The barrage started with more change. We then threw more substantial items, like Steve’s school markers. “YOU FUCKERS – YOU BETTER STOP IT OR I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASSES!!!”

“Whoooooo… Whoooooo… WHOOOOOO… WHOOOOOOOO…” 

Honky Kong chucks the first half full two liter and we hear a big crash.

“Whoooooo… Whoooooo… WHOOOOOO… WHOOOOOOOO…”

“MOTHER FUCKERS!”

I toss up a mostly full twenty ounce bottle of pop but seem to have put a little too much English on it and I overshoot any targets.

“Whoooooo… Whoooooo… WHOOOOOO… WHOOOOOOOO” 

Paytosh throws the second two liter and it sounds as though he has managed to knock Steve’s bookcase on top of him.

“ARGH-FUCKE…”

We ran to the living room laughing our asses off as we hear Steve flying down the steps. He runs into Honky Kong who throws him into the wall and he bounces off it and heads toward Paytosh, who throws him through the storm window to the left of the TV. He charges me and I throw him into the storm window to the right of the TV and he smashes through and loses his balance and for a brief moment I think he might break trough the main window and fall about 1ten feet to the ground. He regains his balance and stands there for a minute and eyeballs the lot of us. We start laughing our asses off and he charges past Honky Kong and screams, “You guys are a bunch of fucking DICKS!” as he makes his way to his lair. 

ABOUT a minute later, Paytosh makes his way to the bottom of the steps and yells up the stairs; “Hey Steve, are you going to withdrawal the eggs or not.

WE surveyed the damage in the morning after Steve left for school. Paytosh scored a direct hit and appeared to knock Steve’s bookcase over on top of him, spilling all of the contents on top of him as he lay stroking.

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One Response to “Operation Desert Steve”

  1. Bartek Says:

    Dude,
    These stories kill me. Between Brick, McCarthy, Your Blog, Walsh and a hand full of others I die every time I hear or read one of them.

    Dave


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