That One Time When

I Beat Up George Wendt

Content Warning; This story contains vulgar language, graphic violence, and destruction of furniture.

When I got home that day and David told me what had happened, and why George was at fault for David and I losing our parts in the new movie, I saw red. Pure red.

David Cross and I had invited George Wendt to come live with us in our tiny apartment two years ago when George was having a rough patch in his life and he’s been the worst roommate either of us have ever had.

He eats our food, uses all the toilet paper, breaks our things, never apologizes and walks around the house in nothing but his robe and boxers, both of which could use a washing—a very intense washing.

This newest event was the final straw, the last step in a series of steps that should never have been taken.

At that very moment—the one I was seeing red in—George walked into the living room and said simply through a mouthful of my food “’sup guys?”

Red turned to blind rage and I leaped ten feet across the back of the couch tackling George into the TV—my TV—punctuated with a crash of glass and sparks. We tumbled along the filthy floor—it was George’s turn to vacuum. I came up on top and began swinging heavy fists downward, smacking flesh and cracking bone, blood covered, my knuckles rose and fell in alternating blows to his face, neck and shoulders.

David had to pull me off George and would later tell me it took all his strength and then some.

I stood over George, breathing hard, worn out. Thick beads of sweat ran down my face and flew off my chin, I was hunched over like an animal after a vicious kill. George peered up through already swelling and bruised eyes. Blood running from the corners of his mouth and escaping his nostrils as if it too were afraid of what might come next.

He spat saliva and blood trying fruitlessly to sit up. After three feeble attempts he gave up and from his place on the floor he angrily muttered

I’m going to sue the shit out of you, you Fucking son of a bitch.

By this point I’d gone slightly mad and just laughed. I laughed for what seemed like hours, it was really only a short burst of crazed laughter as David put it.

A few days went by with uneasy silence and specific avoidance in the apartment. David was afraid of me too and he’d known me for years and years.

About two weeks later, George came to me in a frenzy he was visibly upset. He told me how his girlfriend had gotten pregnant, and that the father was his low-life adopted brother Peter. What he said next blew my mind.

You take care of my brother and I’ll drop the lawsuit.

My jaw dropped open. Did he just ask me to kill his brother in exchange for dropping a lawsuit, that I was unaware of?

I began to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, I felt like I needed to take a shit, or throw up. I’ve never been asked to kill someone before. But, I think it was the idea that I was going to take the offer and was looking forward to my first kill that really set my stomach on tilt.

What was I thinking. I’d blurted without thinking;

You got a deal.

This is when I woke up and was glad to realize I didn’t actually know either George Wendt or David Cross.