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Son of a Bitch


by Chris Okum


Richard Gregson loved to tell people that he told them. "I told you," he would say to his barber. "I told you not to cut my hair so bloody short, you son of a bitch. I told you. And look what you did. You cut my hair too short." He loved to tell his daughter that he told her. "I told you," he would say to his daughter. "I told you that jacket wouldn't keep you warm. And look at you. You're freezing, you son of a bitch." He loved to tell his friends. "I told you," he would say to his friends. "I told you not to steal from me. What did I tell you? I said if you stole from me I was going to give you a bit of extra-curricular. And now you stole from me. So now I'm going to give it to you, you son of a bitch. I told you." He loved to tell his mother. "I told you, Mum," he would say to his mother. "I told you to quit. I told you what was going to happen to you if you didn't. I told you. And yet you still did it. You did exactly what I told you not to do, you silly old son of a bitch. I told you." Richard Gregson buried a bottle of Johnny Walker Red in his backyard. He buried two. He buried three, then four. All of them for later. In case of emergency. And then he had an emergency. He found out that his wife had cheated on him. Richard needed a drink. But he couldn't find the bottles. He dug up his backyard looking for the lost bottles of Johnny Walker Red. He refused to go out for more. Richard Gregson loved to tell himself that he told told himself. "I told you," he would say to himself. "I told you you were going to forget where you buried them. I told you. Now you're a drinkless son of a bitch. I told you. What did I tell you? I told you." Richard loved to tell his ex-wife that he told her. "I told you not to go back to him," he would say to his ex-wife. "I told you to stay away from that son of a bitch. Now look at you. Look at you. I told you." And he did. He told her. He told them all.
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