A Conversation with The Heckler and the Irritable Italian

Along with Nature and Nurture, attention should be paid to Name when deciphering a person’s life. There’s people with the word “Law” in their names who pursue a career in that field, as well as people with “Good” indicated who turn out to be righteous people. There’s also ironic cases, like a guy I saw in the news with the last name “Beaver” who was arrested for soliciting sex with two teenage boys. Leave it to such a guy to apparently not be interested in vaginas.

I know a guy with the surname “Heckler.” The name so befits his personality that his name ought to be “Super.” His grating voice resembles a less pleasant Danny DeVito’s, and his abrasive personality almost always rubs people the wrong way. Yet, if only like a fungus, he eventually grows on most people.

I am one such person, and I openly call him “The Heckler.” It’s as if I were referring to a Batman villain. I could easily imagine him hectoring the Caped Crusader:

“Hey Batman! Who pitches and who catches when you and Robin are alone in the Bat Cave?!”

“What’s with all this ‘Wham!’ and ‘Ka-pow!’ shit? I know you’re hitting me, for Christ’s sake!”

“You’re putting on a little weight there, Fatman! No wonder douchebags like The Riddler are getting the best of you!”

Now that The Heckler and I get along, each sharing an affinity for the Dead, we get along well and like to shoot the shit together. We were doing so with our mutual buddy Vinnie the other day. The Heckler is about 15 years older than me, Vinnie 10 years younger. Vinnie has been putting on some muscle lately, which is good because he likes to shoot his mouth off and won’t back down from confrontation. I noted as much during our powwow.

Me: Dude, I can tell you’ve been working out. Is that from work or exercise?

Vinnie: Both, man. You’re doing some lifting too, it looks like.

The Heckler: Yeah, Brian’s been doing more 40 ounce curls. Glug glug glug.

V: Come on now, Steve.

M: I’m also trying to get back into tennis. A lady from my church just gave me a pretty nice reacket. I just need a fucking partner.

TH: What’d you say you need, a “fucking partner?” Aren’t you afraid your hand will get jealous? Heh-heh.

Vinnie shakes his head.

V: That’s cool, Brian. But like Steve said, I’m looking for that kind of partner myself. I need, like a short–real short–Spanish chick.

M: Interesting. I can see the personal ad: “Tall Italian looking for short senorita. Must like Boston sports teams and have between three and seven tats.” Quite a specific fetish there you’ve got going on there, Vincent.

V: Don’t call me that shit, bro. That’s what my mom used to call me. You know who I do think is hot, though?

M: JLo if she lost some height?

TH: But he gets to bitch slap her if she starts to sing!

V: She is hot. But I was gonna’ say Judi Dench.

M: The old chick?

V: Fuck yeah.

Now it was The Heckler’s and my turn to shake our heads.

M: I’ll tell you what I could do. I can’t think of any that are Mexican, but we’ve got a lot of old ladies at my church. If you’re just looking for a GMILF, I could ask around.


M: Hey Steve, imagine that dirty talk!

TH: “Sonnie, do me doggie style against my walker!”

M: “I’ve got a New Deal for you in my pants, Granny!”

The Heckler and I are laughing uproariously at this point.

V: You guys are too much, I’ll tell you. Look, I’ve got to jet. Steve, I’ll see you tomorrow. Brian, I’ve got weights at my place, so call me if you want to lift.

M: Sounds good, bro. Take care.

V: You guys–keep being yourselves.

TH: See you, Vin.

As Vinnie neared the corner, The Heckler had to get the last shout in.

TH: Hey Vinnie! Start fermenting some prune juice wine when you get home for some old broads!

Vinnie didn’t even bother looking around, instead just flipping the bird up in the air.

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