I wish it had been me knocking on his door that fateful morning in early May. Or better yet me and “Big Lou.” Swiping the electronic master key into the slot on the door, calling out “Housekeeping” before entering, walking in with the vacuum cleaner in one hand and a spray bottle of disinfectant in the other.
How priceless it would have been to employ my own shock doctrine. To gloat as the fear registered on the face of the “rutting chimpanzee” as he came rampaging out of the toilet. The look of a lifetime of arrogance and privilege instantly replaced with confusion and pain as a quick blast of sodium hydroxide scalded to red the gray jellied sack that swung loosely between his legs. How I would have been the one laughing like a little girl as “Big Lou” closed in for the kill and kicked his hands away from his crotch, his legs out from under him and blew the asshole a kiss as he crashed to the floor panicking. His screams drowned out by the vacuum cleaner as it slurped up his shriveled pinkie, giving him the blowjob of his life.