Florida, America’s Drunk and Fun Uncle, spent the majority of 2012 gifting the world with various Odd News items. From face-eating bathsalt zombies to sex fights over Pam as a personal lubricant, Florida brought it.
Luckily for us, it appears they’re gonna continue riding the crazy train all the way through 2013.
Say Hello to the most beautiful Rose in the Garden of Love, Brenda Schumann of Vero Beach, Florida.
This dainty and precious blossom of womanhood and her husband, Donovan, are getting a Divorce. Our Homegirl is pretty bitter about it. They split months ago, and Donovan moved out to a house right down the same street.
Last month, December 21st to be exact, Brenda stormed into his house in the wee hours of the morning, with a rifle. She found her estranged husband naked in bed with another woman, and that’s when our friend lost her sh*t.
Brenda aimed the rifle at Donovan’s new girlfriend, and screamed “I’ll f*cking kill you both!”
Her future ex-husband was able to get the rifle away with distraction and ran to a closet for safety.
Our heroine was not daunted by the turn of events, nor would she abandon her cause, she found another rifle in a closet and began shooting up Christmas decorations and photos around the house. While on her shooting rampage she took a whiz on his carpet and went downstairs where she preformed a grand finale: Brenda dropped a deuce on his kitchen floor.
She stumbled to her home rifle in hand, that’s when the Police came a knocking.
After resisting arrest, she yelled at the cops: “I found him in bed with a naked chick, what was I supposed to do?”
It makes sense that this whisper of feminine wisdom came from her rose petal lips. For Brenda, armed breaking and entering and death threats coupled with urinating and sh*tting on someone’s flooring, was her only option. She’s a passionate woman who loves her guns and booze, who refuses to move on with her life, a true inspiration for all!
The bright side? Mister and the soon to be former Mrs. Schumann will each have hilarious anecdotes to share during their next respective wedding receptions. Though I imagine Brenda’s recount will be an exercise in revisionist history with vast omissions, we can’t blame her for wanting to paint that turd gold. HEY-OOOOO!!!!
And now for some Bonus Material…
Perfectly Honest: I’ve witnessed worse crimes of scatological passion.
Not to be tellin’ tales out of school, but while in college I was a “Camp Counselor,” for a coupla summers. I say it in quotes because the “camps” were held at the university. Essentially, I was a Resident Assistant for a potpourri of surly youth. One week-long dissention into Hell I recall clearly, was the “Cheer Camp.”
Let me set the stage for you… Five-Hundred Junior High School Cheerleaders perfect and perky in every way, with catchy, LOUD AS F*CK cheers to go with those sunny attitudes. All living with me in a dorm for the week.
Luckily, the camps brought their own staffs to deal with the youth. All that was truly required from me and my fellow hung over “Camp Counselors,” was that we work a few shifts at the dorm’s front desk and make sure to help in the event of a crisis.
One night I was jolted out of bed by frantic knocking on my door. I answered and found it was a soaking wet kid in a sopping bathrobe, “THERE’S A FIGHT IN THE SHOWER ROOM!” As I staggered down the hall, I heard a blood curling scream, “OH MY GOSH, YOU SICK F*CKING B*TCH!” It was followed with loud retching sounds. As I crossed the threshold of the community shower room, the overwhelming stench of feces and steam hit my nostrils.
Seems it was a classic tale of Girl meets Boy at Cheer Camp, other Girl meets same Boy at same Cheer Camp, and the two Girls fight over Boy.
The two enemies vying for the same guy, happened to enter the Shower room at the same time. They went to their private stalls, talked mad smack while showering and decided to beat the crap out of each other. That’s when sopping bathrobe ran to wake me for help.
In the 5 minutes it took, the girls stopped fighting and went back to their showers. As I was walking down the hall, the scream I heard was due to the fact Girl #1 decided to poop in her hand and storm in on Girl#2, who was actually showering, and threw her dooks all over the rival and her shower stall. The sh*t shrapnel and smell was overwhelming, because Girl#2 pounced on Girl#1 and successfully smeared it in the thrower’s hair.
So the next time you profess your love for a boy, girl, band, or brand of shoes, just ask yourself: Would I crap in my own hand for him/her/them?
And what of our beautiful siren from the beginning of this appetite killing blog post all about poop? Brenda my darling, you may not believe me now, but I promise, you’ll love again. Now put a lid on it and pony up to have the carpets cleaned.