Part twenty-six: Tub

a/n: slight slash

I follow Floyd up the stairs at a run and then stop short and stand in the bathroom doorway. Floyd's quickly pulling off his clothing and though under most other circumstances this would hold my attention pretty well, it's not him I'm looking at. What I can see it literally a blood bath. If that had once been a female it's not looking like one now. Her chest has been torn open. There are bits, bit which normally should be inside someone lying next to the mess in the bathtub. There is blood up the walls and dripping over the side of the tub forming little puddles on the white floor tiles. The smell is unbelievable. I can't see her face it's just a splat of blood. There's really not much at all to see of who ever that was to begin with.

'Hey Spence.' He sounds cheery and completely unfazed by this. 'Don't worry. Nothing is real. It's just a game. Remember that.'

I shake my head and look over now at Floyd who's got his back to me and is turning on the water for the shower.

'Shit.'

Now I don't normally use bad language. I consider it un-necessary, but that's the only word that would come out of my mouth. I tried others. I tried whole sentences out in my head first, but that's the only word that made it from my brain to my mouth. He steps under the water and turns to look at me. And again I'm not really looking at what I can see; I'm imagining what he's done to who I think was his wife.

'Don't use that sort of language Spence. It doesn't suit you. You want to join me here? You stink.' He's got some soap in his hand and is quickly rubbing it over himself, over his chest and up his arms and now in his hair. 'You could help me out a bit here maybe?' But I'm backing off and shaking my head.

I know what he is. I guess I've always known what he is, but I don't like to be faced with this sort of – I don't even know how to describe it! I don't want to face it. I don't want to have to acknowledge that he is this monster. All the time I don't have to actually see it I can slip back into denial and pretend that it's all a big mistake. I want to run away from it and block it out. I want to go back to my room in the concrete block and be lectured by my roomie about the dangers of hanging out with Sam Trent and Professor Flanders.

'Why?' Yes it took me all that time to manage another word.

'Why did I do that? She was a bitch. You'd not have liked her Spence and she made it necessary. I can't live with a tart whose only need in life is to get me to screw her. You can understand that cant you? It'd be like you having to suddenly live with a sex mad JJ. I'm sure you'd crack under the pressure too.' I'm watching the bubbles in the shower tray turn from a reddish pink to clear. 'It was quick. If that's a concern of yours. She didn't feel it. I snapped her neck first then brought her up here. It's OK remember nothing here is real. She only exists to test us. I think I might have failed my first few tests mind, but I'll worry about that later.' Now he's wrapping a white fluffy towel around his waist and walking towards me as he carefully avoids treading in the mess he's made. 'Bedroom? If you don't want a shower that is.' And his hand is on my arm and he's leading me to the room across the hallway. 'You want me dressed or like this? I was going to take you out for a drink to avoid her, but it's not necessary now.' I feel the bed on the back of my legs and he's pushing me down to sit. 'Relax Spencer. Everything is under control. I think I'm going to erm… release some tension. We both need to relax a bit I think. I feel that if I don't put my mouth on you pretty soon I'm just going to stand here all night talking to you and I can think of so many other things we can do and as you can't talk back at me right now we can play. How does that sound to you, just nod your head.'

I don't get the chance to react in any way though he's pushing me back and his hands up unbuttoning my shirt and I just lay there and let him do it. I want to scream at him to stop. I want him to explain what the hell happened and how he could do such a thing. I thought we were meant to be keeping a low profile! What the hell was he thinking of? Can't he just play the damned game and get us out of this mess? And his fingers are flicking at my nipples and moving down to my belt and still I don't even attempt to stop him. I think of where that mouth has been. I think of what he was doing and I don't want to smell that on his breath. I finally put my hands on his chest and start to push him away. This isn't turning me on. I just want him away from me.

'What?'

He does actually move back from me and removes his hands but he's looking at mine which are pressing against his warm just soaped skin.

'Teeth.' I manage to tell him.

'You want me to go brush my teeth? Does my breath smell? Fine if that'll make you happy I'll go brush and floss and do whatever I need to make you happy, but don't you just lay there Babes. Get stripped for me. I need you and don't want to waste time here having to get your damned cords off you.'

He moves right away now and turns and walks from the room. I could run. I could get out and go back to where I'm meant to be. I could go and find Sam and tell him what's going on, but I hear the water running into the washbasin and I hear the sound of teeth being brushed and I'm not running. I'm sitting up on the bed now sliding my cords down my legs. I don't want this. I don't want to be doing this so I don't really know why I am. Habit I think. That's the only reason I can think I am doing what he tells me to do. Like I always do as he tells me to do. I can feel the adrenaline begin to build up and surge through my body. If I tried to run he'd bring me back. He'd force me to do what he wants. He's killed and he's eaten and now he wants his dessert and I'm going to provide that for him like I do over and over again. I don't want to end up like the thing in the bathtub and I know it's been a close call so many times before. I remain sitting on the edge of the bed and listen to him scrubbing the remains of this wife out of his mouth.

-o-o-o-

Spencer is such a damned prude sometimes. One day he's acting like a common whore and the next he's all up himself because I've done what I've done. And I've don't that because that's what I am. That's what I do. He needs to get over himself and realise that. I thought he'd be pleased that we're staying in. Hell I thought he'd love that I've actually taken off my clothes for once. It's a sign that I'm relaxed and happy. I'd normally fuck him with my kit still on. It's safer. Much safer. Taking my boots off to have him is a minor miracle, but being naked is virtually unheard of. Maybe that's the problem with him. I walk back to the bedroom with that lovely tingling feeling where the tingling feels its best and he's sitting looking like a week of wet weekends on the end of the bed. I know better though. I know he wants me. I guess Sonia just surprised him a bit. I could have warned him, or saved what I did for another day, but you know sometimes things just feel right. And it did and so I did and now I'm going to do it again. Firstly though I'm going to relax my Spence a bit.

'Lay back.' And I shove him back again so he's lying down. 'I'm all minty fresh for you now. No more complaints please.'

I work on him. I don't just move in and get what I want. I need to show him something first. I need to show him something good. Well let him feel it anyway. It's at times like this that I wish I had more than one pair of hands and more than one mouth. He might smell slightly but he tastes wonderful and he feels delicious. And it's very evident that he's enjoying this almost as much as I am. How the hell could Sonia even think she could compare to this? Stupid whore. I move my mouth over his chest and I can feel his fingers twisting around my wet hair and his hand pushing down slightly. He wants my mouth on him and so that's what I give him. For now at least. I treat him to every damned trick I've ever leant and by the way his fingers are now pulling at my hair and his body is bucking and squirming under me, he's enjoying every lick and lip massage I'm giving him.

I love those little noises he makes. He tries so hard to stay silent. Something he's always done since we played around when he was at college. He didn't want to be screaming out when we joined in the collage men's room. He didn't want to be howling in pleasure behind those trees down in the park, no he tried his damnedest to stay silent and it's sweet and wonderful and I slowly make my way back up his body and kiss and lick and nibble at him while my fingers explore where I'm going to go and play next. A lip bruising sucking nibbling hard kiss lets Spencer know that I don't taste of Sonia any more.

-o-o-o-

They start by kicking me in the groin which was for them probably a good idea and for me incapacitatingly horrific. I can move or breathe or scream or do anything but try to get my hands between my legs to see if they just split my balls and de-manned me in one fell kick. I want to roll onto my side but my hands are pulled away and out to my side and a foot stands down on each of them. I try screaming again. I try screaming for real and in my head, but I can't. I just open my mouth and realise that I'm not breathing so I can't scream. They don't talk. This is the weird thing about this shit. They don't say anything. They had it all planned for beginning to painful end and I don't know if the girl had anything to do with it or if that was co-incidence and I don't know if I'm going to be alive to ever ask her. A booted foot lands between my legs again and I try kicking out but my legs are behaving like idiots and just move oh so slightly. All thoughts of a night screwing are gone. Were they even ever really there? There are boots making contact with my sides now. Both sides at the same time and I think I'm taking in ragged breaths of something but I'm not sure it's air right now. It feels like it's razor blades I'm taking down into my lungs. One of the feet leaves my hand and I make a wild grab for the person but it's only very half heartedly and I don't make contact. They pull me over onto my front now and my clothes are being ripped from me. My jacket thrown to the side and my Tshirt, my wonderful Tshirt is being torn from me. Then suddenly the kicking stops. I can hear their breaths and I can hear my own and fuck only knows what they have planned for me but my hands are weighted down again by feet and someone is saying something to me.

'Who did that to your back?'

and I want to say fuck you but I seem to be as wordless as Spencer is right now.

'I said who did that to your back?' And I'm prodded with a boot rather than kicked but I ignore them. I know what they're talking about. I know what they can see. The many white criss cross of scars all over my back. Hell they should remove my combat pants totally and get a good look at the back of my legs while they're at it. Maybe see the scars there too and what about the ones across my butt. I'm sure they'd interested and more than a little curious about that too.

'I'm talking to you Trent.'

'Just get it over with will you.' I mutter. 'Or are you the sort of kids who take delight in setting the cat on fire and cutting the tails off dogs? You more in to hurting than doing a proper job of something?' I should learn to keep my mouth shut. I really should cos they up their game and I'm plucked up off the floor by some muscle bound brainless fuck and thrown against the wall face first. My head smacks against a poster of some guy in a pair of jockey shorts and I slide to the floor with stars forming in front of my only eye and the rest of my clothing is ripped from me as the kicking resumes. Funny thing is though that they stick to kicking me in places that won't be seen. I feel ribs crack and I can feel my skin breaking under the onslaught, but they leave my head and face alone and I know that they're not going to kill me. I know it's a kids game of Let's beat up the cripple cos they want me looking whole. They don't want questions being asked and they know I'm not going to report this. At least they think I'm not going to report this. They also seem to want to keep me awake. They want me to feel every kick and punch and grinding of heels against me and when they think they've gone too far maybe then they stand back and someone checks my pulse and then they start again. It probably doesn't last as long as it feels it does. I know I was hurled against the wall a few times and after the first they seemed to be more careful about what part of me hit the wall first. They also threw me so my back hit the wall first and not my face.

It does all go dark eventually. I feel them lift me and I feel I am flying through the air again and I feel the back of my head smack on the wall and yes things go dark...and then those hands touching my neck and chest feeling for my breaths and for my heart.

'You fuck with us and this is what you get Trent. Tell Flanders to back off or the Mop Boy will be next. You understand you dirty little brain freak?'

I don't bother answering them. I don't bother curling up to try to defend myself I lay on my front and stare at the dirty carpet on my floor and mutter something else at them.

'What did you say?' I can smell foul breath as someone leans in close.

'I said…you're dead. All of you. You're fucking dead. Kill me now you fuckwits or your precious little lives are forfeited. You fucked with the wrong person the day you fucked with me.' Oh I shouldn't have said that. It was really stupid but right now I'm in a big shitty world of pain and I want them to go away crapping their pants or kill me. One way or the other I want this to end, and I don't think they have the balls to complete what they started. 'You'll be scared of your shadows for the rest of your pitiful lives.' And then I think of something cool to complete it. 'I curse you in the name of my father who spawned me. You will die a slow and painful death.' Now all I need to do is tell dad and let him do the rest. If they finish me off or not he'll still get them. 'Stupid motherfuckers.' I think is the last thing I say before I get a boot in my ear and they send me to sleep for a little while.

-o-o-o-

It's the weekend it would seem. I've lain here awake as Spencer sleeps and waited patiently for the morning. It's not too much of a struggle to just stay right here. He smells sweetly of sweat and that wonderful after sex body odour sends me into a state of never wanting to have to move again. But I can hear birds singing now and he's stirring and making those I'm just about to wake up sounds he makes. Strangely it was a night spent without nightmares. I thought he'd have some sort of flashback to when he was pummelled half to death in a bathtub – not by me I'd like to remind you – actually maybe not even in this life time, but I remember it. I remember every damned thing. No matter. Things move on. Things change. There's nothing I can do to stop it. I've tried. I've turned back the clock a bit a few times with the help of Sam, but I still remember. I move my hands away from him and roll onto my back. I have a weekend to get rid of the thing in the bathtub. That's plenty of time really. I just need the tools to do it and I'm sure that knowing me there will be the things I need right here in the house.

'Morning.' Spencer has rolled over onto his back too and's pulled the bedding up nearly to his chin.

'Breakfast?' I ask him and he gives a small smile.

'Coffee would be good. Thanks.' Then the look on his face changes. 'Oh god. Floyd.'

'Don't worry about the thing in the bath. I'll have that sorted. Seems I've fucked your brains back in order again though. Well done. A full sentence.'

He slides off the bed now and starts to gather up his clothes. 'I thought I dreamed it. What the hell did you do that for? Why? What're you going to do? People will ask questions. Her friends and family. Christ Floyd…couldn't you have kept your temper for one night at least?'

He pisses me off so quickly. One minute he's all I want and all I'll ever want and the next I want to smash his stupid selfish skull through the wall. 'Get dressed and get out. Don't let anyone see you. I don't want people knowing you were here all night. And think of something to tell your buddies, that's if you have any.' I pull on a pair of scruffy blue jeans and a Tshirt which looks like it's seen many years of faithful wearing. 'Get out before you join the witch and don't even hint that you were here last night. Say you went to see a prostitute or something, you smell of sex, they'll know.'

He's got on his clothes now. Spencer can dress with such speed that it often amazes me. He's had a lot of practice though I suppose.

'I'm not concerned about excuses for me. I'm bothered about what you're going to do with your wife.'

'Ex-wife. I think it would be more apt. I'll get rid of her. Best you don't know how.'

'And that's meant to make me feel better?' He's got his boots on and is walking towards the door in that I got buggered until I screamed way that he does sometimes the night after. I'll go and check up on Sam I think.'

Sam…something's not right there. He said he had a date? I try to tune in but there's nothing there. 'Spencer…he had a date. I'd leave it for now. Give him time to recover.'

'Do you need any help with the body?'

He's asked a good question. Yes I could do with help here. I could really do with someone to keep an eye on things and keep the place looking like someone is living here but Spencer isn't the person for that job. I don't want too many people knowing Spencer was here all night. Things will be said. I'm not bothered about me, after all I have a wife and a bit on the side, but I don't want Spencer getting smacked around because of it.

'I don't need any help. As I said, I'd rather you don't know what I'm going to do. You know? I don't want you saying something and if you don't know then you can't.'

He gives me a nod. 'I can't quite believe I actually asked you in the first place.' His hands are shaking slightly and he really does look a fine mess. One I'd love to bed again, but I don't have time.

'Get going Spencer. You're making me want to rip your clothes off you and hammer you against the wall without mercy and I really don't have time. Go…please just go. I'll come find you when the coast is clear. I'll get a message to you or call. It's not often that I wish I had a cell phone. But it'd be handy right now. Go! Get out!' And I'm having to give him a friendly push out of the bedroom door and towards the stairs.

'I'd go quicker if you didn't keep talking to me. You think I should avoid Sam?'

'I think you need to resume your silence as you did before and I think for now, until I've worked out what's going on, you should indeed avoid Sam. Go.' Now at least he's going down the stairs. He stands by the front door for a while and then looks back up at me as I sit down on the top step and try to decide what to do first. 'Floyd?'

'Yes Babes.'

'Thank you.'

And he's through the door and gone.

I spend the next half an hour in search of plastic sheeting and knives and a saw. It's not going to take long. When you've done this sort of thing a few times, actually more than a few, it gets easier. You know where to cut. You know the best angles and you know how to do it without making too much of a mess. I have her in serviceable chunks within the hour. A good job done. Now what the fuck to do with the pile of bits? Dump in the woods? Throw in the river? Put on a fire somewhere? I'm not sure.

-o-o-o-

I'm not going to let them think they won this round even if they did. I'm going to get out there and do what Sam does best. I'm going to annoy the arse off of them by lack of reaction to the whumping I got. I crawl around the room by dragging my legs behind me and digging my elbows into the carpet thing which covers the floor. There is blood dried onto it in places but what the hell…I'm OK…I survived. I drag my combat pants back on and there's another Tshirt lying in a smell muddle on the floor. They destroyed my other one so I slide this over my head. It's a faded black thing with the words Fuck Me! written across it. Slightly amusing, but not that much really. I locate my leg braces and spend the next half out or so trying to figure out how to get them back on again. This game would be oh so much easier if I knew what the fuck was going on. I'm in pain. I thought I should tell you that. My ribs have black and purple bruises all over them. My hands feel like they've been crushed and my fingers are being sluggish to do what I ask them. My groin is one big throbbing ball of agony and I do seriously wonder if they did me permanent damage from hitting me as hard as they did. I know they made me bleed and I'm expecting to be pissing blood too, but I'm not going to report this. And they fucking well know I won't report this too. I do want to ask that girl what the hell she was doing. Well I know what she was doing, but I want to know why she had to play that silly game with me first. I'm going to keep my cool. I'm not going to show I'm upset or pissed off and to be frank I'm not going to be screwing anything for a while now. The very thought of it sends shivers down my spine. Well part way down it anyway. Leather jacket goes on next and I reach out and grab the crutches. I'd like to have a piss, but I'm going to wait. I think I'd just collapse with the pain of it right now and I don't want to be found dead and drowned in my own bloody piss with my head down the john. It will wait. It does occur to me that I might as well just piss in my combats…they're encrusted and filthy as it is and it'd not really make that much of a difference. I'm a filthy stinking little shit. That's for sure.

It hurts getting into a standing position and now I realise that I've not put my boots on and I stand there staring down at them in the corner where they'd been thrown last night. I think about giving dad a mental buzz, but that's not being independent. I might look like I'm nineteen or something but if you've not actually lived those extra years you don't have the experiences to make you mentally mature now do you? So don't look at me like that for wanting my dad. Deep down inside I'm still only ten and this is one great big mind fuck and sometimes it's hard to control my feelings and my temper and I want so much to just go back to the clan. I've made it to the door and I'm looking down at my feet again. I've painted my toe nails. Really I should go and put my boots on but the thought of getting back down on my arse then hauling myself up again to stand is all too much. I do locate my glasses though before I leave and there I go in a lurching painfully slow swing walk move down the corridor.

'Sam?' A voice. Not one I know so I ignore it. 'Sam! Are you OK?' So I stop and turn slightly and lean on the wall and try not to put too much weight on my legs cos that hurts my balls, but taking all the weight on my crutches hurts my ribs and I start a bubbly cough and spit a bloody lump onto the floor. 'Damn you look like death warmed up.' This guy is shorter than me and chubby and has different sized eyes. I give him a look and decide that he's probably a mutie.

'I am death warmed up.' I tell him and give him a small side smile.

'You should go to the infirmary. Honestly Sam you look like you have the plague. I shouldn't even be talking to you! Are you going to infect me?' He looks suddenly panicked.

'I'd strongly advise that you keep away from me, sorry I forgot your name.'

'Howard.'

I nod again. 'Howard I'm not a good person to be seen talking to.' I was going to say more. I was going to tell him that I'm not infectious, but maybe I am? I dunno anymore. He moves away quickly though, glancing hurriedly around himself to make sure he'd not been seen talking to me and then he's gone. Wonderful. I move away from the wall again and carefully and slowly resume my lurch to the lunch hall where I'm hoping I'll see Spencer again. Not that I'm going to tell him what happened. I'm going to sort this out myself. I had considered telling dad, but no, I won't, I'll kill the bastards myself. I just have to figure a way to do it which won't get me caught. I'll think of something. Something which involves trip wires and satchel charges and exploding heads would be nice. Or something like Spencer trod on and nearly lost his balls to. Or maybe poison. I'll think of something. I'll sort this out myself and in the mean time I'm going to keep away from both of them. I don't want them to know about this until I have sorted it myself. I'm tired of running…or lurching as is the case for now, for help.

There seems to be a common room. It's marked on the map of "here you are" and "where you should be" and so I follow the lines on the map with my finger and locate the common room. It's further away then the lunch room, but maybe the seating will be more comfortable cos I think I'm going to need something padded to sit on today. I make it all the way there and no one talks to me and I don't catch anyone's eye. I don't think I do anyway. I keep my head down and I just keep going. It's a strange world and quite an enlightening one where people will shun you because of a disability, but then again I'm living in this place where some kids are called muties and so maybe there's a reason to keep away from the kids who don't quite fit in for one reason or another. I was earlier thinking that I'd talk to that girl and see why she did what she did, but now I'm standing in the common room door and everyone is staring at me I think maybe I'll not ask questions; I'll just keep to myself and ignore the world.

'What are you doing here Trent? We told you we don't want you in here stinking the place up.' I don't know who this person is and I don't think he was there last night and I don't really care if he was or not, I can see comfortable seating and I'm going to take full advantage of it. I give this person just a cursory glance and then keep going. I have my target in my vision, though my glasses have the annoying habit of steaming up and I'm going to fucking well sit on that chair if it's the last thing I do. I'm nearly there. I am within sniffing distance and the guy who spoke earlier walks in front of me and reaches out touching me on the shoulder with his finger tips.

'Trent. I told you. We put it to a vote. Until you clean up and at least wash you're not coming in here. We have to damned well de-fumigate the place after you've been here.'

I look at the fingers and he knows I can't knock them out of the way. He knows just a small push will have me sitting on my butt and he equally knows that I don't want that to happen.

'I just want to fucking sit down for the love of the gods.' I hiss at him hopefully so the rest of the room which has fallen into a strange silence doesn't hear. 'Just let me rest. Do you know how damned tiring it is lugging my body around with me like this wherever I go? Do you know how hard it is to shower when you can't fucking well stand up? Do you know how easy it is to drown in a tub when you don't have the ability to sit un-aided half the damned time? You have no clue do you? I'm going to sit. I'm going to sit in that chair and if you don't like it get used to it.'

'You misunderstood me. Get the hell out of here. Stick to your own kind. Stay in your room, I don't care, but you're not coming in here.'

I can't move forwards and I'm not going to retreat so I just stand there for a while until he makes his move. And I know it's coming and I know it's going to hurt again, but what to do? Let them batter you mentally or physically? I feel the hands on my shoulders and I'm being dragged back out of the room. There is still silence. There are no darts being thrown. There are no pool balls knocking against cues and there's no one shouting out for another card. There's just this horrible silence with the sounds of breathing. They don't slap me around. They just drag me out and throw me to the floor and chuck my crutches at me.

'Stick to your own kind.' I am told.

I want to thank them for the warm welcome. I want to tell them where to stick their common room. I want to tell them where I'm planning on sticking my crutches, but I don't. I stay on the floor and watch the common room door slam shut. Then someone reappears and looks at me for a short while and sticks a note on the door.

"NO MUTIES OR CRIPS"

Very clear I'd say. Slowly I make my way back to my room. I don't want lunch. I don't have cash to buy anything to eat anyway. I don't want to be around people. I want to go and lie on my dirty stained mattress and comfort myself the best I can.

-o-o-o-

'Oh my God!' someone exclaims as I walk back in the door of my room in the concrete block. 'I thought they'd got you.' And my roomie is standing up and walking quickly towards me. 'You are so lucky they didn't do room checks last night. You have no idea how lucky you are! Where the hell have you been? I thought you'd be splattered over the woods or be found hanging from a tree somewhere. Oh lordy you didn't go to that cripple Trent did you?'

'I'm fine.' I tell him. 'Just tired but I'm fine. No I didn't go to see Trent. Why would I do that?'

I have to think where I've been though!

'Well where were you then? Damn, you're on duty in half an hour! I really thought you weren't coming back again.'

'Duty?' A dumb question. A dumb thing to say.

'Yes you freaking moron!...Oh my god! You're talking!'

And I realise I've made a very big mistake. I just have to hope that this guy keeps this to himself. 'I spent the night in the woods. I just had to get away from this place. Yes I can talk. It's just living here, well not here with you, but in this place, it messes with my head.'

'In the woods?!' Are you completely insane?!'

'Likely I am. I slept though. I'm OK. Everything is OK…just keep my vocal recovery to yourself please. Too many questions will be asked and I really don't want to answer them.'

I look around for a change of clothing but I don't seem to have any. There also doesn't seem to be washing facilities here. No wonder I stink and it's probably a good idea that I didn't shower at Floyd's place. It'd take a lot of explaining coming home from a night in the woods smelling of some manly bubble lotion or such. As it is I'm concerned that I smell of Flanders. Not that it's a bad smell. Indeed it's a lovely smell, but I don't want this roomie to ask who I smell of. I especially don't want him to recognise eau de Flanders.

My job it seems is to just stand in the lunch hall and mop up spillages. This morning there seems to be a lot of it. Orange juice and porridge seem to be making their ways to the floor in surprisingly huge amounts. I ignore them. I don't talk to anyone. I do my job and keep my head down. I listen though. Yes I listen very carefully. I do remember not to talk though. Not even a stutter today. I'm also looking out for Sam, but I don't see him and this is sort of worrying. I've not seen him and I'm sure Floyd hasn't either since yesterday later afternoon. I could go and look for him once my duty is over but Floyd told me not to. Then again why am I taking notice of what Floyd is telling me to do? How is that wonderful role model actually spending his Saturday?