Cowtits® and the Douchebag used to bless us with their presence a couple of times a week. The rest of the time, the Douchebag would stare drunkenly at his security monitors all day long and email Chicken Little with advice as to how to further demoralize the staff. Occasionally Dickie would personally call an employee and expound on such topics as how to close doors, sweep floors, or clean off desks.
Dickie sees all.
When Cowtits® and the Douchebag came to town, they would stay at nice hotels and pamper themselves with fine meals.
Cowtits® always brought back leftovers for Gollum and Chunks.
Suddenly, that's changed.
Dickie and Cowtits® are living in a motorhome behind the dealership and eating the hotdogs they bought and froze for Bike Nite. He's looking a little ragged every morning. I'm not sure if it's the after effects of too much drink or lack of sleep while watching his life slowly slip into the shit.
Big Opie VIII got online and found out Dickie's really nice house is in foreclosure.
Maybe that's why we had the Christmas party at BW3 this year instead of their McMansion on the hill.
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