Whackjob Invictus – by Auggie

Answer #1: INVICTUS is Latin for Unconquerable. It is also the title of a poem by some 19th century egghead:

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul.

Answer #2: This is not some kind of mom-and-popcorn-fart business, and Don is not some kind of Hee Haw “Pops” character. Don is not jest a’ sittin’ there, a’ swattin’ flies, eating pickled eggs and a’ fartin’. He’s reordering; He’s disciplining employees severely; he’s shouting at people trying to park in his spots across the street; he’s fighting with Liana; he’s cutting checks; he’s working on the website, he’s writing this stupid blog, he’s picking up deliveries; and he’s cleaning up the truckload of bait one of his enemies dumped on his lawn. When he’s NOT putting time into the store, he’s shuttling his geriatric ward of dogs to and fro from the vets/surgeons/specialists/grave.

Dog Bless Reagan. When Don is working in the back, or doing something frivolous like eating lunch or locating antidotes for the poison a customer just slipped him, she’ll say something like, “I’m sorry, Don’s not here. He was run over by a Soviet tank this morning. But he’ll be back tomorrow if you want to talk to him about carrying your Dog Prostate Exam Kit. We’re open 10-5.

Answer #3: Someone who lives “From Away” in a place where bait is plentiful.

Answer #4: Unfortunately, no. We specialize in things that will kill your dog. That’s why the shop is so small.

Answer #5: In 400 billion years on Wednesday, June 3rd at 1:30pm unless the North American Plate rifts or subducts in a Laurentide Orogeny.

Answer #6: Autographed pictures of Don’s ass in the moonlight. They’re quite something.

Answer #7: Go die yourself, sir. We will send a dumptruck full of bait to your lawn if you insist on being crude and callous.

Answer #8: Don is a firm believer in Right-of-Way. He loathes people who stop in the middle of a rotary for anything. Except emergency vehicles, cute baby ducks, police actions, and if he’s spilled a taco down the front of him.

Answer #9: GRACE IS NOT A WHACKJOB. REPEAT… GRACE IS NOT A WHACKJOB. Grace is one of those weirdos who speak two languages and don’t like hot dogs. And don’t worry. Grace is safely off the North American continent (The BEST Continent, by the way) and bothering people in Europe who don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.

She referred to Don’s melanoma scar as “Eeewww! GROSS!” Same for the U.S. debt ceiling and the Red Sox’s win over the Yankees in the one-game playoff. She has a quasi-masters in something like 18th-Century Livestock Management, and is currently looking for a job/husband/hookup who isn’t Ewwwwww!!! or “GROSS!!” You can also melt her brain by mentioning a macchiatio. Good luck, Gracie!! We love you!

Answer #10: Yes. Sleeping in railcars/dumpsters loaded with Hepatitis-C infected needles and Hobos with tuberculosis.

Answer #11: What does Don have against Hobos?

Answer #12: Don has a dent on his skull from where it deflected a bullet. It’s been very itchy for over 10 years. He also has trouble finding underwear that doesn’t give him a perma-wedgie. Then there’s all the spruce sap that ends up on his windshield every morning.

Answer #13: The invasive species Joe “Stinkbeetle” Buck is announcing post-season baseball.

Answer #14: A whole bunch of dour, tiny-brained people got together and dumped a bunch of bait on the lawn of the Pen Bay Pilot with a note written in crayon that said, “Two Salty Dogs are SANTA WORSHIPPERS!”

Of course the poor Pen Bay Pilot employees were furious that they had to clean up all the bait, so they decided to stop running Don’s ads and prevent the Rockland area from falling under the sway of Santa Worshipers.

Answer #15:  You see children, Tiny-brained people (Tiny Brains) are concerned that people with larger brains (Average People) are in constant danger of being brainwashed by books, video games, TV shows, movies, music, religion, newspaper ads, comic books, and politics. They are also terribly concerned about how Average People choose to spend their free time.

Unfortunately, when Tiny Brains gather together, they call / write / protest to newspapers, TV stations, politicians, and all the poor people whose job it is to listen to them. The Tiny Brains scream about decency. They go on about atrocities committed and evil incarnate. They threaten boycotts. They demand things be banned immediately. They pester, badger, and hound the poor people whose job it is to listen to them. Eventually, the poor people who have to listen to the Tiny Brains need to get some real work done and don’t want a truck full of bait on their lawns. So they agree to whatever the Tiny Brains want.

And so children, you can see how the crazier, tinier-brained people in America get their way.

It’s not all bad news, though. For 8 or so years, Don was essentially forced to support the Pen Bay Pilot to the tune of $40/month because it was a package deal with the Boothbay Register. He suspected the Pen Bay Pilot spent his $40/month on menthol cigarettes, energy drinks, lottery tickets, and timeshares in a Florida swamp because he never saw any results or return from the Pen Bay Pilot’s advertising.

And just so you know, Don has committed to spending that extra $40/month on something that will make an impact on the shop like the Pen Bay Pilot couldn’t– psychic phone readings and having someone shoot him with a taser between 2 and 6am every morning.

Rejoice, Tiny Brains. Rejoice.

Answer #16: DUNG! (Sing it aloud if you don’t get it)

Answer #17: Liana and Don severely beat us so that we vomit in terror when we are presented with treats.

They also drug us and yell at us when no one is looking. Don will take a vicious kick at us at random times when there are no customers.

Seriously, train your dogs, people.

Wait…… can you hear that??????? OH MY DOG!!! IT’S THE SOUND OF THOUSANDS OF TINY BRAINS  REPORTING DON FOR ANIMAL CRUELTY AND FIRING UP THEIR BAIT TRUCKS!

RUN DON!

RUUUUUUNNNN!!!!!

Answer #18: When Don started this shop over 10 years ago, he learned one thing, “When you throw open your doors to the general public, you’re going to get a lot of great people- and a lot of Whackos come through them.”

If the people are respectful and asking Don a question, Don is respectful and will “educate” them. The vast majority of the people are. But if they are full of their own self-righteousness and come into the shop thinking they’re going to have a nice little game of “Kick the Ignorant Maine Bumpkin,” then Don lets them have it– as anyone should when confronted with arrogance and spitefulness.

Don’t be confused. Don doesn’t hate tourists. As anyone who has been in the shop can attest, Don is courteous, helpful, friendly, and outgoing. But he’s not going to be shouted at by ignorant people because they can get away with it at larger stores. Don has the luxury of owning his own business and being able to say or do whatever he wants in it.

Most people in retail and restaurants don’t. They have to sit there and be spoken to rudely, treated like an idiot, have unreasonable demands placed on them, denigrated, and not be able to say anything back without losing their jobs.

And that’s what I think explains the popularity of the “We Love Hate Mail” segments.

Answer #19: Unfortunately, it is completely true. I was there.

Don was walking across the street from the shop to our building across the street when a shoddy Subaru Hangnail came screaming off McKown St. towards Eventide. The vehicle must have been going 45mph and was in the middle of the street.

The driver screeched to a halt in front of Don and started to screech at Don and curse at him about crosswalks.

It is never a good idea to screech at Don about anything, much less after nearly killing him. One thing a lot of you people don’t know is that Don worked construction most of his life, so his language can get intimidating and filthy. I have heard him rattle off a stream of insults, vituperations and swearing in the course of several minutes that do not repeat.

Coexist, indeed.

Answer #20: Now let’s get a few facts straight right here.The delivery driver was not from the UPS or Fed Ex. He was not from the Boothbay region. And it was not a wind-up football kick.

The driver that day was not the usual one. The usual chap would stop briefly and scuff our heads and perhaps give us dogs a small treat.

This Ogre started by yelling at me to get out of his way. Thinking he was playing a new and exciting game with me, I came behind him and licked the back of his leg.

The Ogre responded by kicking backwards and hitting me in the lower jaw with his foot.

As I mentioned above, Don does not look for confrontation, but he won’t back away from it either. Even if the Ogre was a solid 3-inches taller than Don.

Don’s dressing-down of the Ogre was beautiful. It reached a fever pitch when the Ogre denied kicking me and Don said the Ogre was “…so stupid he was one generation from eating his own young…” Other quips worthy of note were, “You look like a cross between a mouth-breather and a knuckle-scraper..,” and my personal favorite, “If brains were dynamite, you couldn’t even blow your nose….” Of course there was a lot more swearing than I can print here.

Excelsior, Don. I’ve got your back.

Answer #21: This incident that happened at Waves restaurant: