TYB (That's Your Boyfriend): Greg M. Bruni

I don’t even know what I love most about this story because it took wrong on a fantastic journey that included breaking and entering, nudity, cursing, guns, and sex pooping- but I love it.  The only other crazy shit missing from this tale is dancing brooms, Bugs Bunny in drag, and Joan Crawford in an evening gown in her midnight garden screaming at Tina to bring her an ax.

Greg M. Bruni has to be hating Facebook and his settings right now for making his ass and the rest of us aware of the fact that if news outlets can’t get your mugshot because you’re too naked or too in the hospital coming down, then they will use your Facebook pictures if they can get to them.  I do wish that I were friends with Greg just so I could see his other friends making fun of him because, well, how can you not make fun of a masturbating floor pooper?

Here’s the tea on how this whole veritable episode of “I (Almost) Got Away With It” (Opposite!) unfolded.  Greg Matthew (yes, I middle named him) evidently smoked/ ate/ injected/ ingested/ inhaled/ absorbed – pick a verb- something that fucked him up eight dirty days from Sunday, and his wrecked ass ended up on the rooftop of a house in North Fort Myers naked as the day he got arrested.  The homeowner heard something and when he went outside to investigate, Spider Greg jumped down, tackled him a la Gaesatae, and ran past the dude into the living room and broke a 72-inch television as he tried to pull it off the wall and steal it.  Bruni then started heading to “where guns were stored in the son’s bedroom,”-which is an entirely different blog that needs to be written- prompting the wife to fire three warning shots with her .38 revolver.  He still got in the son’s room, but was more interested in rubbing his face on the son’s clothes than finding the guns that were in there.

The shots must have scared him, though, because he fell to the ground and did what most of us do when we are terrified: he started masturbating.  The homeowner finally managed to call 911 and told the operators, “He run in my fucking house naked, hooting and hollering and tearing shit up.”  Oh, Greg.

Evidently the homeowner finally had enough of this bullshit and got a 12-gauge shotgun and held Bruni until the cops showed up.  How many fucking guns did they have in this house? Any road, when the cops showed up, Bruni was wallowing on the floor talking out his head and trying to get away, so they tasered him.  As they were taking him out of the house, deputies realized that since breaking into a house and shitting on the floor is the new black in Florida (see Brenda Schumann), they should check if Bruni was a Floridazy Fashionista. Sure enough, that mothafuka had taken a dump near the front door and also in a hallway inside the residence.  How long was this jackass in this house that he had time to do all this tackling, rubbing, masturbating, and pooping?  And how was he left alone long enough that no one saw him taking a couple of dumps?  I suppose those will be questions for the jury as Greg was charged with two counts of criminal mischief, battery, and occupied burglary.

To read the funniest/ raw version of of this story go here.

TGY (That’s Your Girlfriend): Floridazy! Brenda Schumann

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WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 16, 2013

TGY (That’s Your Girlfriend): Floridazy's Own Brenda Schumann

Oh, Florida.  Every time I think you are taking a step out of the swampy meth lab that is your borders, you take two steps back into the mire and I am forced to quote your matriarchal namesake from the 70s sitcom, “Good Times”, and say, “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

Much like my last relationship, I’m not sure what I want from you, State of Florida.  I’ve heard about the face eating, multiple incidents of side highway masturbation, and peeps dying in your roach eating contests.  And as much as I want Floridazy antics to end- like Jersey Shore- I can’t help secretly wishing for more (like Jersey Shore).  And if you pray to the right gods, as I evidently have, Florida not only gives you the 21^st century Elephant Woman that is Mama Else from Real Housewives of Miami (sorry, she pissed me off when she called Obama an “animal”), you get Brenda Schumann.

Brenda Schumann.  Oh, Bren, Bren.  Girl, pretty is as pretty does, right?  Well, looking at her mug shot can pretty much tell you where this mess is headed and I once again find myself asking, “What are they cutting shit with in the Sunshine State?” And what is up with the homeless color-drip-catching garbage bag of a shirt she is rockin' in these photos? She looks like she came to at Supercuts and lost her mind at seeing her bleached, broke Blanche Devereaux hair-don't.

Some people chose to celebrate the winter solstice –the longest night of the year- by sitting around bonfires of burning Yule logs, or promising to spend more time listening and honoring the quieter rhythm of the season, or even sharing food:  This bitch decided to share her meth-induced crazy and terrify her estranged husband and his girlfriend.

According to KLTV, Donovan Schumann and his lady awoke to Brenda screaming, with a rifle no less, that she was going to “f*cking kill you both!”  While the estranged husband tried to wrastle (they don’t wrestle in Florida) the gun away, his girlfriend got kicked twice in the gut. I'm imagining that Brenda’s very brave and chivalrous soon-to-be-ex got the gun from her and yelled to his wounded and vulnerable girlfriend, “It’s every man for himself and God for us all!” as he slid some taxadermied deer antlers and a singing fish to the front of his makeshift panic room (that we all know as a closet) and barricaded himself inside.  Seriously, dude?  You have a rifle, and one would assume, testicles, and your plan “A” is to leave your girl alone to fight your meth-raged, Everclear fueled wife?  I’m sure once the reality of his cowardice sunk in the girlfriend probably tried to kick him in the balls, but being unable to locate them, settle for snatching the rifle out of his trembling hands and beat him about the head with the butt.

But, back to Brenda.  Our delicate flower of a protagonist may have been no longer armed, but she was dangerous in an untrained, mangy mutt kind of way and peed all over the carpet outside of their bedroom.  I can only assume that she must have felt sick to her stomach for doing that because when she got to the kitchen, she took a dump on the floor.  Yes, you read that right.  A 51-year-old woman shat on the kitchen floor at her estranged husband’s house.  Perhaps it was because her 51-year-old body functioned like her 81-year-old looking face and she simply lost control of her anger-fueled-Vicodin controlled bodily functions.

When the cops arrested her at her apartment down the street (where does the foolery end?  She lives down the street?) Bren said that she found her man in bed with a naked chick and asked, “What else could I do?”  Well, Bren, there are lots of things that you could’ve done that I can think of and none of them involved a loaded rifle or shitting on the floor.  But that’s just me- somewhat sober.

Regardless of what had happened for reals, I thank you, Brenda, for this story and for ending 2012 with the code red crazy with which it began.  I shudder and giggle at what you and your cell block “H” brethren  have in store for us this year.  Given the crazy that y'all have shown us for a while now, I’m betting that Floridazy is gonna sashay across the stage of world and bring home the blue ribbon for twisted, wrong, and jacked up in 2013 as well. 

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