The Dad Voice
Okay then, those of you who have seen my picture can tell: I'm not really a frightening looking person. I'm of about average size, not particularly muscular, and not of unusual appearance- just another unremarkable guy.

However, there is one thing that sets me apart a bit: the Dad Voice, coupled with the Whammy.

See, if I get annoyed by someone, I (apparently) get a very stern and disgusted glare to my eyes. And if I'm really pissed off, that glare is enough to make children spontaneously burst into tears. I inherited this gift from my father, who calls it the Whammy.

And if I'm irritated, my voice gets lower in pitch and I project (all unconsciously, by the way) so that I get a deep stentorian rumble remeniscent of Brian Blessed. I get the same tone that one would associate with an old fashioned Headmaster- authoritarian, commanding, and colder than Ann Coulter's fanny. I rarely have to raise my voice to anyone, as that usually does the trick.

But if I get really angry and raise my voice, it comes out with a steel edge to it that a drill sargeant would envy. It's been known to cause an entire group of children who I wasn't even addressing to flee and hide behind their parents' legs, as though I had turned into Darth Vader and skewered Obi-Wan before their eyes. My kids refer to this as the Dad Voice.

One summer's evening I was in the Adirondacks with my kids, visiting the family as I do every summer around July 4. My parents' house is at the end of a little road, and down the road from there is an old sand quarry that my father owns, referred to as the Sand Pit. My kids and I always went there to build a bonfire, roast hot dogs and marshmallows and set off sparklers, and that was the plan for this evening. I went down there and build a good sized fire- about three feet across, I would guess- in the little fire pit we kept there, and got it going quite well. I then went back to the house to get the kids- I think they were finishing dinner by then, as it was dark, so I guess the hot dogs must not have been in the plan- and got the marshmallows and sparklers and whatnot and returned up the road to the Sand Pit to get everything set up before they got there. But on my arrival, I found that someone had poured a bucket of water over my fire.

To say the least, I was furious. But as the cunt hadn't done a thorough job, within ten minutes I had it going again, and when the kids arrived there with their cousins and my sister, there was a proper blaze going again. I quietly told my sister what had happened, but otherwise just played the cheerful Dad. Marshmallows were toasted and eaten, sparklers were had by all, and I set off a couple of small rockets besides.

Suddenly a bright flashlight came from the road about fifty feet away, and a voice spoke. "Are there any grown-ups here?"

"Sure!" I called back. "Come on over- we still have marshmallows!"

The light settled on me now, but drew no closer. "Do you think that it's a good idea to be setting off fireworks when there are woods around us?"

I realized in that instant that here stood the cunt with the water bucket. "As it happens, I do," I replied in my coldest voice.

"Who are you?" the cunt demanded.

I drew myself up and spoke in my best Headmaster voice. "I am the Resident Loon*, son of Doctor Loon, who owns this land."

"Well, I'm coming back there with a bucket of water to put that fire out!"

I used the drill sargeant voice and roared, "You will do no such thing! But thank you for your concern!" And in the following silence, in the distance I heard my voice echoing back from the mountains.

The light wavered at this blast and the murderous glare from my eyes, and the cunt mumbled something I couldn't hear and retreated down the road. My sister stood to one side, a little frightened to approach me, and I heard my son excitedly whisper to his cousin, "That was my Dad!"

I turned to my sister and quietly chuckled and said, "Well, that should give him cause for pause."

I never heard from the cunt again, and in fact I believe that his house is now up for sale.

You can try to be a bullying cunt with others, but when it comes to me? Yeah, bring it on, cheese dick.

*Real name was used, of course.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 17:43, Reply)