Oh God Oh God Oh God and Other Maxioms

"Bitches and hoes better pay the man." "The girls swing on my jock, you see." ''Repetition is the key to learning." Yes, these were some of the overly-used and abused Maxioms that persisted for a few years. But there were others. Many others. Some of which are either too embarrassing or just plain disturbing. I'll spare Max some of the embarrassment. But Max, "your panties, remove 'em." (It should be noted that that last Maxiom was never directed at me or any other family member for that matter - that would take it to a whole new level of disturbing. No, just a random phrase Max would utter to an invisible lady swingin' on his jock.)

But his repetitious redundancy has gotten him into trouble. It was the summer of 1996. Max was 22 years old and living in my dad and stepmom's house in Covington, Kentucky. At the time he was working at a center for underprivileged inner city kids. And his boss was an obese black woman who ate ground meat with hot dogs mixed into it. As a snack. So I think his repetitions served as a way to soothe him and help him forget about the dreadful 8 hours a day he spent at his job. Much like a captured monkey soothes itself by running back and forth in its cage, hitting the same spot on the wall over and over again.

Max was also dating a girl named Debbie. Debbie had big boobs. Don't you think Debbie had big boobs? Debbie's boobs were big, right? Have you ever seen Debbie's boobs? Debbie's boobs were big.

Max also needed a haircut. Don't you think he needed a haircut? Oh God, was his hair too long? Should he shave his neck? Would you shave his neck? Oh God, was he "woofin'?"

I spent that summer working at the Pizza Hut up the road, a little deeper into the heart of Covington, where I waited on angry construction workers who accused me of "tiddley fartin' around" while they were in the dining room "dyin' a thirst" for their Pepsi. I also bussed my own tables, dreading the plates that had been used by customers who had visited the salad bar. It was less of a salad that they were eating and more of a Thousand Island soup. So when I would come home exhausted, smelling like pizza grease and cleaning solution, Max's repetitions and need for affirmation were not my idea of relaxing.

But that didn't stop him.

Tired of his CAS (Constant Affirmation Syndrome - in case you missed it below), I wrote a list for him.

1) No, you don't need a haircut.

2) Yes, you should quit your job.

3) No, you're not fat.

4) Yes, Debbie has big boobs.

I told him that he could refer to this list whenever he needed any sort of affirmation.

A smarter man would've thrown it away. He wouldn't leave it sitting in his bedroom and then ask his big boobed girlfriend to come over and help him clean his room. But I suppose Max only had so much space to spare in his brain, when most of it was occupied by his slurry of sayings. Needless to say, Debbie discovered the list. And there it was. In my handwriting. "Yes, Debbie has big boobs." There was really no way out of it. What is the most graceful way to say "my little sister agrees that you have big boobs?"

Their relationship didn't last much longer after that incident. But Debbie did stick around for a while. As I recall though, from Max's repeated complaints, panties were never removed and jocks were never swung upon. Luckily for all of us, this did not make the list.