REAL NAME: Hardassimo J. Scrambler
NICKNAME: Uncle Hardass
BIOGRAPHY: Hard work. It’s the mantra that Uncle Hardass lived his life by, and a virtue he pushed on his nephew/adopted son Bookshelf Q. Battler.
Ahh, even today one of BQB’s fondest/worst memories is when Uncle Hardass came home from work one evening to find a young BQB eating junk food and hanging out with a bunch of his friends.
Uncle Hardass shouted, “BQB, what the hell are you doing? Lollygagging around when decent folk are slaving away in the salt mines. Get a job ya’ bum!”
His wife, Aunt Gertie quickly replied, “Oh leave him alone, Hardassimo! You’re ruining his third birthday party!”
“That’s no excuse” was Uncle Hardass’ answer and it certainly wasn’t one for him when he was a boy. There is literally not a single time period of his life when he wasn’t working. Consider:
- X-rays showed that he spent his time in his mother’s womb untwisting his umbilical cord
- He went to work immediately upon birth, organizing medical equipment for the doctor who delivered him.
- Turned himself into a baby scrub brush by wrapping himself in rags and rolled around his parents’ kitchen floor to keep it clean.
- Accepted employment at Salt Mines Inc. as soon as he was able to crawl (child labor laws were lax back then) and remained employed there until he died from a pastrami induced heart attack five seconds before his retirement party began. This led to the completion of his one and only desire – to live a life in which there was never a second when he wasn’t being productive.
Yes, Uncle Hardass was busy one and he was sure to let others know it. On his way to work, he’d drive past East Randomtown Park and shout profanity at lousy hippies who were having picnics when they should be working. It was his favorite pastime.
He never slept, opting instead to take a second job as an overnight newspaper deliveryman. Many East Randomtown residents recall being woken up in the middle of the night by a fist pounding on their doors, followed by the voice of a gruff old man shouting, “Get up off your ass and read your damn paper, ya’ lousy hippie!”
BQB recalls an Uncle that was very hard on him. Uncle Hardass despises writers, openly mocking them with, “Oooo la dee da! I’m a writer! I have opinions! My voice must be heard! Bah, get a job at the salt mines ya’ lazy bastard!”
And while BQB ignored the advice about writing, he took the part about hard work and applies it to his craft.
Thus, our nerdy blog host will always have a love/hate relationship with his Uncle. Hardass often mocked BQB’s aspirations, but at the same time, was the only adult in his life who let him know that he wasn’t “a special snowflake” and would have to work hard to succeed.
BQB was saddened when Hardass died but saw a ray of sunshine in that he wouldn’t have to listen to his uncle criticize his every move anymore.
That ray lasted for five minutes, quickly disappearing when BQB came home from Hardass’ funeral only to find a ghostly apparition in his uncle’s form, shouting, “JESUS CHRIST, SHUT THAT F%$KING DOOR! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO? HEAT THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD ON MY DIME? GET A JOB YOU LOUSY HIPPY!”
It should be noted that BQB does have a day job but that never mattered to Uncle Hardass. Whether you’re the President of the United States or a bus station janitor, if you don’t work at the salt mines, he’ll tell you to get a job. You’re just not working hard enough, and certainly not as hard as he ever did.
Alas, BQB will never know a life without a grumpy old man criticizing him. But luckily, Uncle Hardass has slowed down and embraced retirement in death, now spending most of his time watching TV and writing his column, “Things That Really Frost My Ass,” a litany of complaints about whatever is drawing his ire at any given moment.
Yes, if complaining ever becomes an Olympic sport, Uncle Hardass will win a gold medal.
Do you have something fun to complain about? Share it with Uncle Hardass and maybe he’ll share it in his next column.
Bookshelf Battle 