The Beginning, Middle, and Denoument
It all started out the same as any other day. I woke up tired and groggy, fearful of what the day might hold, not looking forward to going to work. I peeled my nasty body out of bed and waddled over to the shower with same exuberance as a morbidly obese person going to the salad bar. My name is Gary, I am 35 years old with a bad attitude, and an even worse outlook on life. I struggle to make friends because of my general 'don't talk to me' demeanor. I haven't had a serious girlfriend since the Florida Panthers won the Stanley Cup, and I generally don't like much of anything. Perhaps I just need a little spark or something, had you told me that when I woke up tomorrow I would have been the victim of a burglary, and also gained a best friend for life, I probably would have not believed you and slapped you across the grill just for mentioning such an outlandish prospect. Call me crazy. So anyhow, I went in to my job, performed adequately, and left for the night. On my way home I was trying to decide between Chinese food of Pizza. On the one hand Chinese food is great because it takes them less than 10 minutes to prepare, but the downfall is that my subsequent bathroom break after wards will likely mean that I miss the first ten minutes of River Monsters. On the other hand, pizza has to be the best fast food on the planet, but I would have to wait longer. I really hate these tough decisions. Now I know what it was like for those people that have had to make really tough decisions in the face of unimaginable adversity. I'm looking at you Harrison Ford. So I toss the coin up and it looks like I'm heading to the Golden Palace. Sorry San Man Pizzeria, it looks like you're not getting one sniff of my hard earned shillings today, not on my watch. I pick up my standard-issue combo number 2 (one egg roll, chicken chow mein, fried rice, and chicken balls) and head back to my home to devour my food with reckless abandon. Little did I know that the next two hours would completely change my life, as I know it, forever...
As soon as my key hits the lock I can tell that something is not right. I have always suspected that I was a potential suitor for burglary being that I live in such close proximity to vagrants and crack addicts, but surely not today. As I entered to foyer, and eventually the remainder of the house, save for my bedroom, there is no doubting the fact that I have indeed been the victim of a home invasion. The following is list of items that are out-of-place: Extra pair of shoes that aren't mine (I hate Bathing Ape shoes because they look absolutely ridiculous), huge pile of human shit on my couch that I don't recall leaving there, the television is on the Oprah Winfrey Network and I didn't even know I got that channel, there's dirty pots and pans strung across my kitchen, the dinner table looks and smells like someone had the audacity to host a curry cook-off in my home without inviting me, the large bay window is smashed open (presumably how the crook gained access), my collection of pants has the crotch's cut out of them, my pet dog Herman is cowering under the coffee table, Bette Midler's 'Wind Beneath My Wings' is playing full blast on my cassette player and I haven't played that joint since Lenny Dykstra had one of his testicles removed, my hot water tank is leaking water everywhere, someone decided to finish off my Kate Upton obsession wall without my consent, and lastly, my bathroom has been painted lime green. "FUCK ME!" The last thing to do is check my bedroom, the door is closed but I can hear some stirring, I quickly grab my Gatling gun and hockey mask, and proceed to slowly open the door ever so slowly. My eyes are shocked to see the perpetrator pleasuring himself on my bed with his junk only slightly covered by my 300 thread count Ikea bed sheets.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now?" I ask in a voice close to Charles Bronson mixed with Bolo Yeung. "Well for starters mate, I'm not a violent person, and I was only looking for a place to hide". My mind was racing, this slug had defecated on my couch, and ruined my pad, probably to the tune of about $300 or so. "You're going to have to do better than that Buddy Boy!". I said this in a more stern tone so that he would know I meant business. "Well Skippy, you could fill me up with hot lead, but judging by your recent journal entries, it sounds like you could use a friend as much as anyone I've veer known" He suggested in a mocking tone. "Are you mocking me?" I knew he was but I wanted to hear him admit it. "yes, I am, but let's just let bygones be bygones and call it a truce?". Just the notion of letting this guy get away without punishment sickens me, but I'd be lying if I said the prospect of an unlikely friendship was not a bit enticing. "What can you do for me?" I asked. "Well for starters I can teach you how to juggle, pick up fat chicks, win at Jenga, and I also know the 30 lives code in Contra". It took my mind all of 30 seconds to weigh the pro's and con's of his offer. As my mind swayed between this seemingly silly offer, and the prospective start time for River Monsters, I just ended up doing what I always end up doing. I told my conscience to shut the fuck up and I decided to listen to my blackened heart.
"My name is Gary" I said as I dropped my war machine and extended my hand. "Mine's Phil, pleased to meet you, are you going to share that Chinese food with me? I could smell that shit as soon as you walked through your door, and if you didn't have a gun bigger than my leg, I was clearly going to savagely beat you and make off with the goods" We both let out a wry chuckle. "Sure thing pal, just promise me you'll use the toilet from now on?"
The rest of the night was magical; we cleaned up my apartment, ate S'mores, talked about old girlfriends and the current political agenda in Syria, and we even had time to sew the crotch's back into my pants collection.
I'd like to tell you that we both lived happily ever after, but truth be told, I just kept working at my shitty job while Phil just basically squatted on my couch and mooched everything off of me for close to three years. I would go on to live a life of obscurity, and he would eventually go on to perish in a tragic water-skiing accident. Our lives forever intertwined, bound by our love for fine arts and fast women. At his funeral, although I was only one of six people in attendance and I thought it was highly offensive, I read an excerpt from one of his favorite songs. You could see the tears well up in the eyes of the other five people when I got to the chorus from Nikki Minaj's 'Bee's in the Trap'.
He would have wanted it to end this way.
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