The guy is the nameless protagonist of a variety of tales, his name shrouded in anonymity out of forgetfulness or necessity or the bubbles of a dozen beers, a friend from college or work, or an acquaintance at the bar, a friend o(more)f a friend.
The guy is a libertine, doing things that defy social mores and the hero of stories that make one laugh at his absurdity and boldness.
The guy always finds himself in trouble, surrounded by foes of power and authority, or maybe just a chain-link fence, and we begin to doubt his ability to surmount this challenge.
The guy uses wit and cunning, dancing like an acrobat through his troubles, feinting right and running left, leaving buffoons grasping at the dust behind him.
The guy emerges victorious, saving the princess and claiming the treasure, a modern day musketeer who's successes and triumphs we cheer with approbation and esteem.
The guy lives in a perpetual Bacchanal, surrounded by friends and lovers, in a land bereft of false courtesans or adversity, a land of celebration and pleasure.
The guy is the hero in his stories, stories that are impossible to be have lived by any mortal man.
The guy is not perfect though: no true friend or suitor, no dear child or reasonable employee, as his stories are far too brash and reckless, unacceptable by our standards.
The guy can only commiserate with other guys in truth about his exploits, as only they understand the solemn code of conduct, a code that embraces the persona non grata and his exploits.
I am often surprised by my parents. They are (for most people), the first people we ever know and ever get close to. We recognise their voice, the way they like to cook mashed potatoes, their daft taste in music, and the silly face they pull when they try(more) on clothes in front of a mirror.
Yet I find myself constantly surprised, discovering new tidbits of information about their past, things that have shaped who they are, that I have never known about.
My have currently lived more than half their lives childless. There are many more people out there that have known them longer than I. We are shielded from their disappointments and mistakes, and often not privvy to their innermost thoughts and dreams.
I can not know how to approach such sensitive parts of a persons life without seeming intrusive, even and especially after all this time. I feel a real physical sense of my past and my experiences, as though it is a real place buried within my psyche. I know I am not alone in my unique feelings of experience, and I wish there was some way to make people understand but I know that all the stories and abstract drawings influenced by drugs and YouTube videos of the television shows I used to watch cannot come close to identifying me. If I were asked to describe myself, I would be at a loss past the superficial and cliche. We are told we are all so different, but I am not so sure. There can sometimes be know way of ever knowing.
And so I wonder how much of this has rubbed off onto me from my parents, and how much I may never know. Sometimes that has to be good enough.(less)
Never go to college and hope for a career.
Get a job first and learn about yourself.
Make plenty of friends in the process.
Meet lots of people and shake many hands.
Work harder than you've ever worked.
Earn trust, build rapport, and your reputation.
(more) You will know what you are cut out for.
When you start pursuing whatever ambition,
friends will tell friends who will tell their boss,
"Hey I know a guy who is good for this job!".
That guy (or girl) will be you.
Then go to college if you feel like learning something.
I know a guy, that knows a guy, that knows a guy, y'know? He could hook up all sorts of connections for ya. But it'd cost ya. Bit more, bit more, that's golden. Now, you and me never met, and never exchanged this handful of money. Capisci?
"What about the flowers? You know I can't afford that many roses. It's too close to singles-awareness day."
Orrie was exasperated with Harry's usual gift of forethought. "Look, man, I've got it taken care of. I know a guy at the flower shop. You wrote her that(more) letter, right?"
"Yes, Orrie, but-"
"Then it'll be fine. You're a goddamn wordsmith, like Dr. Seuss, or Hitler. She'll freaking swoon, man. I left a box of condoms in your nightstand."
"Trojans, lubricated. Not those thin ones that make you finish too fast."
"You, wait what?!"
"It's cool. I'll be gone for the next few days, visiting my parents in Sac'. I'll even clean the place up before I leave in a few hours. Here, lemme straighten your gay little bow tie."
"It's not... bow ties are cool."
"What'd I tell you about the Dr. Who references?" Orrie meticulously straightened his bow tie. Before Harry could pull away, he produced a vial of cologne from his sweatpants pocket and doused Harry's shirt with a liberal spray of noxious eau de toilette.
"What the hell was that?"
"Lucky brand. Chicks dig it."
"I like Old Spice."
"Yeah, so did your grandfather. He only screwed one dame after the war. Listen, just don't worry about anything. You've already been on like 8 dates. She clearly doesn't hate you."
"Those weren't dates."
"You took her on a one-on-one hike/picnic in the mountains for six hours. During which time she probably wanted to jump your bones but you were too insecure to notice. Don't let her down this time. I'm trying to help you out." For the ninth time in 4 months, Orrie had to push Harry out the door to meet his dream girl. Sometimes he wondered about him. This time he just laughed.(less)
"Say?! She is going to completely lose her mind if she sees this" exclaims Brenden
"I think it's your fault, you told me to do it, and you even laughed at me, I told you I could do(more) it" said Kevin while smirking
"Fine, fine your right, I was wrong, but this isn't supposed to happen, things like this can't happen, I'm completely losing my shit here Kevin, how are we going to get rid of this thing?" asks Brenden
He motions down at the floor, a figure the size of a child lies on the ground, though the rough size is about the only thing one would confuse it with being human. At about 4 feet tall, and covered in dark brown and blueish tinted scales, it is most definitely not human.
"Stop being such a little girl, we'll get rid of it, besides I know a guy he'll come get rid of it, for 50 bucks, no big deal" says Kevin
"Wait, what? You know a guy who disposes of Deep Ones? The Cthulian horror, break your mind, rape your face Deep Ones? asks Brenden shocked
"Yea he has a pick up truck and a shotgun, you'd be surprise how often this happens, all you really need is a phone book and a bottle of olive oil" says Kevin
"Fuck it, alright lets tie that little bastard up, and you go call your guy, Jenny will be home in about an hour, I hope your guy is fast" says Brenden
"Personally I think we are lucky, I heard about this one guy who summoned Shub-Niggurath I think he used Twinkies and KY jelly, I still don't know what happened to his body" says Kevin as he calls his guy(less)
-it's not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me, oh no... it's just the nearness, "Hey Toni" shouts Carl in an excited tone as he flings open the bathroom door.
"Hey man, I'm relaxing in the bath, you're disturbing my quiet time and chill out(more) music".
"Yeah right, do you know this guy" as he pushes the paper towards her.
"Can you at least knock first, I could have been in the middle of something".
"The middle of what, exactly", Carl asks.
"Something" she replies.
"Do you have adventures in the bath then?"
"Listen, I could have been shaving or doing some intimate stuff that I'm not prepared to share with you".
"OK, no more details, I'd rather keep that a mystery, but do you know the guy or not?".
She takes the paper from him with her wet hands, and focuses on the picture.
"Yeah, well that's not hard, it's Tom Cruise".
Shaking his head Carl states "No, no, not Tom, the guy behind him".
"Oh", again she looks over the candid badly blurred paparazzi image. "Is that professor Hughes?", "Yes, I do know him, I took his psychology class two years ago".
"Well he's been found dead this morning in the Newton Heath hotel".
"Yep, apparently it's a gruesome scene", Carls confirms.
Toni's eyebrows lower and her eyes thin. A confused and worrisome look washes over her face.
"What is it?" Carl asks.
"Well weirdly enough he called me yesterday afternoon, but I didn't take the call and he's left me a voice message I've yet to play".
The door bell rings.
They both look at each other and then the door.(less)