The Great Gatsby 2 … they thought he was dead… ……..but they rebuilt him… …faster … stronger … smarter… old sports die hard In The Great Gatling-Gunsby West Egg is about to be Scrambled
Well……..When they decided they wanted to leave, we all agreed to
make it as quick and easy as possible, and to just divide up our stuff
and go our separate ways. Blaiz, Chas-Chas and Funk were going to stay
together, of course. We played Separation Rock Paper Scissors, and it
was three on one since they were all a team. The first thing we played
for was the RV we were living in and they won it, and the agreement was
made that everything inside the RV was theirs too because it ‘came with
the RV’. I got to keep my punching bag (since I would hang it from
nearby trees or lampposts, or pay a passerby a couple of bucks to hold
it for me while I went at it) and a box full of knife magazines that I
buried out back months ago.
I slung the punching bag over my
shoulder and looked back at these three angels. I knew I had to say
something. Something profound. Something they’d never forget and would
remember me by. This could very well be the last thing I say to them.
But I’m not good under pressure so I just reminded them to cancel my
knife magazine subscriptions and tripped on my way down the RV stair.
And it wasn’t even like a trip I could play off or down play it in some
way. It was bad. It was a really bad and embarrassing trip that I know
will haunt me for at least 6 years. Maybe even 7.
Truthfully, I
still haven’t recovered from the breakup. Not really. A breakup can be
bad by itself, but three? At the same time? Hard to bounce back from
that. I had a job at Old Navy for a couple of days, but I got fired from
that because I kept bumming out the customers because I would cry and
hug mannequins for most of my shift. I eventually found a job dumpster
diving for this piece of shit Larz who fucking loves to toss whole
bricks at me when he’s in a bad mood. He owns a storage garage/unit
place and in exchange for five cool items a day, he let’s me sleep in an
empty unit in the back. It’s really hard finding five things he thinks
are cool from dumpster diving because all he really likes is
cryptography and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. But the things I bring him have
to be from the dumpster. I can’t bring him a Mike’s Hard Lemonade
because he’ll know I didn’t get it from a dumpster because he refuses to
believe someone threw out a whole case of ‘the good stuff’. Thankfully,
he also likes knives, so I’ve been slipping some of my magazines in
with my hauls under the guise that I found them in a dumpster.
YEARS of that
passes and one day, as I’m spraying toilet cleaner on me to keep me
clean from the dumpster I’m about to climb into, I see off in the
distance… Blaiz. She walks over and smiles. She asks how I am, and
makes small talk. I’m trying my best not to fall over and pass out…
Here she is… Blaiz… A love of my life. I can’t hardly believe it, it
was too much. Her radiance, her aura, her smile… But also, toilet
cleaner really makes me light headed so that maybe had something to do
it with. Plus it was like a really hot day and the heat was like,
melting the garbage bags and the garbage fumes were just blasting me in
the face, it was a lot.
But anyway, Blaiz asks if I’m doing
anything and says that her and Funk and Chas-Chas would like to talk. I
lie and say I have to go to an award show tonight for the award they’re
naming after/giving me in my honor for being such a good
fighter/lover/puncher. But I said to forget the award show, because of
course I’d come and talk. But Blaiz was like ‘No! Are you kidding? We can
talk tomorrow, go accept that award that’s so cool’ stuff like that. So
she gave me her address, congratulated me on the award, and told me
she’d see me tomorrow.
Next day I arrived at the address and I
was completely blown away. A house. A full house! With an upstairs. And
a freaking backyard. I was so impressed and so proud of them. As I was
walking through the neighborhood to the address, I thought they just
parked the RV in a suburb’s park like we would sometimes do. I nervously
walked up the driveway and knocked on the door. I hear Blaiz yell from
somewhere in the house that she was coming. A wave of very potent
smelling weed assaulted me as the door swung open. We exchanged awkward
pleasantries and she invited me in.
Blaiz tells me Funk and
Chas-Chas are in the living room and she leads me to them. A lump forms
in my throat. Funk and Chas-Chas. Still as beautiful as ever. Chas-Chas
was taking a hit from a big weed bunt but starts coughing as I walk in.
Funk is seated next to her, her arms around a big pillow she’s holding
to her chest.
I take a seat on the couch
across from them as Blaiz half sits/half leans on the arm of the couch
Funk and Chas-Chas are on.
Blaiz just kinda looks at me. She was always hard to read,
and right then was no different. There’s some awkward small talk - I
compliment their house and they talk about the jobs they got. Blaiz has started an edible bakery.
Chas-Chas
runs her own head shop.
Funk is an
astronaut.
There’s a slightly uncomfortable lull in the
convo, so I ask why they invited me over. They all look at each other
and Blaiz stands up. She tells me wants to show me something and leads
me upstairs. From one of the rooms, I can hear the familiar sounds of
the old plug and play console we had. Blaiz knocks on the closed door
and a soft ‘Yeah?’ is called out from behind it. Blaiz looks back at me,
and her face, clear as day, is full of hope as she opens the door.
A
kid is sitting cross-legged in front of a TV set playing “
If You Were My Brother, I’d Kill You With a Rock & 13 More
Biblically Inspired Classics”. My favorite game. I look at the kid and
look back at Blaiz. She just smiles and nods. Blaiz tells the boy that
someone is here to see him and closes the door behind me. I go over and
sit down next to him and tell him this is one of my favorite games. The
boy mutters a response as he clobbers Abel over the head with a rock. We
both sit in silence for a good while and I just watch him play.
SMASH SMASH SMASH.
The kid is just pounding the rock over Abel’s head, not doing any combo
moves, or flashy finishers. It was kind of hard to watch. Here’s my
favorite game, with very intuitive controls and simple combos, and the
kid is just doing the same move over and over. I kinda start shifting
uncomfortably, and sighing and all that. It was kinda hard to watch.
Eventually I tell the kid he’s playing it wrong and I try to give the
kid a few pointers. As I’m explaining the Fratricide Combo, he tells me
to be quiet. I tell him I’m just trying to help and I reach over to
show him the buttons on the controller, but he pulls away. I try and
grab the controller and a scuffle breaks out where we’re fighting for
control over the controller. Just then, God smites him in the game, and
it’s Game Over. He stands up and just starts yelling at me. Fuck you
this, Fuck you that… Where was I his whole life, what a shitty dad I
am, how he knows now why moms left me, all this.
Blaiz hears
this and rushes in and is like what the hell is going on. The kid is
crying now and he runs over to Blaiz. Everyone is freaking out, Funk and
Chas-Chas come in too, to see what’s going on. I try to explain I was
just helping him with the game, and he yells back that I suck at that
game and he beat all my highscores(But he calls them LOWSCORES because
they were so low) and points to the tv. The screen says NEW HIGHSCORE:
FUCK YOU DAD - 99999 Points.
I’m not going to lie… seeing me dethroned
on my favorite game… it hurt alil. Hearing this punk ass kid say I’m
bad at it… it hurt alil too. If you insult my skill at
If You Were My Brother, I’d Kill You With a Rock & 13 More
Biblically Inspired Classics… The gloves are off. So we get into this
huge argument/roast off. And this kid just starts roasting the fuck out
of me. Like I could not come back against some of the shit he was
saying- WHICH! I will say was a lil unfair because he has all sorts
of dirt and shit on me thanks to his moms, and I don’t even know this
squirts name! He starts to break out the Yo Mama jokes and Blaiz grabs
me by collar and very forcefully escorts me downstairs.
So I
get tossed out the house. I’m trying to apologize but Blaiz won’t have
it. She doesn’t want to see me around here ever again. It was a mistake
bringing me here in the first place. I go, ‘Can I atleast know his name?
Could I atleast know my son’s name.’ And she goes, ‘you know what Jory?
His name is Aid.’ I gasp… ‘Like Kool-Aid?’ I ask. It was my first
choice as far as baby names went. Blaiz just nods her head and goes,
‘Yeah…. Yeah like Kool-Aid. But you know what? Tomorrow we’re going to
city hall, and changing his name.’ And I’m like, ‘Uh-uh! N You better
not! Blaiz.. you better not!’ And she’s like, ‘Yup! We’re gonna change
it. And you know what we’re changing it to? Tang!’ TANG?! I can’t
believe it. ‘The fucking orange orangutan astronaut shit?’ I ask in disgust and
disbelief. ‘Yeeesss the fucking orangutan astronaut shit Jory’ Blaiz
says really with a really mean and disrespectful voice. The door is
slammed on my face as I yell out that I hope she knows he’s going to be
bullied with a name like that.
the image “george washington welcomes abraham lincoln into heaven” is so homosexual
everyones reblogging this as if its contemporary or asking who did it but i gotta inform you all it was made in the very same year lincoln was assassinated (1865) and we literally have NO GODDAMNED CLUE who made it and its like fuckin 150 years old
crowley and aziraphale are both the worst guy in your intro to philosophy class but for different reasons
crowley: i’m just saying, given the existence of intelligent humans, can it not be said that we are the creators of our god, and therefore the creators of our selves? if descartes was correct in writing cogito ergo sum, does it not follow that deus ego sum? also, i’m fairly sure we only exist in a worm’s nightmare
aziraphale: this is all very confusing, can’t you just tell me the answer? what do you mean there’s no answer? what do you mean i have to form my own opinions using critical thinking? what do you mean the nature of philosophy necessitates continuous debate and nobody is ever truly right or fully wrong? what the fuck
