Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and made fried rice for dinner. I mixed it with eggs and curry sauce. It came out very nice. I brought the plate to Rice-Boy Larry's room. He likes to eat while playing his computer games. I know it isn't healthy, and I fear my boy is nothing more than just another Asian computer nerd. Yet what's a daddy to do? He enjoys blowing up the universe in an internet-inspired fantasy word, so give the people what they want.
I drank a couple of beers as I reclined on the sofa. My favorite brand is called Filgood. It's the cheapest slop I can find. You can get a tall boy for about 80 cents. I happily sipped on my suds and viewed Netflix. I'm currently watching a documentary about a French serial killer and his perverted wife. They raped and murdered nine females over a fifteen-year period.
Larry emerged from his room and walked to the fridge.
I said, "What are you looking for?"
He shrugged. "I dunno."
"Do you want me to make you something else?"
"No. I'm just eye shopping."
I suddenly changed the subject. "You've been cursed with chicken arms."
He shot me a puzzled glance. "What are chicken arms? I thought that chickens had wings."
"Just look at those scrawny biceps and sad little forearms. Maybe you should start having spinach for dinner. Have you ever seen the guns on Popeye?"
"My lack of muscles is genetic. Take a gander at yourself in the mirror, fat boy."
"You can laugh all you want, but I played sports back in high school. I was a member of the wrestling team."
"Yeah? And how many matches did you win again?"
"Not a single one. In fact, I was pinned every time I stepped onto the mat. I might have been the worst wrestler in the long proud history of New England."
"Well, there you go. That's why I stick to computer games."
"And it's a good thing, too. You'll never be a UFC superstar in a million years with that type of a defeatist attitude. It simply isn't your destiny."
When I drink beer, I like to take the piss out of people. Sadly, I've always struggled with this strange delusion that I'm actually a funny guy. I tell stupid jokes all the time, and I expect the world to laugh like I'm George Carlin. It's gotten me into deep shit in the past. I even used to find myself in physical altercations back in my 20s because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Luckily, I grew out of that phase before somebody broke my jaw. I'm not much of a martial artist.
I stepped into my bedroom at 10 p.m. and streamed some naughty films over the internet. The videos I enjoyed the most featured an actress named Buffy Davis. She's a blonde with a nice set of melons. Her heyday was in the 1980s. Now she's probably a wrinkled old sea monster just like me. As the poet once said, what happened to all of yesterday's snow?
(Give my message board a try.)
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