feh

hues and shades...a work in progress
Prologue

Red. Quite a lovely color. The color of my room, the color of my bed, the color of 40 percent of my clothes; The color of my face when I am around Tyler Garcia. Every morning I reluctantly wake up and head to the yellow bus. I sit in the grey seats and wait for the tanned Tyler. Life is simple.

I walk into the brick-grey school and sit in a bone-white room. I stare at my peach-skinned teacher and fall asleep on the black-marble table.

At the end of the day, I get back on the yellow bus and hide behind the gray seats. I walk back to my white house and head back into my Red room. The cycle is very predictable and comforting.

My name is Elliah James Winkler; An out fag, in the city of Albuquerque New Mexico. I use the term 'Fag' not because I am a homophobe, nor because I particularly like the word. I use it because it greatly lessens the pain when someone teases me about it. It is who I am, and I accept that.

Colors are a very important aspect of my life. I like to experience the subtle differences that color provides. Even more, I like to pay attention to the world around me. I love the small surprises that the universe provides. Like watching flies fuck. Most people don't care, nor pay attention to the flies kinky escapades. I do. It’s entertaining. I pay attention to the arguing couples at the mall, the flirting men in the bookstores bathroom, and the political arguments going on at Starbucks. They're interesting.

Black is the last thing I see before drifting off to sleep, my body awaiting a new day.


Chapter One: A rainbow day

BLEEP...BLEEP....BLEEP

Alarm: Dread and reluctantness as I hit the END ALARM button.

A yawn. A wake.

Toes hit the cold red tile, searching for the comfort that comes from my purple fuzzy slippers.

Slip. Comfort. Warmth.

The laws of gravity act upon my body as I plop myself onto the floor lethargically. I pull the top drawer of my chest of drawers and stare at all of my socks, all of the different shades and hues clashing.

I’ve noticed that most people have their socks in the bottom drawer. Not me! Mine are all on the top because my socks are a very vital part of my day. I pick the color of my socks to reflect the kind of day I want to have.

Today seems like a rainbow day. I search through the tangled mess for a pair of rainbow-striped socks. Once I find them, I Toss them onto my bed and open the second drawer. This has all of my red clothes. I pull out a pair of red-denim jeans and toss these along with my socks. I pull out the 4th drawer and stare at all the different shades of blue. I pick a turquoise button-up shirt and throw it with the rest.

I don't wear underwear. I see them as pointless garments. The last time I wore underwear was when I was 10. That was the year I started thinking. Then slowly fabric between my dick and pants seemed futile. However, my dad thinks there is just something wrong with my brain. He thought I had autism or some shit. I just resent underwear. End of story.

I slip on all of the clothes on my bed and run to the bathroom. I really need a piss. As the yellow piss contaminates the transparent water, I vaguely remember yesterdays drunken escapades. All I remember from the event is rum, screaming, pot and some shit about Tyler. I try to strain my brain for more details, but all my brain gives me in return is a dull ache.

'Ughhhhhh...Please don't bother me I'm having a fuckin’ hangover for crissakes!' my brain tells me in utter distress. I decide not to interrogate it any further.
I grab my iPod, and head out of the house. The wind blew, almost tauntingly, it seems. Almost as if the universe was condemning me for not wearing warmer clothes. I give a shudder, and poke the earphones into my ear sockets. I press the play button, and out pours the beginning of Memories from Cats the musical.

Whenever I hear this song, I can almost imagine the old-lady cat, and exactly what she was going through. I love musicals, because the songs each tell a short story about a character or multiple characters. Every time you listen to a song from a musical, you can imagine the scene playing out in your head, and pretend, if only for a few minutes, that you are a cat who is trying to bring back her good memories to life if only for a few moments before she dies. You can pretend that you are Elphaba, the wicked witch of the west, who is sadly misunderstood. You can imagine living life with aids as you pretend to play as Tom Collins from RENT. You can try and imagine all of the pain, but also all of the joy that these characters go through.

Almost as if the world is conspiring against me, the bus drove right passed me, giving me the cold shoulder.

"Fuck" is the first word I utter out today.

"Fuck...Fuck, FUCK!" 2nd, 3rd, 4th.

I begin to chase after the bus yelling,"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

'Colorful language...ha...how ironic.' I think to myself, while looking down at my rainbow socks, panting. ' I'm sure having a rainbow day, alright'.

Muttering foul curses under my breath, I head back up the hill I walked down just a few minutes ago. My yelling made me forget about the state of the temperature outside, and my body swiftly lost its heat, and the little nicotine receptors in my brain began to nag at me.

'Eliah' Nicotine seems calls to me, 'HAVE A FUCKING CIGARETTE YOU TWAT!'

But I don't need convincing. I take out my pack of generic cigarettes out from my pocket and pop one of those melanoma sticks into my mouth, lighting it with a bic lighter.

'Flick your bic' I think to myself, finding myself giggling. Who actually takes that catch phrase seriously?

I end up before my house. My dad is at work, and Mom ditched me three years ago. I am as fucked as a greased up asshole at a gay sex orgy in a San Fran BDSM club.

Fuck, Fucking, Fucker, Fucktard, Fuckwit, Fuckwad, Fuckwipe.
Interesting words. They all branch from the word 'Fuck'. Fuck is an interesting word because not only is it a verb, adjective, and a noun, but it almost never fails to offend someone when used properly. The whole concept of profanity has always interested me. It is ponderous how a few select words can be considered bad when there are words like ‘extraordinary’ which is supposed to mean very special, but looks like it means EXTRA ordinary.

Closing the door behind me, I nearly fall onto my couch, cigarette in hand.

I have got a confession to make. I don't actually go to school every day like I said I did, and the fact that you believed makes me wonder..How much more can I make you, as the reader, believe more bullshit things about my life?

My dad is the guy who invented bubble wrap, and my mom is a 2 cent whore who wanders the streets of LA... Ha. Just bullshitting you.

I do not go to school every day, and infact I only go maybe 3 times a month. But the days I do go are really important to me because I get to see Tyler. I can only put up with the shame and embarrassment of being around him about 2-3 days a month, which is why, as you can tell, I only go 20 percent of the time.
Today is different however. Today I was supposed to drop out of school.

I was supposed to hand-in the papers that my dad signed, go home and start working on getting a GED.

Now I am just Fucked.

F U C K E D. Fucked.
* * * * * *
A solitary cheeto falls from my chest and onto the carpet as some crazy hicks on Jerry Springer start biting each other. I pick up the cheesy cracker up off of the floor and pop it into my mouth, savoring the artificial goodness.
‘I wonder what the fuck these things are made of....Hmm...Does anyone know? Whatever. Who cares. I don’t plan on living past 50 anyway...’ My mind ponders.
A obnoxious ringing sound suddenly overpowers all of the lovely noises on Jerry Springer. I get off of my ass and pick up the phone, cheeto residue staining the white phone a little.

“Yeah?” I answer.
“Eliah...”
“Oh...Hi Mrs. Peters”
“Your not in my class...Why?”
“Oh...about that...Um I really need to tell you--”
“Your dropping out aren’t you?”
“Yeah...How’d you know?”
“I can tell this shit...You learn a lot in 20 years of teaching.”
“Yeah...um...I’m sorry...I was going to turn in my papers today seeing that it is the last day of school this year...But I guess I can just do it next year.”
“Eliah...I was calling because we are shooting the script you wrote today. Everyone is wondering where you are. We thought you really wanted to do this”
Mrs. Peters really has great Guilt-Trip skills. She never fails to make my stomach clench in shame.
“I’m so sorry....but the fuckin bus--”
“There is no excuse...Which is why I kinda got my friend to come and pick you--”
“WHAT?! Fuck...I am NOT decent!” I exclaim, looking at the orange stains on my aqua shirt.
“Well then you better get decent, because he’s gonna be there in a few minutes.”
“Fuck”
I hang up the phone and scramble around the house for some pants.
Rinnnggggg
This time it is not the phone...
“FUCK YOU.....GET TO THE DOOR NOOWWWW” The doorbell seems to say to me.
I have no pants on, so I slip on some PJ’s and run to the door.
“Hey Eliah....Marla sent me here.”
“I know” I say with a tinge of resentment.
Its always strange to hear someone call your teacher by their first name. It seems very unnatural. Like hairspray. Hairspray is one of the most unnatural things to grace the planet since Cheetos and Plastic. Except hairspray can cause cancer....Unlike Cheetos and Plastic...Actually who knows, maybe when I grow to be 30, there will be people on PSA’s saying shit like: “Don’t eat cheetos...I have cancer because in the 90’s a cartoon cheetah got me hooked”.
“Yeah, so get into the car, I have an appointment to get to..” He replies timidly.
“What kind of appointment?” I ask, hoping that it was not to personal of a question.
“Uh..AA” He replies, avoiding even the slightest eye-contact.
I cant help but visualize a situation in which he is drunk this very moment. I imagine that he starts giggling maniacally and accidently swerves right off the road. My head hits the airbag...but it pops because the poor thing can’t support my immense head. Then my head pops as it hits the windshield, due to the fact that I forgot to wear my seat belt. We are both severely injured, but quite unfortunately, a cop finds us and fines me 100 dollars for not wearing a seat belt. No health insurance. No lawyer.
However, I quickly snap out of this nightmare when I hear a voice trying to talk to me.

“So, ya ready?”
Pause.
“Yeah” I shrug “Perhaps”



















Chapter two
I guess every rainbow needs to evaporate eventually. Otherwise A rainbow would not be such an amazing experience. It would end up being a bland household addition to the world. Like the sun, or the sky, or perhaps the stars.
The rainbow ended abruptly at the brick-laden school. Sort of like when a kid drops its ice cream. There’s no more.
As I walk towards the end of my rainbow, I see no pot of gold.
Instead, I see something better:
I see Tyler.
Grinning, I wave my hand at him, and he responds with a boyish smile. The smile that melts my heart.
I hate it when people use the term “Melts my heart”, or “I feel it in my heart”, because I resent how everyone is so obsessed with the idea that your heart is some magical emotional device. Well I hate to hurt your heart, but it’s not. Its an organ that pumps blood all around our body, including the brain. Why don’t we use a metaphor like: “He melts my brain” or “I can feel it in my noggin”. Cause’ that makes a lot more logical sense.
However, all logical thinking evaporated in the instant that he looked at me. My IQ plummeted down about 30 points.
“Hey gorgeous”
Gorgeous? Oh my dog! Did he just call me...Gorgeous? My life has been nothing but “Fat” “Lazy” “Ugly”....But this...This is a whole new level of patronization. I can already feel the blood pumping into my brain at an accelerated level!
Think fast!
“Hey cutie”
Cutie? What? Is that all I could come up with? How about “Hey Stud” or even something outlandish like “Nice ass”...but cutie?
The word Cutie belongs to the 60’s or some shit.
None of the less, Tyler awarded my bravery with another smile.
Then he walked away. I could already sense that this would be the last time I would see him again. He had been talking to me about perhaps joining the military.
I thought he was being stupid and reckless. I also thought that he needed to think this things through more. I’m more than likely just amazingly biased. I’m a blasphemous liberal pacifist. I probably just need to be in his mind to know why he feels this way.
***

The day went on as it always does. With the exception of lunch. I wandered off school campus to have a smoke. This is what I always do. However, today I noticed a starbucks a couple blocks away.
Grinning, I make my way across the road and onto the sidewalk. I puff on my cigarette as if it was my baby bottle. Once I approach the evil coffee corporation of monopoly demise, I step in to the innocent coffee shop.
The smell of coffee fills my nostrils. I feel almost as if I am getting a contact high from the coffee in the air. There is an old lady standing behind the cash register. That’s a refreshing break from the stereotypical piercing lady.
So I walk up to Mrs. Grandma and she asks me the normal question: “So what’ll it be?”
“Um...Just a large coffee.”
“You mean Venti?”
“Whatever. Just get me a regular coffee please.”
“Alrighty...That’ll be 4.14 cents please”
Starbucks is a really pretentious place. They name their drinks with very snobby language. Such as: Tall and Venti. I refuse to call it that. It is pointless and ridiculous.
Once the lady hands me my coffee, I head over to the furthest table which sits in the corner. I sit here so I can observe the people here. The pretentious twats typing away on their laptops, the other pretentious twats playing chess, and the couple making out.
‘Lovely’ I think, ‘Just what I need. A display of love. How sickening’
Cynicism has filled my brain in the past months. I used to have bohemian ideals of love and affection. Now it seems to have boiled down to naiveness and idiocy.
The more I see this so-called “love”, the more I think about the unattainable Tyler. He seems to have invaded my emotions head-on. My little crush troubles me to the extent that I can sit in my bed for a half-hour thinking about him, and how I will never in my kinkiest dreams be with him.
Tyler is what I call a ‘DJ’.
DJ is a boy I used to have a major crush on in 8th grade, and not because I particularly liked him. It was because he showed a little bit of interest in me. He would call me “sweetie” and other cute shit like that. He told me that despite my messy hair, and strange fashion sense, he thought I was quite sexy.
This pulled me way overboard, into the sea of lust and love. DJ suddenly seemed very attractive, even though I never thought he was very attractive before. Suddenly, I imagined that he must have a huge package, and a lot of stamina. I also deluded myself into believing that perhaps he was also someone who would love me back.
Unfortunately, that was not the case. He ended up confessing that he was just confused about his sexuality and wanted to try out a relationship with a boy. Sort of like smelling different scents of soap at Bath and Body works. It turned out that my scent was not as pleasant that he hoped.
So from then on, any boy who showed any interest in me, became a DJ. I never bothered to take in account that people might actually be attracted to me, until recently.
Throughout the school year, Tyler came onto me in ways that nobody has ever dared to try before.
For an example, there was one time in the bus that he sat right next to me, and put his hand on my thigh. He ran it dangerously near my crotch and whispered “You like tigers?” I answered “Sure”
“Rough....Aggressive” he continued, winking at me.
As you can probably tell, that knocked all rational thought out of my brain, and my lungs seemed to expel all of my air.
He continued to do things like this all year. I thought he was a DJ.
Now, I am not so sure.
The smell of coffee brought me back into reality, and away from my thoughts. I sipped the caffeine down my throat, the warmth of the liquid calming me down. The slightly bitter taste waking me up.
Just as I heard one of the chess players call out “CHECK MATE!”, the pretentious lady closed her laptop, and the couple stopped swapping spit.
***
The bus-ride home was anything but exciting...
Try: Tedious, Boring, and loud.
As usual, Tyler did not say one word to me, which didn’t bother me much, cause all I wanted at this point was to get out of this yellow death trap, and into fresh air where I could inhale nicotine into my lungs.
After an hour of waiting, the bus-driver finally arrived at my bus stop, which is a red stop sign that is about 4 blocks away from my house.
After lighting up a cigg, I go about my usual routine of walking home. The wind is still managing to be blowing just as hard as it was this morning. The wind deserves one large bitch-slap, thats what I think. If only the elements had feelings. Life would be so much easier.
I feel like a hobo while wandering the streets in PJ’s and a cheeto stained dress-shirt. Whatever. Fashion is not quintessential to walking home from school. Is it? Maybe in manhattan or some shallow place like that.
When I finally arrive at my home, I make an effort of stomping out my cigarette before stepping into the house.






Chapter 3

Bedtime always seems to be when all of the exciting shit happens. Which is why I revolted against the idea when I was about 10.
I knew that a bedtime was a bullshit standard, only put in place so that the parents could exert an overwhelming amount of control on their kids.
Where do all these neurotic parenting rules come from? Is there some bullshit land that has bullshit messengers who send the bullshit across the wide earth?
In my humble opinion, all this bullshit is Oprah’s fault!
...Okay fine, not ALL her fault, Dr. Phil (Who, ironically was later found out not to be a real doctor) holds some of the blame.
The whole idea behind this “CONTROL YOUR KIDS!” Bullshit originates from the utter diarrhea that Dr. Phil and Oprea are always spewing out of their conceited little mouths!
Opera will say shit such as: “On our show today is a mother who has lost her daughter at the playground. We well tell you how to not prevent it.”
Dr. Phil will say shit like: “CONTROL YOUR KIDS ma’am! Ya’ need ta’ learn how ta’ keep em’ in check, or ya’ gonna lose em’!”
Anyway, the point is that Opera, and “Dr.” Phil are both thunderous pricks who should not be trusted!
It is 2:00 AM, and I am sitting on my computer chair, listening to a podcast, like usual. I listen to a very informative, and entertaining podcast called “The Skeptics Guide to the Universe”, Named after the amazing Douglas Adam’s series “The Hitchhikers guide to the Universe”.
They talk about interesting science news items, discuss them, and debunk any pseudo-science that disgraces our society. I love listening to it because it makes me feel well-informed. That’s a very shallow reason, I know, but it’s true.
I hear a spontaneous bleeping sound, coming from my computer. Curious, I click the window that pops up. It was an Instant Message! I very seldom get instant messages, because my only friend on the list, Beth, is never online. Mostly because her crappy PC won’t successfully download anything worth a shit.
Me, however, with my fancy and snobbish Mac, never have to worry about silly things like that.
I read the message:
GasolineRaynebow: Call me!
I reply:
CynicalEliah: Wow, you seem excited. Whats up?
....
GasolineRaynebow: Just call me, poopface D:
I mentally sigh, and get up from my comfy computer chair, and make my lazy journey to the center of my house. This is where my phone is.
Almost as soon as I finish dialing the number I hear Beth’s eccentric, yet charming voice.
“Let’s party!”
“Beth, its two in the morning.” I exasperate.
“Seriously. My parental-unit is leaving for work early, so I can make it over to your house!”
“Lovely.”
Beth’s mom is overworked and under-paid. Severely. Apparently she went to collage and studied to be a geologist, only to end up being a tele-marketer with 4 children: Beth, Juliana, Bella and Robert. The last three are what Beth describes as “The Evil Ones”, quite endearingly.
They come a few times a week, like a more often period.
“So are the evil ones over?”
“Not yet, my mom is going to go pick them up now. So I need to get outta here!”
“Ah. Fine. When are you gonna be here?”
“Fifteen minutes”
“Fine. See ya.”
“Bye-bye”
Click.
So now that I am expecting company, I am going to actually put on some pants. Just peachy.

***
Somehow Beth persuaded me to get off my ass at 3:00 in the morning. Not only did she get me off of my ass, she also got me walking with her on a two mile journey down to wal-mart. Here’s the catch: For no reason.
Beth can literally get me to do anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if someday she got me to quit smoking. Which is a bigger task then you would probably imagine.
I smoke around a pack a day. I chain-smoke constantly while writing, talking on the phone, or reading. All of which takes up most of my life. Mostly the writing part.

I keep a secret blog on the internet that even Beth doesn’t know about. Actually, she knows about it but not where it is. I write on it constantly, posting short-stories, essays, poems, and other shit I am too embarrassed to let her read.
So here I am, a chain-smoker, in the middle of the dark, at 3:00 in the morning, walking to wal-mart for no reason.
At first, this was merely exhausting and boring. But eventually we made it interesting and liberating.
We passed a house which had a huge virgin mary statue, staring at us as if to say: “DONT USE CONDOMS....SEX IS BAD...ABORTION IS WRONG”
Beth looked at me in the way, I knew she was going to suggest something interesting.
“I dare ya to knock it over.”
I looked over at the horrid virgin mary, then back to Beth. I sensed that she was bluffing. She didn’t think I was gonna do it!
“Okay!” I say spitefully.
I run up to the fence, jump over it and soon find myself in this catholic back yard. There where red lava rocks organized flawlessly in front of the statue. With one swift move, I run across the rocks, knock the statue down, and head back over the fence feeling more liberated then I did while throwing eggs at my shrinks car.
This made the journey seem a lot shorter than it was.
By the time we got to Wal-mart, our legs were sore, and we came to realize that this whole endeavor was pointless simply because we have no money.
The parking lot was strangely empty. Usually there are thousands of doughy people walking around. At 4:00 in the morning it is vacant. The only light was coming from 3 street lamps, so it was mostly dark.
“Its like a goosebumps novel!” I remark.
“Shut up!” Beth responds.
Just then a shopping cart rolls down towards us. I let out a terrified shriek. Beth then begins laughing her ass off.
“Hey,” She says, “Why don’t we push each other back up the hill in it?”
I quickly shake my head.
“I’m WAY too heavy for you”
Beth responds with a “Pshawww”
“Fine. Let’s do it. Only your going to have to push me around here so you know how heavy I am.”
“Okay, get in!”
I reluctantly climb into the Wal-Mart shopping cart and take out my cigarettes. I light one and say “I’m ready when you’re ready”
I feel my stomach lurch as Beth begins to push her energy into the cart. The momentum nearly makes me sick. As small as she May seem, Beth has about as much energy as an ox when she wants to prove me wrong.
“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY! YOU CAN DO IT WE’RE GONNA--”
CRASH.
We hit the curb. Beth pants out all of the extra energy left in her body.
I sigh.
“Well, I’m still alive!”
I look back at her, grinning.

***
As I’m getting pushed up the hill in a stolen cart, I think.
‘How the fuck does such an amazing person want to spend time with me? Let alone push my fatass up the hill.’
I begin smiling uncontrollably. I have the best friend in the world, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

CHAPTER FOUR

It is very good to be home, espescially when home means not having to climb up a steep road for hours.

The second that my feet hit the floor of my house, I hear a very unnerving sound.

"What the fuck?" Beth says.

I look around the living room for any sign of unwanted visitors.

Another sound.

I look even quicker around the room in utter horror.

"Beth...I think I heard a rat"

She indulges me with a smirk, humoring my terror.

Yet another sound.

I yelp, and run right back out of my house almost at the speed of light. Einstien would be proud.

"Fuck..fuck...fuck...we have vermint!" I pace around back and forth around my front yard, ligting up a cancer stick.

"When you get cancer...I'm going to laugh...Then cry." Beth informs me.

"Thanks."

But right now, there are bigger issues then mere cancer. We have rats in the house.

"Okay...How are we gonna do it?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Kill them, of course!"

Beths eyes narrow. "It's not their fault they're rats!"

"Its not my fault I hate rats!"

"Tuche' "

We look around the front yard for something that screams "RAT INNIALATOR!"

I find a big rock, and Beth finds a screwdriver.

"A screw driver? Don't you find that a bit sadistic?"

"Hey, your the one who wants to kill the motherfucking things."

I look back at the infested house. I used to look at that house and say "Omigod, its my house!" Now all I can think is "Rats live in that house.

Beth grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the house. "Okay, you're going to have to deal with your little rodent-phobia" She tells me with a sadistic gleam in her eyes.

"Oh god, Beth...NO!"

She lurches forward and tackles me onto the sofa. I am trapped between a couch and a couple of breasts.

I hear more scuttling. The sound closley resembles the sound of some evil, demented, sick music which is played at haunted houses during halloween. The rats continue to take over my house, leaving sounds and, more than likely, poop behind. Yet Beth still continues to torture me.

***

Needless to say, I soon got over the fact that mice are slowly taking over my house. Partly due to the fact that Beth insisted that I listen to every excrusiating sound for around 10 minutes. After I agreed to stop freaking out about it, she finally freed me from my awkward boob-trap.

It is also needless to say that if I were straight, I would be one of the happiest men in the planet.

The rest of the night was filled with restfull sleep.

***
It is 2:00 PM and Beth is still dreaming away. I, however am wide awake, and bored as hell.

It is times like these, that myspace is a perfect getaway.

It's like logging into a world of fakeness. On myspace, you can basically be or do whatever you want. I personally prefer tricking sexy men to trade naked pictures with me. I click myself over to the gay chat room and begin to do my thing:

"Anyone wanna trade pics? Press 666"

Obviously, 3 or 4 people send me some Private Messages. So now I get to decide which guy sounds the sexiest. I normally pick the ones who get right to the point, which is why I decided to reply to a guy who said "I wanna c u naked"

He sends me a link to his nakedness. I click it, and what I see not only shocks me, but also puzzles me.

I see Tyler's sexy face, but also his beautiful manhood.

Fuck! Tyler's gay?

This is like a dream come true! Actually not A dream, about 20 dreams to be frank.

Suddenly my giddyness overpowers my logic.

"BETH!" I yell.

"GET UP, CUNT! TYLER'S NAKED!"

I hear disgruntled groaning erupting from a couple rooms away. Beth decided to sleep in my dad's bed dispite my warnings of possible dried old-man cum.

"FUCK YOU!" she yells back "I WAS FUCKING SLEEPING BITCH!"

"SERIOUSLY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

After much more bickering, and obsenitys, she finally gets out of her slumber and into my room.

What she sees shocks her also, but not for the same reasons as me.

"You fucking woke me up so that I can see some fucktard's dick?"

"It's not any fucktard's dick...That's Tyler's dick!"

"Oh...That cunt"

Beth has issues with my strange obsession with Tyler. Mostly because he manipulates my brain, twisting and turning it until I don't know what's sideways.

"Why the fuck do you continue to fantasize about him...And more importantly, where did you get this picture?"

"It's like destiny..." I say, dreamily.

"I thought you didn't believe in destiny!"

"Fuck you! His name should be destiny."

We both start cracking up in laughter.

Me, for feeling hypocritical.

And Beth, for seeing Tylers Uncurcimsized penis.

"It looks like an alien" She critiques.

"No, no...I think it looks more like ET's finger."

"Or a deformed hat."

"Or my grandma on a good day"

Suddenly, I get hit with a strange sense of Deja' Vu. I feel like I have seen that dick somewhere. I just can't place where. But that thought quickly fades away as soon as I hear the front door open.

"Fuck. It's my dad. Hide!"