‘Yo. Are
you okay to talk?’
It ’s my bro.
‘Yeah, man,’ I say. ‘But you sound like you’re down a coal mine. Are you on speakerphone? Because you know I might say cunt a lot..?’
I have to verify this every time I speak to him, after what happened a few years ago, when he called me from the car, and neglected to tell me he had a vehicle full of relatives.
‘Haha, yeah,’ he says, ‘let me try SKYPE. Call you back.’
‘Okay.’
It
‘Yeah, man,’ I say. ‘But you sound like you’re down a coal mine. Are you on speakerphone? Because you know I might say cunt a lot..?’
I have to verify this every time I speak to him, after what happened a few years ago, when he called me from the car, and neglected to tell me he had a vehicle full of relatives.
‘Haha, yeah,’ he says, ‘let me try SKYPE. Call you back.’
‘Okay.’
...
‘That
better?’ he asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘So,
what’s up bro? Been a while.’
‘I know.
Hey - how’s the hurricane?’
‘Meh. The
mayor feels like an asshole because of all the apocalyptic warnings he gave.’
‘Well,
he was in a no-win situation, wasn’t he?’
‘Exactly.
If millions of people got killed, his ass would be on the line. Now that
nothing happened, they’re saying he cried wolf.’
‘Well,
it was hardly his fault. So what did you
do?’
‘I drove
over to George’s house, and we shotgunned beers til three in the morning.’
‘Shotgunned?
What’s that?’
‘It’s
when you punch a hole in the bottom of the can, so when you drink through the
regular hole, it pours straight down your throat.’
‘You
mean there’s no glug?’
‘Yep, no
glug. So you can get it down in one go. So we got drunk, and practised taking
apart the AK and putting it back together.’
‘Jesus,
you still have the AK?’
‘Yeah,
baby. I got guns all over the house.’
‘I
thought your mom told you to get rid of it?’
‘I read
her the First Amendment, baby.’
‘And she
was okay with that?’
‘No
choice.’
‘So how
much did you drink?’
‘Er...four
beers and a bottle of wine. I took the AK in case of looters.’
‘Ha, you
should have been here a couple of weeks ago..!’
‘Oh
yeah, I heard you had riots n’ shit. How was
that?’
‘It was
pathetic. It wasn’t political rioting. They were rioting for TVs and snacks.’
‘You’re
shitting me.’
‘Yeah,
they weren’t even poor. One guy was a school teacher. Another was a bank
manager. The oldest was eighty-five!’
‘Oh
shit, that’s funny!’
‘I think
some pundit on TV referred to it as the ‘Because
I’m Worth It’ riots. They were even scheduled on the internet, and people
were organizing car sharing and stuff. It was like, You can go home at four thirty today, as after that, there will be
rioting.’
‘Haha.
Unbelievable.’
‘Yeah,
but get this: They jailed a guy for four years because he stole a white t-shirt
from the Armani shop, after the riot
had left. He felt guilty, handed himself in, and they still jailed him for four years!’
‘No
shit!’
‘Yeah,
and one girl stole a Pepsi got four years, and so did two schmucks who jokingly put up a riot event page on
Facebook. And nobody turned up to riot! There was no riot where they lived..!’
‘Ohh, fuck! Jesus. That’s harsh..!’
‘It’s
because of the Olympics next year. Nobody has said anything to this effect, but
I think the rioters played into the government’s hands. They got it out of
the way a year in advance, and now no-one will dare to do anything during the
Olympics. They’ve all been used to set an example, so there won’t be any
protests or civil uprisings.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yeah. Anyway,
so how’s things?’
A pause.
‘Well...there’s
some problems with my employer’.
‘Oh
shit.’ Not again.
‘Yeah.
I’ve been told I can resign.’
‘What? You’re
kidding me.’
‘Yeah.’
‘The bastards. I'm sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah.
And I billed more hours than any other guy there.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah,
so what with that, and getting testicular cancer, it’s been a fucking helluva time.
In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s been the worst few weeks of my life. Which is why
you haven’t heard from me.’
‘Oh,
okay. Wait, back up – you’ve got ball cancer?!’
‘I thought I had. I found a lump on my
testicles.’
‘What
happened?’
‘I had
it checked – it wasn’t malignant.’
‘I never
check mine.’
‘You
should, man.’
‘I kinda think that’s what a
girlfriend’s for. They’re always down there, they should be having a look
around, doing inspections. Running a battery of tests. It's part of their job.’
‘I hear
that.’
‘So what
did they say?’
‘It’s fine. It was just the thing at the top
of the ball, the – I can’t remember what it’s called. And there’s no history of ball problems in the family, either. Well, there’s been a few inflammations. The odd
swelling. Maybe a blockage. But no actual tumours.’
‘That’s
good.’
‘Yeah. Talking
of girlfriends, how’s your girl?’
‘Great.
How’s yours?’
‘Great.’
‘Do you
get to see her much, what with all your travelling for work?’
‘We get
together on weekends. It’s great because my parents are away six months a year.
So we get together and fuck in every room in the house. Well, unless there’s a
hurricane, and she can’t get here. So yeah, on top of all I’ve been through, no
pussy this weekend.’
‘Bummer.’
‘In
fact, get this: On the same day I found the lump on my testicle, I failed my
accountancy exam.’
‘Fuck, you’ve really had a time of it.’
‘In fact, that isn’t even the half of it.
Let me think. Yeah, June 24th, I’m asked to resign. June 30th,
I fail the accountancy exam – by one point. Same day, there’s a lump on my
testicle. In July, I’m trying to dodge a goddamn New York City pothole, and smash
into a stand-pipe, destroying two wheels on my car, which then gets towed away. In August
I discover that the people who want to interview me for a job, only want to
interview me during my vacation. Then, during my supposed vacation, I get called into my current job to save someone
else’s ass. Then, while driving across Virginia, I’m tracked by police air
support, who stop me for speeding, and hand me a charge of misdemeanour.’
‘Fucking
hell.’
‘Yeah,
so apart from being broke and unemployed, I’m now a criminal.’
‘Haha,
that’s fucking funny!’
‘However,
the lawyer guarantees that if I hand them a bogus excuse like ‘defective
equipment’ or something, and pay 175 bucks into the system, I can get off, no
problem.’
‘Cool. Nice
one.’
‘Tell me
about it. But I’m amazed I didn’t put a bullet in my brain. And I have plenty
of guns and bullets around the house. So to top it all off there’s a hurricane,
and I’m denied sex. Normally, all I do on a weekend is drink coffee, make
linguine, and screw. But no, I’m denied even that simple human pleasure.’
Basically, if there’s a shit-storm, usually my bro is at the centre of it. Generally, he’s an affable, unassuming, happy-go-lucky kinda guy, and I think a lot of people maybe forget he’s a grown man, who knows what he’s doing. Even I make that mistake, and no matter how much aggro he’s caused me in the past, at some point, I think people should treat him like a responsible adult, and cut him some slack.
‘So what
are you going to do for the rest of the weekend?’ I ask.
‘There’s
a bunch of asshole Italians across the road, having a party. They’re always getting
rowdy, and I wanna keep an eye on them. You remember the big balcony outside
our sister’s old room?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I like to go up there, drink beer, and sit in the dark
with my rifle. I’ll be waiting for one of those fuckers to step on our lawn.’