Tuesday, September 2, 2008

I'd love to go, but...

...I've got that pog tournament.

Monday, September 1, 2008


A man sits on a couch in a cluttered apartment. Pizza boxes and beer bottles litter the small coffee table in front of him. He is screaming profanities into a headset while playing a video game. He is wearing a stained undershirt and old sweats. A 5 o'clock shadow adorns his face, and his hair is in desperate need of cleaning. The door opens, and a golden man enters wearing a top hat and an old suit. He is painted head to toe with sparkly gold paint, and when he walks a faint whirring noise can be heard. He quickly moves to the table and sweeps it clean with his arm before slamming a few crumpled up dollar bills and some change down. He begins to speak but is inaudible. He spits a tiny kazoo out of his mouth and starts again.

"Seven dollars and 63 cents."

The couch man has a look of shock and horror on his face from the statement.

"What?! Dude, you were out there all day, you should have at least fifty bucks!"

"Yea, well, as it turns out holding still is a lot harder than I thought when it's 100 degrees outside. Plus I'm not very good at the robot, I told you I wasn't!"

"So what if you make a shitty robot, you're covered in gold! People should have been giving you offerings as though you were their GOD!"

"Fuck you man, I told you I didn't want to do this. That juggler you said wasn't very good? He was INCREDIBLE! I had to reapply my face paint three times because he made me cry. I CRIED! There is no way I'm going back out there tomorrow, it's your turn."

"Aw man, come on! I told you that I'm helping out our cause by staying here!"

The golden man sighs and begins taking off his suit.

"You've got to listen to me man...you are NOT going to get sponsored to play video games. You've been trying for a year, and the best response we've got from a potential "sponsor" was him laughing in your face. Nobody else has even said anything before calling security. I've been out there every day this week trying to get us money. You haven't been out in months."

"Whatever man, I went out like two weeks ago!"

"Oh, that's right. And you remember how much money you came back with? Negative two hundred dollars. Seriously, challenging passersby to foot races? And offering THEM money if they won?! You're not even that fast!"

"Hey, I did track and field in high school...I just figured the speed I had then would stay with me."

"You threw shot put in high school, jack ass!"

The golden man walks away, and returns a few minutes later with a beer.

"Dude, what are we gonna do?"

The couch man has returned to his game, his attention drifting back to it during the golden man's absence.

"I'm...gonna...kick this guy's ass is what I'm gonna do..."

His brow is furled, his tongue out. The golden man is now also distracted by the game, having momentarily forgotten his anger. Couch man scores a kill on his opponent, and jumps up in celebration.

"That's right, fuck you bitch! Tryin to use that cheap fuckin gun on me, but I don't even need to use it CAUSE I GOT THE MAD SKILLS!!"

"Owned!" The golden man is also quite ecstatic, and gives couch man a powerful high five that obviously hurts him.

"Was he ranked, man? Does that help you move up at all?"

"No, it's that kid from Deleware."

"What?! You promised me you would stop playing with him, he's eight years old!"

"Yea, an eight year old ass."

A few moments of silence pass before the golden man speaks.

"We have to get jobs."