GARY 1 and GARY 2 are at the bar drinking gin and tonics. They are drunker than usual. Their unfortunate clothes indicate that they are not busy or vital men. Gary 1 is reading from a football team’s roster.

Gary 1: This year alone there’s Jordan Kovacs, Fitzgerald Toussaint and Jake Ryan. Ryan’s a linebacker, too. That’s three. Jibreel Black. Pace and Omameh on the offensive line. Jerald Robinson and D.J. Williamson. Wide receivers. Brandon Moore. Kevin Koger. Curt Graman. Roy Roundtree. He’s from right here in Trotwood. So is Michael Shaw. Who am I not seeing here? Terrence Talbott. And Bell, another linebacker.  And that’s just this year. The point is, all these kids grew up in Ohio. They played high school football in Ohio. They were nurtured by Ohio’s fucking phenomenal football programs and when it came time to pick a college, what did they do? Where did they go? Of all the schools in the world, where did they go?

Gary 2: Michigan.

Gary 1: They go to Michigan. Ohio high school football is so good they’ve written books and made movies about it. Next to Texas, I don’t know who else is up there with Ohio. All these kids get world class, and I mean world class, football instruction. They could not have been luckier. To be born here and want to play football, you couldn’t ask for a better home state if you want to play for the NFL. But when Michigan comes knocking they forget about a hundred years of history and rivalry and say, Eh, fuck it. I’m gonna go to Ann Arbor and check out that scene. Why bother giving a shit when I can go to Michigan?

Gary 2: It is a problem. It’s a serious problem.

Gary 1: And it’s getting worse. Because some of these parents, they don’t care; they think Michigan is a better school because those magazine say it’s a better school. Prescott Burgess. He’s from Ohio. And Shawn Crable. He’s another traitor.

Gary 2: They should start a program in Ohio schools that teaches, no, that brainwashes kids into going to OSU. The coach would take them aside after practice, the best players, the ones who are going to play in the NFL maybe. The coach takes take them aside and shows them a video about Ann Arbor and how all the girls there are nasty and have herpes or whatever and also that the dudes on the team will haze the shit out of you in the locker room if you’re from Ohio. Stuff like that.

Gary 1: I’m with ya. There’d be pictures of rancid food from the cafeteria. And then it’d show a fat Michigan girl eating it and pointing at the camera and licking her fingers all nasty-like. I’m not sure if the state would sponsor this. But we could make it. It would be easy.

Gary 2: And we could sell it to the schools. Not all the schools. Only the best ones. The best seven to ten.

Gary 1: There’s Solon and St. Ignatius up north. Massillon and Dublin Coffman. We could hit all those in a weekend. Maybe even stop at Cedar Point too, we’ll see if there’s time for that. We could make a weekend out of it. Go on a little bender up north, spreading the good word to the would-be traitors.

Gary 2: And then down here you got Xavier, Moeller, Anderson. We could do those in an afternoon. We should make the video first and then plan the distribution route. Who do you know who makes videos? And I mean good videos, not home videos. This isn’t an American Funniest Home Videos video. This is a documentary. A useful documentary.

Gary 1: My buddy Devin used to make videos for the public access channel so maybe he’d be game. I’ll give him a call sometime.

Gary 2: Sometime? Call him right now. Get this shit rolling.

Gary 1: You want me to call Devin Jeffers right now and ask him if he wants to make a video?

Gary 2: It’s a short documentary film. It’s not a video, man. Yeah. I do it. I’ll call him. [he takes Gary 1's phone and find Devin’s number and calls him.] Hey. Is this Devin? Hey, man. You don’t really know me. I’m Gary Pollan. I’m a friend of Gary Welles’. Anyway, I’m calling about making movies. I got two questions: Do you still make them? And if so, would you be willing to help us out with one? No, we don’t have money to pay you, but it will be a fun couple of days and we will buy all the food and the beer. We’ll be shooting in Michigan and maybe in Dayton too. We haven’t planned all the logistics yet but it’s gonna change the lives of a lot of kids. You probably want to know what it is. OK. So you know how every year a few kids who play high school football in Ohio go to Michigan? And how it’s sacrilegious. I know, it’s bullshit. Well. Me and Gary are gonna make an instructional video that warns these kids about going there. It might be a little exaggerated but we’re gonna scare them into going at OSU. We’re gonna need shots of gross Michigan girls in Michigan sweatpants with the UM logo on the ass. So they associate the UM logo with nastiness. I’m talking about those baggy sweatpants college girls wear to class and when it rains the sweatpants drag in the water and they get all wet and it looks like shit. We need a few of shots like that, with the wet sweatpants clinging to Ugg boots. And these girls should be real big too. Like I said, we can’t pay you money but we’ll buy all the beer and food. I don’t know when it will be; let me ask Gary. Hey, when can you do this?

Gary 1: Early August maybe. Shit, I can do it whenever, man. What else am I doing?

Gary 2: We can do it whenever. We don’t have a whole going on. Oh, I see. And how often do you have to go to your work? Monday through Friday. Every week? I see. So it’s like a job job, like an adult job. Do you get direct deposit for that or do they give you paper checks? The money just goes right into your checking account, no questions asked, huh? That’s good stuff, Devin. I’m happy for you. So what would work for you, then? A weekend, I’m guessing. Alright. Let us know and we’ll look forward to hearing you. I won’t be as drunk next time we talk and we can really get down do business and start planning these shots. And hey buddy, you’re in charge of finding the big girls. That’s your job. I’m putting that one on you. I’ll buy the beer; you find the big girls. See ya. [hangs up]

Gary 1: What’d he say?

Gary 2: He said maybe.

Gary 1: We’re gonna have to take that as a yes. When you start a project like this you have to be in Yes mode. No downers, no bummers. I saw this thing on PBS once about painters and how artists have to persevere and they have to be optimistic deep down, maybe not about the world but about their own life, so if we’re gonna make this movie we have to be optimistic about everything. If Devin backs out then we’ll find someone else to hold the camera. I’ll learn how to if it comes to that.

Gary 2: Brandon Harrison. Another asshole. He was from Dayton. Mike Massey. Tight end, I think.

Bartender: Another round, gents?

Gary 2: Yes please. And no fruit this time.

Gary 1: Same.

Bartender: Not to butt in, but I couldn’t help but notice you were talking about high school football players who leave Ohio to play for Ann Arbor, and I gotta tell you, nothing pissed off my old man more than hearing about another kid from Ohio suit up for Michigan. He would yell at my mother about it. He would blame it on her. And she’d say, I’m not in charge of these kids’ lives. And neither are you so shut up about it. Now how about put all that anger into cleaning the gutters real good.

Gary 1: It is a serious problem in this country.

Bartender: That’s the truth. Same goes for kids who don’t play football. Just regular folks who want to get good jobs. Ohio has great public schools; kids here get great educations. And lot of them go to Ohio colleges, which are also great. OSU: great school. Miami: great school. OU: good enough. And when they’re 22, 23, 24, what do they do? They leave. See ya, everyone, I’m off to Chicago. I’m off to New York City. I’m off to fucking Memphis. We have three large cities but all these kids think they’re hot shit and that they’re entitled to have some life where they live wherever they want, anywhere but Ohio. Ohio can’t keep its young people, and I’m talking about the young engineers, the kids in med school, fucking graphic designers, what have you. All those kids go to OSU to get a world class engineering education and then they have to move away to find work and what does that do to the tax base? What is do to the education system? What will it mean for the next generation? Think about that. Alright, that’s enough bullshit out of me.

Brunch on Sunday is me and Z and a little girl Z tossed around the night before. Z burps his way though brunch and blames it on the 12 beers he drank and a late-night grilled cheese. He is wearing a Sorry Is A Word For The Unmindful shirt. The little girl asks him what it means.

Z:  It means that only people who aren’t aware of their actions would ever need to say sorry. People say they’re sorry all the time, but they don’t mean it. The word is thrown around like rock candy and it’s lost all meaning. The shirt is trying to put an end to that.

Little Girl: I say sorry all the time.

Z: Yeah, but you’re, what, twenty-one? You’ll learn. Live another year in the city and you’ll see what’s what. You’re either apologizing or going about your business here. I’m the kind of guy who goes about his business. Say you’re in the subway station running down the steps to catch a train and you run into a dude. What would you say? You’d say sorry, I’m sure. But does that do anything? Does it un-do you hitting him? No. But you think it does some good so you say it anyway, but you aren’t sorry. You don’t know him and you could care less about him.

Little Girl: Maybe you don’t, but I do. I would say sorry. Well, I wouldn’t be running in the station in the first place. I guess I just think the shirt is stupid.

Z: It’s not stupid. It’s necessary. But people don’t want to think about that stuff. People don’t want to change the way they think or talk because they get so stuck in their little ruts and petty lives that they forget that the words that come out of their mouths do matter. A man is what he says, right? And if you’re saying sorry for no reason all the time then you’re talking for no reason and you’re useless.

Little Girl: You think I’m useless?

Z: I’ll make an exception for you.

Me: He is so full of shit. Little girl, he’s putting you on. He doesn’t believe anything he’s talking about.

Z: You got me. Sorry. The shirt doesn’t mean anything. I say sorry all the time. I’ve said it twice just now.

Little Girl: You are such a dick.

Me: The line actually belongs to a certain moody child star who I babysat at work. I work at a hotel called the Hudson. I apologized to him about something and he said, Sorry is a word for the unmindful. I think he stole it from one of those books on harnessing your energy or whatever.

Little Girl: You are such a dick, Z. So, who’s the child star?

Me: [whisper his name in her ear]

Little Girl: He would say something like that.

Z: I wanted to attribute the quote to him on the shirt, but wet blanket over here wouldn’t let me.

Me: Because I could get fired, and getting fired so you could make your shitty shirt somewhat less shitty would not be worth it.

Little Girl: I thought people stopped wearing shirts with a phrases like that across the front. That seems kinda over.

Z: Call it a revival then.

Little Girl: Ugh. I can’t believe I slept with the guy who’s trying to bring back T-shirts with words on them.

Z: Well, you did. And you’re probably gonna do it again.

Little Girl: Nope. Not gonna happen.

Z: Fine. Now that that’s settled, we can talk about other business. So. I’ve been seeing Georgia. I hope you don’t mind.

Me: I don’t mind.

Z: Good. So I have a funny story about her. I helped her with the video.

Me: Oh shit I said I’d help but I forgot. Did she say anything about me not being there?

Z: No. So I show up to this dude’s apartment where we’re shooting it, and Georgia’s high. Really high. Even for her. She says she needs a shower and asks the dude if she can take one, and he’s like, yeah sure. I’m sitting the living room with my laptop, right? Forty minutes later, she’s still in the shower. The dude says that someone should check on her and he nominates me. After all, I’m her boyfriend kinda. I knock on the door. No answer. I’m like, Hey Georgia, you OK in there? Nothing. I try opening it but she’d locked it. She’d locked herself in the bathroom. I turn to the dude and say, It’s locked. He’s like, This is bullshit. This is the last time I do anyone a favor. He gets an old credit card from his room and tries to jimmy open the lock. No dice. He rams his shoulder into the door but it won’t open. We’re knocking on the door and screaming her name. We’re convinced she’s fallen and crack her head and passed out or died or something. The dude starts freaking out and he calls the super. A few minutes later this Puerto Rican dude shows up with tools, and he’s pissed. I found out later he had to fix the dude’s front door after someone had broken it during a party. The super takes out a Philips head and unscrews the door knob. While he’s doing he shows the dude the screwdriver and says, This is a screwdriver. You can open things with it. You should buy one at a hardware store. There is a hardware store around the corner. Real patronizing like that; it was hilarious. Finally he opens the door. The showers running, but Georgia isn’t in the shower. Instead, she’s slumped over on the shitter asleep with headphones on. She fell asleep while taking a shit.

Me: She listens to the Beach Boys while shitting. It relaxes her.

Z: But man, she was so embarrassed. The super liked it, though. He’ll be telling that story at block parties for years now. The legend of the gringo stoner girl who fell asleep while shitting.

Me: So did you still shoot the video?

Z: Yeah. Oh, I should tell you. The video’s all about you. Clearly. She found a Tisch kid on Craigslist to play you.

Me: Really? What happens in it?

Z: It’s pretty boring. Let’s see. Georgia plays her guitar on her bed and then you come in with White Castle hamburgers. You change her guitar string and she writes lyrics to the song. You write part of the verse and then you guys make out for a while on the floor. There’s a section that takes place at a carnival. You guys are on a dinky roller coaster and she flashes boys who are waiting in line to ride it. You guys split a funnel cake. At the very end you’re back at her apartment and you spill Diet Coke in her high heels and at first she’s really mad but then she’s all like, Aw, whatever, they’re just shoes. I’d rather not be mad at boyfriend. Pretty stupid I guess but I could see it getting linked around. She’s looking good.

Me: She has a tan now. From living in LA.

Z: She’s thinner now. Since she became a pescatarian. And she’s more into having sex than she was before, she told me.

Me: That was never a problem for us.

Z: That’s just what she told me. That’s she more into sex now.

Little Girl: Are you guys talking about Georgia from Hello Surf?

Me: Yeah.

Little Girl: You used to go out with her?

Me: Yeah.

Little Girl: That’s really cool.

Me: I guess so.

Little Girl: Are you single now?

Me: No. I have a girlfriend. We live together.

Z: And he has a kid.

Little Girl: You’re a dad?

Me: I kind of have a kid. He’s not mine. He’s feral but he’s getting better.

NEXT: They Go To Michigan

[Luke parks his car in Linda’s driveway. A white streak runs across the front door. Luke steps out. He has a baseball bat in his hand. Linda approaches him.]

Luke: Where’s this fox?

Linda: Hi.

Luke: Oh hello there.

Linda: Thanks for coming over. I’ve been trying to kill it but he’s so quick. He’s chewed my hoses to oblivion.

Luke: What do you need hoses for anyway? You don’t have any plants to water.

Linda: I know but it’s nice to have a functioning hose in the house, that’s all.

Luke: Maybe that fox did you a favor. Maybe those hoses were just taking up space. Look at all this crap you got in the garage. You’re living like one of those hoarders on TV who hoards garbage in the attic.

Linda: Why are we arguing already? [she looks at his car] What happened there? Did you swipe something?

Luke: Looks like it. Sometimes when I pull out of the garage I scrape the side of the thingy, no big whoop.

Linda: I know why you scrape the side of the thingy.

Luke: And why’s that?

Linda: Don’t worry about it. So let’s get to it. [they walk in the garage] The fox usually hangs out near the litterbox but today’s he’s been MIA so we’ll have to hunt for him. [in British accent:] It’ll be a fox hunt, like we’re British.

Luke: You know what I think? I think there are two foxes in this garage.

Linda: No, there’s only one.

Luke: Nah, I can sense it. There’s definitely two.

Linda: If we see two, then we see two. But let’s just concentrate on getting the first one.

Luke: Wait. It’s really close. I can smell it. Don’t move.

Linda: How can you smell it?

Luke: Don’t move. Shh. Don’t say anything. [he grabs her by the hair.] Got it. What should I do with it?

Linda: Let me go. You’re crazy.

Luke: Get it? Because you’re a fox. A foxy lady.

Linda: You need to keep those thoughts to yourself, mister.

Luke: Have I ever told you how much I like it when you when you put your hair up like that? Because then I can see your face. You used to cover your face all the time. Why was that? Did you think you weren’t pretty or something? If that’s why then you used to be crazy because you were the prettiest girl in school.

Linda: Hey mister, you should keep those thoughts to yourself. Did you come over here to kill a fox or to get in my pants? Don’t answer that. You had five years to say all that stuff and you never did and now you come over all drunk and start calling me a fox? That’s not fair.

Luke: Easy, foxy.

Linda: I’m with Gary now and if he heard you calling me a fox he’d come over here with his tire iron and I don’t know what would happen but it wouldn’t be pretty.

Luke: Come here. Why did we break up anyway? It’s so stupid to stop seeing someone over small shit. Come here. Are you still mad at me because I owe you money for Wendy’s? Because I can pay you back.

Linda: You owe me for the ketchup too. The ketchup was two dollars and eighty cents. I don’t know how much the Wendy’s was, but let’s say five bucks. So you owe me seven eighty. But that’s not what I’m mad about. I’m mad because I asked you to come over here to kill this fox and now you’re getting all love-y love-y on me and I just can’t deal with it. I don’t really care about the ketchup. I did care about the time you said I should let Devin Jeffers put his hand up my shirt because he hadn’t felt a boob since 2001. And I’ll always be mad at myself for letting him do it. That was pathetic.

Luke: Devin Jeffers. Man. I wonder what he’s up to right now.

Linda: And while we’re on the subject, do you remember the time I drove you to buy pot from that girl in Oakwood and I waited outside while you went in and got it? And it took a half an hour because you said she had a hard time finding baggies and she had to break it up. I knew you were lying. I knew you guys got high and did it. Or, if you didn’t do it then you at least did stuff because it doesn’t take a half an hour to break up an eighth of pot and put it in baggies. You did stuff with her while I waited in the car. And then I drove you home and you did stuff with me even though I said I didn’t want to.

Luke: I don’t have anything to say about that day. I was in a weird mood.

Linda: Were you in a weird mood the time we were hanging with the dudes in that other dude’s pool? And you said it’d be cool if I swam around naked and then I did it, because whatever, but then you and the dudes took my clothes and hid them in your car. So I had to put those paper plates over my shit and go in that dude’s house. I didn’t even know him and I had to ask his little sister if I could borrow a shirt and shorts. That was the second worst thing you did to me. Do you remember that?

Luke: I do. That was pretty mean, I guess. But we were kids.

Linda: We weren’t kids when you did the other thing. The worst thing.

Luke: I’ve apologized for that so many times. And I was drunk. You can’t blame a man for stuff he does when he’s drunk.

Linda: Doesn’t matter. I still think about it a lot.

Luke: Let’s find that fox.

Linda: You’re not gonna find him. You’re too drunk.

Luke: I’m just the right amount of drunk to kill a fox. If I were sober I wouldn’t have the balls to hunt a fox with a baseball bat.

[Luke walks over to the litterbox and says hi to Terrence. He walks in a circle, lifting up a rake and a boogie board. He kicks a basketball out of the way and says Here, foxy foxy and swings the bat. He lights a cigarette and turns to Linda and says:]

Luke: I don’t see it.

Linda: He goes away sometimes. Maybe he’s out right now.

Luke: How about you call me when he’s back in the garage and I’ll come back and take care of him for you?

Linda: I don’t know if you should come by anymore.

Luke: Why’s that?

Linda: Just ’cause. I’ll ask Gary.

Luke: Because you’re afraid I might try something. And you might like it. Something like this.

[And he grabs her hair and pulls her head to his and kisses her. She pulls away and says:]

Linda: Goddammit! I’m telling Sarah. This is bullshit, you know that? You are asking for it. Big time. You are so asking for it.

Luke: It’s your fault for looking so hot today. I can’t help it. I’m going to go now.

[He gets in the car and drives away. Linda walks back in the garage and picks up Terrence. They have a cuddle. She sings a few lines of “April Anne” by John Phillips:]

Linda: April Anne, with a red bandana ’round your head. Pretty Anne, with a peacock-feathered fan said that the sash around your waist had turned to lead. And your jingle-jagged faggot friend was dead. [talking to Terrence now:] Now, this song is from an album called John, the Wolfking of L.A. Grandma said that album is the only good thing to ever come from California. Out there everyone is either too high up in the mountains, too close to the water, or they’re delusional winos, she’d always say. Grandma lived in Los Angeles for a year. She calls it the year she lived in gypsy hell. [singing again:] And the wine we spilled, it stained your pillows red. And the midnight cowboys came and quickly fled. Oh, the whole thing was bringing her down.

NEXT: This Is A Screwdriver. You Can Open Things With It

Dad tells me you quit cotillion because the boys wouldn’t dance with you. Good Girl. Now we can have the Talk.

When a Jeffers girl quits cotillion she becomes a Jeffers woman. So you’re a Jeffers woman now; it’s time you learned what that means. You’re not beautiful, but you’re wily. The boy you like won’t dance with you, but you’ll get him drunk after CCD and take photos of him naked and blackmail him into petting your hair whenever you want. Jeffers women don’t go to Prom. But they do slip seductive notes into the prom king’s pocket while he’s having a cigarette outside. Yours should read something like, “If she won’t, I will.” The king will need a woman to celebrate his victory with, and if the queen is too high and mighty to get down then you must get down. In college you will join two clubs which men like to join: the comic book club and the muscle-growing club. You will pretend to enjoy comic books and growing muscles so the men will like you, and by sophomore year you will have gotten down with every member of both clubs. There will be one man who is in both clubs. He will be your first husband.

DON’T STAY IN YOUR FIRST MARRIAGE FOR MORE THAN FIVE YEARS. Jeffers women must enjoy a variety of men. Here are the three types of men Jeffers women can enjoy: longshoremen, cardsharks, freeloaders with family money. Your grandma insists that freeloader with family money is the only type for a Jeffers woman, but other Jeffers women (like Aunt Dee Dee and your cousin Reba) have had healthy relationships with longshoremen and cardsharks. Every so often a rebellious young Jeffers woman will marry a judge or a podiatrist, hoping to break with tradition. Don’t do this. You’re not a protest kid, and you’re not a disco duck. You have no reason to run from your destiny. Your father and I gave you a nice childhood and we want you to be happy above all else, but we know that certain things in this world make sense and certain things do not. A Jeffers woman stewing tomatoes in the Crock-Pot all day because her longshoreman husband ONLY eats stewed tomatoes? That’s makes sense. A Jeffers woman waiting for her cardshark husband to return home from hustling chumps on a Mississippi riverboat? That makes sense, too. But a Jeffers woman dressing up fancy to attend the Maine Podiatrist Society’s Fall Ball? Ridiculous. A Jeffers woman consoling her husband as he is tormented by the thought that the man he sentenced to death may have been innocent? NOT MY DAUGHTER. Jeffers women can’t console smart, weak men. They need to marry rocks. Some Jeffers women marry rocks who work on barges; others marry rocks who can count cards; and others marry rocks who piss away their inheritance by self-publishing hardcover copies of their unreadable novels (your idiot father was one of those rocks). Only marrying these types of men will make you happy. Go down a different path and expect profound disappointment and, worst of all, loneliness, for if you veer from the Jeffers Woman Path, you will be banished. When we see you on the street we will ignore you as if you are one of those people handing out coupons for cheap cell phone service. In September you will not be invited to pick apples at Jeffers Orchard, and if you’re spotted on orchard property we will catch you, tie you to the basketball hoop and hose you down with the big hose in front of our guests. Then we will forget about you. Unless your non-Jeffers-Woman-Path-approved husband makes a fortune and your womb produces a son who becomes a freeloader. If that happens, swing by the orchard when he’s ready to settle down.

[Now read this bit's brother bit, The Feldman Man Path.]

[Teddy and C.O.D.Y the Robot Who Hangs Out are standing near the counter.]

CODY: So then Darryl’s dad says, If you can land two triple 20s in a row, I’ll shotgun this warm Stroh’s I found in the kitchen. If you don’t land any triple 20s, you have to shotgun it. If you only land one then nobody shotguns it. So I’m like, Yeah, let’s do this. I focus. I get my arm parallel to the floor and I line up my eye with the flights and I line up the flights with the triple 20. I release and, boom, triple 20. Darryl’s dad’s like, Effing hangbots, you dudes were programmed to be better than humans at parlor games. And a lot of people think that about me, but it’s not true. I had to work for my darts skills. So I line up my the next dart. I’m relaxed and focused. And I release. Boom, it scrapes the first dart’s flights and lands right inside the wire for another triple 20. Darryl’s dad is so pissed, but he doesn’t say anything. He takes out his Bowie knife and cuts a hole in the can of Stroh’s and shotguns it, and he fucks it up so all this warm Stroh’s spills down his shirt. He was so pissed.

TEDDY: How often do you dudes play darts?

CODY: Just about every night. You should come hang sometime.

TEDDY: I will. Can I bring this lady I’ve been seeing?

CODY: Of course. Bring any lady you want.

TEDDY: Well, she’s not really a lady. More like a ladybot.

CODY: Niiice. You pulled a ladybot?

TEDDY: I did. Well, she’s not a ladybot either. She’s a hybridbot. She has some human parts. Ovaries. Tubes. And some other stuff.

CODY: A hybridbot, eh? I haven’t seen one of those since I was back in the lab. Is she cool to hang with?

TEDDY: It’s the best hanging I’ve ever had.

CODY: Where’d you meet her?

TEDDY: It’s a weird story. So one night I’m walking home from the bar and I realize I’m starving so I stop in a Skyline and get some Coneys. While I’m eating I see this gorgeous woman come in by herself and sit down at a table. She’s wearing short jeans shorts and a small tank top; it was so small you could see her bellybutton. Now, I’m sauced. Like, about-to-shit-my-pants drunk. But the Coneys give me some energy and I walk over to her table and sit down next to her.

CODY: That’s bold.

TEDDY: I know, right? She’s like, Can I help you? And I say, Hey, I’m Teddy. I live around here. Or something like that. I just bought this new skillet so I’ve been testing it a lot but I need someone to tell me how good it works. Can I make you eggs tomorrow morning and then you’ll tell me how good they are? And she says, I love eggs. Yes, I’ll do it, sounds fun. She was game. I couldn’t believe it. So then I say, and this was the crucial line, I say, Should I give you call tomorrow or should I wake you up when they’re ready?

CODY: Very bold.

TEDDY: I know. So I say that. And she doesn’t say anything for a moment and it’s weird. Here’s where shit goes badly: I get foggy from all the booze and I must have passed out because the next thing I know we’re in the women’s bathroom and she’s washing chili off my face. I’m like, What happened? She says that I put my head down in her Coney and made a mess all over myself. I passed out and got chili on my face while picking up this girl. So she asks me how I’m getting home. I say I’m walking. She says that I won’t make it alone so she walks me out of the Skyline and we walk all the way back to my place. It must’ve been a mile or so. And I vomited twice, once behind a Rax and again all over the post office.

CODY: But how do you remember what you said if you were about-to-shit-your-pants drunk?

TEDDY: She told me all this later.

CODY: I see. That was nice of her to walk you home.

TEDDY: What she did to me the next morning was even nicer. If you know what I mean.

CODY: Niiice. Did you make her eggs?

TEDDY: No. I don’t even own a skillet. That’s the best part. She ran out and bought us McDonald’s and came back and we ate it while watching golf. It was really fun. Then we had more sex. Do you wanna hear about it? What it’s like?

CODY: What what’s like?

TEDDY: Inside a hybridbot. It’s different than a human. Very different.

CODY: I guess I’ll listen if you wanna tell me.

TEDDY: I’m gonna tell you, but don’t tell her that I told you. OK?

CODY: OK.

TEDDY: Inside a hybridbot… it’s … like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. It’s hard to explain but I’ll try my best. Think of a regular human girl. That’s what it looks like on the outside. Now imagine if she had a few tiny parts in there and they all moved. Tiny soft machines. They don’t move at random but rather in a neat rhythm determined by the hybridbot. It’s like putting your dick in a tiny car wash with foamy flaps and fuzzy buffers. When you first enter it there’s a wide flap that drags on the top of your dick. Next there are two plush buffers on the sides and those feel great, too. After that there’s a vibrating spongy ring you put you dick in and at the very end there’s a small nub that pulsates on your tip. It’s like when you go into Sharper Image and sit in one of those massage chairs. But this chair is warm and soggy, and it’s not your entire body that’s getting massaged; it’s just your dick. And a hybridbot can close her shit super-tight so you can’t get out. Like a female dog can. Ever heard of that? When dogs fuck the male dog sometimes gets stuck and he’ll have to tug and tug until he can get it out?

CODY: I’ve never heard of that.

TEDDY: If the hybridbot wants to, she can do that. Mine did that. But I didn’t mind it because at the time I wanted to spend the rest of my life in there. Josephine did this thing – that’s her name, Josephine – when she made it really wide and sucked in all my junk, the whole thing, and gave it a scrub by moving her parts real fast.

CODY: Sounds scary. I just like hanging with the regular ones

TEDDY: You would say that. But listen. I could probably talk Josephine into hanging with you. And then you’ll see what I mean. You haven’t lived until you’ve hung out with a hybridbot. Hybridbot hangs are the only hangs I’m into now.

CODY: Drag. What about darts hangs at Darry’ls dad’s house? You said you would come hang.

TEDDY: I’m into those hangs too, Cody.

CODY: Niiice.

NEXT: The Fox in the Garage Part 10: The Second Worst Thing You Did to Me

Gaithersburg, Maryland. 1989 or ‘90.

From right to left: I am dressed as a lion. My girlfriend Courtney Hejl is a princess. I don’t know who the hippo is.

GARY 1 and GARY 2 are at the bar drinking gin and tonics. Their unfortunate clothes indicate that they are not busy or vital men. There is a tire iron on the bar next to Gary 1’s drink.

Gary 1: It was the best weapon I could find in my dad’s garage.

Gary 2: It’s super-rusty.

Gary 1: I’ll wear gloves then. No big whoop.

Gary 2: So what’s your plan? You’re gonna go around town beating up hangbots?

Gary 1: No, man. I’m not going on a rampage. It’s just in case I see a hangbot doing something… something bad. The cops just look the other way. Somebody’s got to keep shit real.

Gary 2: What do hangbots do that’s bad?

Gary 1: Noise pollute, for one. A lot of them play music loudly while they’re hanging out. And they hang out with girls and corrupt them and then don’t call them back.

Gary 2: You hang out with girls and corrupt them and don’t call them back.

Gary 1: Not anymore. I’ve got a lady now. I’m done hanging out.

Gary 2: Who? Burger King?

Gary 1: Her name is Linda, and we’re giving it a shot I think.

Gary 2: How many times have you hung out with her?

Gary 1: Three.

Gary 2: Woah. You’re settling down with a girl you’ve hung out with three times?

Gary 1: Why keep hanging out with other girls when you know you want to hang out with one?

Gary 2: I guess that makes sense. So what you’re saying is, you’re done hunting trim and now you’re gonna hunt hangbots?

Gary 1: I’m not hunting hangbots. I’m keeping shit real. I’m gonna be Dayton’s unofficial hangbot sheriff. You want in? You want to be my deputy?

Gary 2: What would I have to do?

Gary 1: First you’d have to get a tire iron, or another weapon. No guns. And nothing weird, like a Samurai sword.

Gary 2: How about a putter?

Gary 1: A driver would be better.

Gary 2: I’ll see what I can do.

Gary 1: And then you gotta come with me when I go on patrol.

Gary 2: Where are you gonna patrol?

Gary 1: Downtown. Carillon Park. The Oregon District. Wherever hangbots are hassling people.

Gary 2: You think you could take a hangbot?

Gary 1: I’m sure I can.

Gary 2: What if the scientists made them really strong? That ladybot I got with wasn’t a dainty lady. She was cut.

Gary 1: Every hangbot I’ve met has been a pussy. And hangbots don’t carry weapons so I’ll be fine.

Gary 2: What if you get jumped by a pack of hangbots?

Gary 1: That’s why I’ll need my deputy. For back up.

Gary 2: I’ll consider it. How often are you gonna go out on patrol?

Gary 1: Whenever I’m not hanging out with Linda or drinking here.

Gary 2: Alright. I’m considering it.

Gary 1: I asked Linda if she wanted to help too and she said she’d make badges. She’s very talented.

Gary 2: Oh? Is that why you’re hanging out with her, because she’s good with her hands?

Gary 1: No. Not only that. She’s funny and she has a cool cat and she’s kinda like a whatever girl.

Gary 2: What’s a whatever girl?

Gary 1: A whatever girl is a girl who’s whatever about everything. She doesn’t hassle me about shit. She never says I can’t go out and hunt trim, but I’m not going to anyway. And she just takes shit as it comes. There’s no drama with her. Her effing house burned down and she’s been living in the garage but she’s been pretty whatever about it.

Gary 2: How did her house burn down?

Gary 1: She says a fox did it. She says there’s a fox living in the garage but every time I go over I never see it. She’s a little crazy. But the crazy ones are always crazy in the sack too.

Gary 2: Oh yeah? You guys do weird shit?

Gary 1: Oh yeah. She’s also whatever about TV. She lets me watch what I want to watch. Angie was always putting on the Bachelor or the local news or some shit.

Gary 2: Well that’s good. Maybe I’ll find myself a whatever girl. Does Linda have any whatever friends?

Gary 1: I don’t think so. All her friends are dudes and they’re not really her friends anymore because they’re friends with her ex-boyfriend. But I’ll ask.

NEXT: The Third Hang At The Other Laundromat