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.

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: 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

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.]

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: 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

I know why you chose trumpet. It’s easy. It only has three buttons. Saxophone has, what, a hundred buttons? It also has a wooden reed that will break and leave splinters on your gums. Trumpet is all brass, all day long. Saxophone is a complicated and fickle girl; trumpet is a Spartan warrior. This is what you think, and you are wrong. Trumpet is a banshee. Trumpet is as difficult as life is long. What it lacks in buttons it makes up for stubbornness. When you play trumpet your fingers do little work but your face muscles called the embrasure are pulverized by the instrument’s demands. An untrained embrasure can implode after holding a high C for three bars of allegro four-four time. If you were born with a weak face, I suggest you leave now and check out the percussion room. There is a bell kit with your name on it. It’s a matter of genetics, really. If you have Anglo-Saxon blood, stick around. Your embrasure was made to endure trumpet. Same goes for blacks. As for Turks, Poles and island people, listen carefully. I can’t tell you not to learn trumpet. This is Texas, U.S.A. We are a free state. If I were to say that you will fail at trumpet because your embrasure is inferior, I could be fired. If I were to say that when you hold a high C for more than three bars of allegro four-four time your embrasure will burst and for the rest of your life you’ll have to communicate with a touch-pad that says what you type, your parents could sue me. So I’ll just say that trumpet loves children of all races no matter how ill-equipped they are to play trumpet.

Walk over to the trumpet rack. Choose a trumpet, a trumpet case and a bottle of trumpet oil. From this day on, trumpet will forever be a part of your life, no matter how soon you quit. And you will quit. Everyone quits trumpet. After you quit you will love your trumpet-free life. You will have more time for grab-ass and firecrackers and all that. But years later, trumpet will haunt you. When you are fired from your job you will want to blow away the pain into a warm mouthpiece. When your wife says “You don’t understand me” you will think about the only thing you’ve ever understood: trumpet.

One day you will go into your parent’s basement and dust off trumpet and try to play it. But you won’t be able to. Your embrasure will be too weak; trumpet will be too gunky. Its buttons won’t work and you won’t be able to find the trumpet oil because you never took care of your trumpet accessories. You will hold your gunky trumpet up to your mouth and look at yourself in the mirror and you will feel rotten about quitting trumpet as well as all the other things you’ve learned and quit. You will feel older than you actually are.

Trumpet won’t feel anything.

On the Bloomingdale’s website there’s a Diane von Furstenberg dress called the Beulah that sells for $795. I don’t even want to know what Beulah means but if I had to guess I’d say it means spoiled cunt in Italian because only a spoiled cunt would wear that dress. The website says its airy chiffon cascades to the floor in dramatic drapes, while sparkly gold sequin pailettes adorn the bodice. Adorn the bodice: that’s funny to me for some reason.

-Hey Gary, this website says that this fancy dress adorns the bodice. A-dorn. The. Bod-ice. Is that funny to you too, or just me?

-Everything is funny to you when you’re drunk.

-Hey Gary, you want to buy me the Dolce and Gabbana Ocelot-Print Chiffon Party Dress? It’s only $1,295.

-Sure. And I’ll eat canned tuna for a year.

Anyone who wears that ocelot dress is asking for it. The model who’s modeling the ocelot dress on the website is asking for it too. She doesn’t even look like a real person. Her arms are shiny and her elbows are sharp, like they’ve been whittled by a grandpa on a porch somewhere. Her face doesn’t look like a real human face but rather like the mold of porcelain doll’s face that was modeled off of the prettiest girl in the world. Since when was it hot to look like a mannequin? That’s why young girls are so sad all the time. Because they look like real people but the girls they see on the internet don’t so they think that something must be wrong with them when in fact it’s the girls on the internet who have all the problems. These Bloomingdale’s models have been sexually abused, I’m sure.

When I was a teenager I would get sad because I thought I didn’t look right. There were twenty-four super-pretty girls in my class. Twenty-three after Heather Bee moved to Lansing. Sheryl Crosby was one of them. I always thought she was their leader because she was always talking and the other girls were always listening to her. In science class Sheryl would talk about which boys bought her lunch and whose dick she’d touched. I always thought that was tacky. Sheryl looked like Britney Spears and for Halloween freshman year she had the gall to dress up like a Catholic school girl so she looked Britney Spears in the hit me baby one more time music video. I was a bug that year.

I always thought I looked weird and I felt bad about it until I read an article about how unhappy Britney Spears is most of the time. That made me feel better. I like to think that all the good-looking people on the planet are the saddest and all the regular-looking people are the happiest. And it doesn’t matter anyway because I have Gary now. Who does Sheryl Crosby have? Nobody. I heard her boyfriend left her because he was sick of how dudes would always hit on her at bars and how dudes would come into the library and pretend to browse the movies near the front desk but really they were just looking at Sheryl. Sheryl is beautiful but show me the most beautiful girl in the world and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of fucking her. He should have listened to that song Grandma always put on in the car, the one that goes: If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife. I wish more dudes would take that advice to heart and give us regulars a chance.

The Tourino Mouflon boots by Dolce and Gabbana drive me bonkers. They are, and I quote, military inspired booties. But they’re just tall boots with high heels. Just ‘cause they’re boots how does that make them military inspired? The people writing these websites will write anything they think sounds good no matter how wrong it is. And who wants to wear boots with high heels anyway? Is it so you’ll look taller when you’re out camping? Or so you’ll look rugged when you’re drinking purple cocktails on top of the Empire State Building with your gal pals? So you can be all like, I hope Fabian comes this rooftop party so he can see my military inspired booties. Because I want him to think that I’m rugged and elegant. He doesn’t want a girl who’s too fancy or one who’s a dyke. That’s why I wear these booties. So he thinks I’m riiight in the middle. Fabian bought me the ocelot dress I wanted so badly so I let him put his thumb in my butthole.

The Tourino Mouflon boots cost $995. If I had $2290 I’d buy the Tourino Mouflon boots and the ocelot dress and I’d go as a coastal cunt for Halloween. That is, if I still dressed up for Halloween. Then I’d return them because earlier I said I’d murder anyone who wore that stuff and I’m a woman of my word. If I kept wearing them I’d have to murder myself and Terrence would have to live at Gary’s  all by himself and he would not like that at all.

-Hey Gary, if I died tomorrow, would you take care of Terrence for me?

-I guess so.

-I like you, Gary Welles.

-I like you too, Linda Lauper.

[a kiss.]

[100th post!]

NEXT: The Hangbot Sheriff

Why hasn’t the wife asked me to go dancing lately? Has she given up on me? Or is she going dancing with other dudes behind my back? How many times have we gone dancing, ever? Three? And wasn’t only one time fun? Was it at that Spanish restaurant? Argentinean? And wasn’t there a dark room in the back where people were tangoing? Or was it waltzing? And didn’t the women have to wear spikes to go on the dance floor, but the wife didn’t have spikes? And she approached an older lady who was sitting down and smoking and said, “I’m sorry, but I really want to dance and I don’t have the right shoes. What size are you?” And didn’t the women look me up and down approvingly and say, “How about this: I dance with him first and then you borrow my shoes?” And didn’t I say that I don’t know how to tango and didn’t the old lady say, “Do know how to make love? If so, you can tango”? And didn’t the wife say, “ He does sometimes”? And didn’t the old lady want to dance for two songs because, she said, “One song is never enough, is it?” Didn’t she grab my arm like she was trying to hurt me? Like my arm had done something terrible to her? Was she doing that because that’s how she always dances or do some older people live harder because they didn’t live very hard when they were younger? Was she sick or something and had “tango with a young man” on her bucket list? And didn’t she kiss my neck after the second song and wasn’t it kind of awesome? When she took off her shoes and gave them to the wife, weren’t they too big, or too small? And when the wife tried to dance wasn’t she pathetic? Knees buckling, face contorting, all the things tangoers shouldn’t do? But didn’t she say, “We’re going to tango, dammit”? But did we? Is it called tangoing if it’s barely tangoing? A legitimate tangoer wouldn’t call it tangoing, would he? We did whatever we were doing for three songs and then didn’t the wife say something sweet like, “I don’t care if we’re bad at this as long as you’re with me” and didn’t I say something sweet like, “I’d dance a shitty tango with you every night if I could”?

Do you take the mistress dancing? Do you take the employee you’re throwing it to dancing? Does she want to dance for the sake of dancing or does she want to dance to make herself feel better about the whole thing? So she can say to her friends: “Yeah my boss is throwing to me but at least he took me dancing”? Does M. have friends? Is her boss who’s also throwing it to her her only friend?

Will I still throw it to her after Hey Jealousy goes under?

Has the wife called her folks yet? Should I even ask?

-What did they say? Wait. Don’t tell me. I’m in a good mood for once.

-OK. I won’t tell you then.

-So they did say something?

-Yes.

-Good news or bad news?

-It’s definitely news.

-Tell me.

-The answer is: Yes. They’ll help out.

-Oh my god are you serious?

-Yes. They said yes, I can’t believe it. Maybe this will give them something to talk about. After being married for fifty years you only talk about friends who’ve died and what kind of fruit they have at the grocery. Oh. But there are conditions.

-Conditions?

-Big conditions. You might not like them.

-They want to change the menu?

-You should change the menu anyway, but that’s not it. It’s my nephew, Zachary. They want him to be assistant manager. It’s kind of ridiculous, but they said they wouldn’t help unless you took him under your wing.

-Have I met him?

-Maybe once, at Don’s birthday two years ago. He’s 25. He goes by Z., which everyone in the family hates. He graduated a while ago and now he’s just floating and Don and Rachel don’t really care and give him money but mom and dad want him to grow up.

-So they’re buying him a job? Because that’s growing up – being told you’re an assistant manager at a dying restaurant? Does he even want to do it?

-Yeah he does. He already has a job, kinda. He makes shirts. But it’s just costing Don money.

-Oh, right right right. Your nephew who makes the shitty shirts. I think he got my email address at Don’s thing and sent me his site. I bought one that said Sorry Is A Word For The Unmindful.

- Sorry is a word for the unmindful?

-Dumb, right? It’s like, you shouldn’t say you’re sorry about stuff because you should be mindful of the fact and self-aware that your words… I don’t even know, it doesn’t matter. But man, that kid is the worst.

-He means well. He had a weird childhood. Effing Don wrote that My Dad Rocks book and it fucked him up. Have you read that?

-Parts, while shitting.

-It’s pretty bad, but he made a fortune off it. Here, I’m gonna go find it. If he’s gonna be your employee maybe you should read the book.

-That makes no sense whatsoever.

-I was kidding.

-I never know with you, and we’ve been married how long?

[The wife is in the bathroom now and can’t hear him. She comes back into the living room carrying a copy of My Dad Rocks.]

-Here you go. Homework.

-I can’t read this, it’s disgusting. It’s got that urine-y film on it from being in the shitter all these years.

-No it doesn’t.

-Yes, feel it. When a book stays in the bathroom for a while it’s gets a film on it. All the piss and shit particles that are released in the air settle on the paper. Here, rub its cover and then smell your hand.

-Fine. [and she does just that.] I don’t smell anything.

-Taste your hand then.

-No.

-Just do it.

-Even if the book hadn’t been in the bathroom I wouldn’t touch it and then taste my hand. It’s gross.

-You’re gross.

-You’re gross.

-No you are.

-I wanna make you gross right now.

[And they get gross in the living room.]

NEXT: The Fox In The Garage Part 9: The Ocelot Dress