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November 3rd, 2000
Road Trip with Marcus By Gary
When I awoke,
I was on the couch, a blanket placed neatly over top of me. Marc wasn't
anywhere around, and I was relieved. The events of the previous day
were already fading into the past, and my new, my normal life was
already seeping back in around me. Marc was still around, though.
He was on the phone, and he sounded very business-like. I didn't care,
for I was home. As he hung up from his phone call, it finally dawned
on me that I hadn't asked him potentially the most important question
of all. I should've asked it before I even left his apartment that
fateful night 2.5 weeks ago. So I asked it now. At one of the
bars we stopped at crossing country, some guy picked a fight with
him, for the hell of it, and Marc just transformed. I've never
seen anything like it. He just hunkered down in a show of musculature,
bellowing out "Strength of the BEAR!" in his lowest manly
voice before running headlong into the guy's chest. He did it two
more times (yelling before each "Speed of the PANTHER!"
and "Clash of the TITANS!") before missing and hitting
the wall. He was knocked unconscious, but not before knocking the
wind out of the foolish drunkard, and cracking at least one
of his ribs. Reeling from this new data, wanting nothing more than
to kill Marc for the hell he had put me through for nothing, I attempted
to let out all my feelings in one screaming blow.
The best I could
do was: "MILES! Car exploded (pause for thinking) 'cause
5000! I driving, driv-, DRIVED 500, 5000 lots of! Oooh! I swear I'm
gonna!" Marc walked outside during this, and I let him go, still
yelling nonsense out the door. I paced around a bit and calmed down.
Then I went outside where he was already getting into a very shiny
white taxi, driven by and passengered with several gorgeous
women. There was a magnetic "misinformer.com" sticker on
the driver's door. It stopped me, confusing me, making me wonder if
I was still dead in Nevada or something. Marc leaned out the tinted
rear window and said:
You know,
funny like when a plane explodes, and someone you hate was on board.
Funny like the death of hundreds of innocents AND one person
that you really think deserved it, which hardly accounts for the innocent
lives, but you still have to laugh anyway, amid the sorrow of thousands
of left-behind loved ones. Funny like a million jokes you didn't get,
that you suddenly got all at once, and then realized that you now
had a million humorous punchlines to jokes you couldn't remember,
and it doesn't matter anyway 'cause you always screw up the timing
even when you do remember all of it and no one laughs, and it's worse
than being naked at a masquerade ball in the Victorian era. It was
worse than promising someone something on Friday morning that you
won't have until Saturday evening. And as the humorous parts of the
trip held themselves up against the sadder parts and decided that
they, too, were pretty damn sad, I stopped laughing, and I cried.
I cried and cried, and I swept up all the broken scooter parts, hauling
several loads to the dumpster, crying the whole time. There would
be no closure for me. I finished cleaning
up my old parking space, though there would be no car to place there.
I spent nearly a month getting to know a crazy man, only to have him
leave in a shiny white taxi just when he decided to be normal again.
I was introduced to the love of men, against my will, and furthermore
as part of a joke that went horribly wrong. I was given a pretty
cool inline scooter for free, only to have it fall apart the instant
I got it home. Ultimately, my life would be traded for a romp through
hell, for nearly a month, all paid for by my friends, and a company
I thought was far smaller, and far less scary than it really is. And
to top it all off, the craziest part to me is, this was all done to
surprise me for my birthday! The End |
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All content © 1999-2007 misinformer.com. I did learn something, you know. Okay, no I didn't.
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