A Fitting Establishment

“Bullshit. That didn’t happen.”

“My hand to god. It all happened exactly like that.”

“And you expect me to believe you did all of that ‘accidentally’.”

“Yes! I had no clue what was happening during every single second of it.  What part of it doesn’t make sense to you?”

“Only a small little detail about how you could still be blowing smoke up my ass when your head is so far up your own that it's almost back where it started.”

“Oh, come on don’t be like that!”

“Be like what! You’re the one reciting the next Die Hard at me with you as the lead.”

“No, no, no. It’s not like that at all, and I think I know the part you’re having a problem with. It’s with the robo-dolphins isn’t it?”

“No, it’s with you describing the walls as blue when gray would have absolutely complimented the floor. Of-goddamn-course it’s with your self-described “twenty-foot killer robo dolphins with laser eyes and fire hose fins"

“Well, whether you believe it or not. They were very real and very vicious. Of course, those demons were only masquerading as those majestic sea creatures, and if you still don’t believe me I still have the battle scars to prove it.”

“The hell do you mean 'battle scars.' I have more painful 'battle scars' from stubbing my toe this morning than your apparent damn waltz through a bad spy novel. Next thing you’ll say is that your story’s evil mastermind, Captain Tunaface,  explained his whole plan to you for no reason.”

“You bet your ass he did. And he was surprisingly eloquent considering his hideous facial deformities.”

“Oh God... It’s getting hard to see you above this steaming pile of horseshit you’re trying to force-feed me.”

“You really need to believe in me more.”

“Well excuse me if I have reason to doubt the person I’ve seen struggle with pull doors, single-handedly stumbled into and foiled a massive plot for a deranged, horrifically-scarred, cancer-riddled Aquaman-wannabe to lead sentient sea creatures in conquering every continent with an army of enormous robotic dolphins. “

“You know...you say all that and I still feel like you’re hung up on the robo-dolphins.”

“Well, I will admit. A robotic dolphin invasion force that you even said had a fucking airforce really isn’t helping ease my skepticism.”

“Hey, don’t disrespect the Uranus Flight Corps. They were some damn tough and respectable opponents.”

“According to you, they were flying metallic stingrays shooting mustard gas out of their ass and Stuka bombing as if it were the goddamn ‘40s! Also “the Uranus flight Corps”, come on! Are you five? If you’re going to sell me snake oil then at least put a better label on the bottle.”

“Well, I’m not going to rewrite my story just because you can’t wrap your head around it. Besides, Uranus was the old Greek god of the sky. I think you just need to get your head out of the gutter and start trusting me more.”

“You are un-goddamn-believable! Could you just stop spinning your web of dog shit for three damn seconds and tell me something truthful. Next thing you’ll say is that the robo sea creature army had a marine corps of bulletproof mechanical seahorses.”

“How do you know about the Gaia Force? I hadn’t gotten to them yet.”

“Goddamnit.”

Here I am sitting in a complete shithole of a restaurant waiting on food so revolting it would make Soylent Green seem like gourmet in comparison. More importantly, I’m tolerating this sewer of a dining experience because I’m waiting on someone whose best described as a pile of complete and utter horseshit with a small side of friend that’s usually forgotten when ordered. While I wait, I look around at my fellow assholes getting the same authentic dining experience as me, complete with discolored vomit green walls, broken and breaking rocks that the employees refer loosely to as furniture, and waiters so pleasant and kind that you can practically hear them sprinkle in rat shit and pepper in spit and mucus to add texture to every meal. I looked up at that arrogant prick of a Sun and at least found a sadistic comfort that at least it was beating harder down on the pompous schmucks outside.

Finally, the familiar con artist I’d been waiting for came waltzing in with a shit-eating grin on his face and a shit-eating attitude that perfectly matched the latrine he’d set us up to meet at. I uncomfortably shifted in my rock while dreaming of how much more comfortable a bed of nails would be while the bastard already began to ramble in his usual whiny voice. Hell, it’s my lucky day, I thought, my rat bastard of a friend has come down from his high, high tower to regale me with his tales of bullshit chivalry in a “restaurant” that looks like it’s been abandoned for twenty years and couldn’t pass a health inspection with a million-dollar bribe. The charlatan sitting across from me keeps going on and on about some bullshit tale that places him as a James Bond type and with every bland and dull load of shit that comes out of his mouth I just keep on thinking, “God, what an asshole! How’d I get talked into voluntarily swimming around in the sewers with the scum of the earth as my only companion.” I took time out of this miserable day in my bad joke of an existence to listen to a raving lunatic rant about saving the earth from a deluded aquatic asshole leading an army of robotic assholes from conquering a bunch of other assholes. Christ, that’s too many assholes for me to deal with, and the deranged asshole to rule them all is still spinning enough bullshit to put Goebbels to shame.

I look desperately towards any escape from the verbal torture of having to listen to any more of this, but than I remember that sadistic jackass of a Sun outside and also don’t want my personal storyteller to throw a hissy fit that would rival toddlers and Greek gods because I left in the middle of his atrocious epic. I agonize in the general aroma of cat piss that seems to overwhelm the whole room to the point where I began looking for the grotesque alley cats that must be relieving themselves in the next set of rocks. Finally, I slink down on my rock and despondently give up. I take a deep breath of cat piss and start reluctantly accepting the bat shit crazy truth and the repugnant reality of the world that lets my friend Joe Schmuck save it, the world’s made up entirely of assholes and more assholes, and no matter where you go, you’re not only surrounded by them, you’re one of them.