So this guys pulls me aside at the
party, right. All hush-hush like stuff. Secret agent kind of stuff.
Leans in real close so I wonder is he going to blow in my ear, maybe.
But that's okay too cause I ain't all that uptight. Just saying -
puts out his hand, says, Hey, John? Is it?
Sure, I say, I'm John – so who the hell are you, man?
Bob, says this guy.
No lie, Bob! OMG I love Bob I say sincerely, letting go of his hand so I can take another drink. I can hear the ice tinkling over the music and cacophony of our little party here. Like some full on church bells rung nearly right in my very own ears by my very own hand.
Bob laughs a little nervously – why do you love the name "Bob" so much?
"Bob!", common, man – Bob is way holier than God. Bob, backwards, Bob forwards? I think to myself - I like to stay positive, you know? Just the way I am. I like to say something, anything, anything at all positive when I first meet someone, anyone, anyone at all, right?
Are you putting me on, Bob asks. Bob trying to be light about it but Bob a little uptight about my full on compliment. Try to be nice, right? I throw an arm around his shoulder and squeeze him warm and friendly as I can. Bob, what are we in grade school here. Like I'm gonna to make fun of your name here. Fuck no, Bob - Bob the magically named one, Bob forward, Bob backward. Truth is I love you already. And to myself thinking, He's a little fella and I do like him, uptight little fella but I like him alright. If I were gay, I think, I'd scoop him up in my arms and haul him upstairs …but I don't say this. Bob here might be put off by this cause Bob ain't gay, either, and I don't want Bob to come out of his skin. I ain't here to put people off, right. It's not that kind of a party, right. I'm just happy drunk right now is all.
Hey, John, says Bob, I overheard you talking about these magic mushrooms. I was kind of wondering if these mushrooms might help me, you know what I mean?
Hell, I don't think that I have a clue what Bob means. But I want another gin and tonic so I walk him off by the shoulder towards the kitchen. Like I'm thinking hard about his question. But what I'm thinking is I get this distinct impression that he is asking me this in confidence. This makes me giggle because I'm a writer and asking me something in confidence is kind of like telling a common fucking street hooker, “I Love You!” when you come. I mean, it happens and all but it ain't exactly a commonsensical thing to do, right.
Look, I say to Bob when we're in the kitchen and I'm plopping more ice in my glass, realizing that I guess I was kind of thinking about it, after all. It is a worthy question, after all. Not a question to be disrespected. Like maybe whether you really want to marry some Babe with humongous tits cause you know when she gets older that if you're still married to her those trophies will be sagging big time.
Bob, I say serious as I can muster. You ask a very valid question here. Thing is this. I couldn't even begin to tell you, Pal. What goes on between those fucking Penis Heads and your own dear mind is so utterly private that even YOU might not know the answer to THAT very valid question you ask. Does that make any sense to you, Bob? Thinking to myself - it's always cool to meet a question with a question. Thinking to myself that I gave him my very best shot at his question. That I did pretty damn good considering how hammered I already am and how I sort of kind of don't give a damn about this question, really. Just it's such a great bunch, such a great party. I don't want to be the asshole at this party. No way, man - not me, right.
Bob looks more confused than maybe he always does – No, not really, John? I don't think I understand that? Very seriously like.
Okay, Bob, I say, putting my arm around his shoulder again and leaning in this time close like I might blow in his fucking ear, right. My drink is full. The glass is tinkling. I am a happy guy anyway, sure I am, but I'm a little extra happy just now. I come on to Bob like I'm his very own best buddy or something cause, you know, it is a worthy question and drunk as I am becoming I like this little fella, Bob. Maybe I want to give Bob some kind of answer to one of these preposterously unanswerable questions.
Bob, I say – and boy is old Bob listening now. All I can tell you, Bob, is that they sure as hell won't hurt you none. So what the hell? What the hell, right? Squeezing his shoulder hard, laughing so hard that I almost spill my drink such that I have to admonish myself, “Hey, Johnnie Boy, don't want to do THAT cause THAT is the only sin”- the only fucking sin, right? Hehehe ...
Sure, I say, I'm John – so who the hell are you, man?
Bob, says this guy.
No lie, Bob! OMG I love Bob I say sincerely, letting go of his hand so I can take another drink. I can hear the ice tinkling over the music and cacophony of our little party here. Like some full on church bells rung nearly right in my very own ears by my very own hand.
Bob laughs a little nervously – why do you love the name "Bob" so much?
"Bob!", common, man – Bob is way holier than God. Bob, backwards, Bob forwards? I think to myself - I like to stay positive, you know? Just the way I am. I like to say something, anything, anything at all positive when I first meet someone, anyone, anyone at all, right?
Are you putting me on, Bob asks. Bob trying to be light about it but Bob a little uptight about my full on compliment. Try to be nice, right? I throw an arm around his shoulder and squeeze him warm and friendly as I can. Bob, what are we in grade school here. Like I'm gonna to make fun of your name here. Fuck no, Bob - Bob the magically named one, Bob forward, Bob backward. Truth is I love you already. And to myself thinking, He's a little fella and I do like him, uptight little fella but I like him alright. If I were gay, I think, I'd scoop him up in my arms and haul him upstairs …but I don't say this. Bob here might be put off by this cause Bob ain't gay, either, and I don't want Bob to come out of his skin. I ain't here to put people off, right. It's not that kind of a party, right. I'm just happy drunk right now is all.
Hey, John, says Bob, I overheard you talking about these magic mushrooms. I was kind of wondering if these mushrooms might help me, you know what I mean?
Hell, I don't think that I have a clue what Bob means. But I want another gin and tonic so I walk him off by the shoulder towards the kitchen. Like I'm thinking hard about his question. But what I'm thinking is I get this distinct impression that he is asking me this in confidence. This makes me giggle because I'm a writer and asking me something in confidence is kind of like telling a common fucking street hooker, “I Love You!” when you come. I mean, it happens and all but it ain't exactly a commonsensical thing to do, right.
Look, I say to Bob when we're in the kitchen and I'm plopping more ice in my glass, realizing that I guess I was kind of thinking about it, after all. It is a worthy question, after all. Not a question to be disrespected. Like maybe whether you really want to marry some Babe with humongous tits cause you know when she gets older that if you're still married to her those trophies will be sagging big time.
Bob, I say serious as I can muster. You ask a very valid question here. Thing is this. I couldn't even begin to tell you, Pal. What goes on between those fucking Penis Heads and your own dear mind is so utterly private that even YOU might not know the answer to THAT very valid question you ask. Does that make any sense to you, Bob? Thinking to myself - it's always cool to meet a question with a question. Thinking to myself that I gave him my very best shot at his question. That I did pretty damn good considering how hammered I already am and how I sort of kind of don't give a damn about this question, really. Just it's such a great bunch, such a great party. I don't want to be the asshole at this party. No way, man - not me, right.
Bob looks more confused than maybe he always does – No, not really, John? I don't think I understand that? Very seriously like.
Okay, Bob, I say, putting my arm around his shoulder again and leaning in this time close like I might blow in his fucking ear, right. My drink is full. The glass is tinkling. I am a happy guy anyway, sure I am, but I'm a little extra happy just now. I come on to Bob like I'm his very own best buddy or something cause, you know, it is a worthy question and drunk as I am becoming I like this little fella, Bob. Maybe I want to give Bob some kind of answer to one of these preposterously unanswerable questions.
Bob, I say – and boy is old Bob listening now. All I can tell you, Bob, is that they sure as hell won't hurt you none. So what the hell? What the hell, right? Squeezing his shoulder hard, laughing so hard that I almost spill my drink such that I have to admonish myself, “Hey, Johnnie Boy, don't want to do THAT cause THAT is the only sin”- the only fucking sin, right? Hehehe ...
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