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Keep Your Pants On, Please (Day 6)

Dec 20th, 2009 | By Ben Peek | Category: Uncategorized
Keep Your Pants On, Please

Day Six

Hey.

Hey.

There beer in the fridge?

What, you come over just to drink my beer?

Pretty much.

I should never have started making my own.

Think of it as a compliment to your use of apple.

That’d be nice if I used apple.

You don’t?

Nah.

Well.

Fuck.

I always thought you used apple.

Cricket?

They’re playing in W.A. so we get it prime time.

Sweet.

The West Indies winning?

Nah.

They looked good until about an hour ago, but it’s all Australia now. Ricky Ponting was injured and I did have hope that they would say that he needed to have his arm amputated, but no such luck, since he’s out there doing his thing. I was just reading and waiting till the end.

How was work?

Naked.

Naked?

Yeah, naked.

But not good naked.

No, sir. It was all kinds of bad naked.

How does a guy working in a supermarket have a bad naked day at work?

Try a middle aged thief who just out of jail who is drunk as fuck.

And naked.

That sounds romantic.

Fuck you.

Oh, I’m fairly sure it’s not me whose in line for a fuckin’.

Fuck you.

We caught this dude as he was walking through the story, shoving cans and fruit down his pants. I took him into the back office and confronted him.

You could like smell the alcohol on the dude a mile away. He just stood there, too, saying ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ and ‘I never stole nothing in my entire life’ until suddenly he’s shouting, You wanna strip search me, fine!’

Man, this is romantic.

He screamed out–top of his fucking lungs, full ball scream–’I been to jail, I be raped, but I’ll take my clothes off for you!’

And then off comes his shirt.

All I need to do is insert witty comments, don’t I?

Then the pants.

Everything was just free balling then.

Haha.

Don’t laugh. It was painful.

He stood there in the middle of the office, ugly naked, and screamed, ‘I didn’t take nothing!’ Meanwhile, there’s all these cans and shit around him that fell out of his pants, and he is completely oblivious to it. It might as well be like they don’t exist.

What’d you do?

Tried to get him to put his pants back the fuck on, that’s what. I didn’t care about what he’d taken by then, all I cared about was that all the staff had started to come round to look through the door while a really ugly man with those watery jail house tats stood naked in my office and screamed how he was innocent and how he’d been raped in prison and I could do anything I wanted to him.

I mean, if only he’d been a cute girl.

Because then it would be romantic, right?

Absolutely.

And afterwards, when she’d sobered up, she could find you and tell you how understanding you had been, and how she admired you for only taking advantage of her just a little bit, and how it was the best time and the most feminine she had ever felt, and oh, could you marry her and rescue her from this tower she lived in?

Except, you know, when she was drunk and stealing and naked.

Dude, it’s like you read my mind.

I’m thinking of taking up a career in romance writing, it’s true.

Are you sure you don’t use apples in this beer?

Yeah.

I swear I can taste it.

That’s just naked man you can taste.

Fuck.

If I’d known it tasted like apple, maybe I would’ve had my way with the ugly fuck.

(The 12 Days of Christmas, day six. I wrote this a couple of hours ago, then went and lay on the couch and fell asleep. So I’m not late, it’s your imagination. Also, you can thank Cas for this one.)

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