Brb…

breakfastclub-bender

Excuse me. I may have had a beer or two.
“So? I dwank aaaall da whiskey in da cabinet.”
You did what? … “I said, uhhhh…” … You’ve been drinking again? … “Whaaaaaat? Pfffft. Maaaan…   

tell me more ‘bout that girl in New York,” … What? No.
Don’t you want to hear about how drunk your “mom” used
to get in her younger days? That’ll put you right to sleep. … “Jack!”

Sorry Meg! Didn’t mean it. You knew, though. Right?
“Of course. Nothing you say is about anyone
you know in real life. You’re Jason Swartzman, right, my Darjeeling?”

Yes. I’ve told you that before. Our time here is
limited. There’s scary shit going on. Folks
all over the world seem to be losing their goddamned minds. Or…

maybe it’s me. Maybe I just imagine
things and they somehow happen. No. No. That’s crazy.
“You are crazy.” … You’re the shrew on the airplane in Airplane!

Everyone lining up, one-by-one or
two-by-two just inching to take a swing at you.
“In front of the girl, Jack?” … “What? I’m talking about violence.

That’s still OK, right? This is America!
“Daddy?” … How many times must I tell you to
never call me that? I am not your father, you little br-

“Jack!” … What? … “Are you really bullying that kid?”
What? No! That’s outrageous! I am sorry, youngster.
I forgot you were there for a second. I was dealing with

people thinking characters in stories are
actually them. I mean, if that’s the case, then
Bob goddamned Dylan better pick me up in a limousine.

I’ve been doing his leg work for how long now?
My feet are tired and sore. My neck and back ache
worse than the crackhead from Friday. … “I think his name was E-zell.”

Shut up, Meg. A man is talking. Get back in
the living room and do whatever the hell it
is you do there. “I read … more than you.” … Yeah? I’ve seen the movies.

“So tell her a story from one, smart ass.” … Fine.
“Fine.” … Good. … “Great.” … Grand. … “Bye.” … Bye. … “B-O-O H-O-O.”
Tonight’s story begins in Shermer, Illinois. It’s not real.

It’s a made up place Jay and Silent Bob went
looking for. It’s on maps found in Thule, read only
by the dreaded Pope of Uruk, who played the principal in

The Breakfast Club – maybe one of the greatest
movies ever put on film. It’s nearly perfect.
Had Emilio not shattered glass with a howl, it would be.

It’s all good though. It has the greatest anti-
hero in cinematic history: Hot Rod.
Judd Nelson. If you get that, I applaud you. What are you, like…

10 years old or something? … “I’ll be 22
in two days. And you’re an asshole.” … Yeah? So are you.
“You make me want to die. That’s how big of an asshole you are.”

How could I possibly make you want to die?
I tell you stories. “Yeah … shitty ones.” Watch your mouth
or I’ll wash it out with soap and use Lifeboy. It tastes the worst.

“Fine. Whatever. Tell me a story. Thrill me.”
You just gave me a great idea. I’ll be back.
“Hey … wait a minute! I need to go to sleep!” … Time is bullshit!

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