idiotprufs

Read by four out of five drunken monkeys, written by the fifth.

Archive for the tag “friends”

My Friend Philbert

I have a friend named Philbert who is extraordinarily supportive and helpful.

He’s nonjudgmental of all my little quirks. He isn’t bothered by the fact that I eat crayons. He doesn’t think it’s weird that I think the color fuchsia is evil. He isn’t bothered by the fact that I smell like moldy pinecones. And when the little voices inside my head tell me to kill again and I listen to them, he is shockingly okay with it.

Despite all that, there was a period when Philbert and I drifted apart.

There reasons for this were myriad.

He got heavily into scrapbooking.

I am heavily into not scrapbooking.

He spent some time living on a small island in the Atlantic Ocean.

I don’t care for people who live on small islands in the Atlantic Ocean. (I’m looking at you people of Nantucket; you and all of your filthy limericks.)

He met a girl named Rosanna. He claimed she was his soulmate. He said she had a big heart and a gentle soul and they shared a love for scrapbooking and island dwelling.

I told him she was a crazy she-demon. I advised him that she would break his heart, burn all his shit in the front yard, and stab him in the eye with a shrimp fork.

It caused a rift between us.

In the end she was a crazy she-demon who broke his heart, burned all his shit in the front yard, and stabbed him in the eye with a shrimp fork.

Not only was she a crazy she-demon who broke his heart, burned his all shit in the front yard, and stabbed him in the eye with a shrimp fork…she scrapbooked about it.

We’ve gotten past our differences and are friends again.

He’s not quite the way I remember him. He has an eyepatch now. He’s lost his taste for island dwelling. He doesn’t scrapbook anymore. Limericks make him vomit in his mouth. And when the song Rosanna comes on the radio, he pees himself a little bit.

I told him the eyepatch makes him look badass. Unfortunately, it’s hard to be badass when you’re peeing yourself to a Toto song.

But now that Philbert and I have reconnected, we can be the support each other needs.

Fuchsia, however, can go screw itself.

fuchsia
Get over yourself fuchsia–you’re just violet.

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