Anger and Rage
19 Nov 2002
People say that kids create imaginary friends because they have no one else to play with. I'm sure you've heard the fair share of Joe the Astronaut and Will the Cowboy. You've probably even heard tales of an invisible clown friend, as weird as that sounds. I, on the other hand, was somewhat different. I had a couple of friends. The first one was Floyd. He was a janitor. Now, he wasn't just any janitor, he was head janitor in charge of the mop buckets. It was a big responsibility and I'm not really sure how fit Floyd was to handle it. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the socket, but he got things done. Not well, though. Things were always done rather poorly if I remember. But he was a good friend. When I was lonely he really wasn't there. He showed up when other people were around and made fun of them before he started making fun of me. Good times. Floyd had a mullet. Not just any run of the mill mullet, though, I'm talking Billy Ray Cyrus kind of mullet that reaches to the center of the backů and he wore hats a lot too. They were your typical redneck kind of hats with rebel flags and "The south will rise again" written all over them. He was mortally wounded in a mop accident and disappeared shortly afterward, kidnapped by the Japanese mafia. My second friend was the best friend a guy could have. He was short, hairy, angry and only had one eye. Kind of like Nick. I said KIND OF. His name was Mike, Mike the razor toed spine masher. Now don't let the name fool you, he was as cuddly as the next spine masher, perhaps even more so. Unfortunately he killed every one of my friend's invisible friends. Nasty mess. There were clown pieces and astronaut hoses everywhere, and in the middle was Mike, good ol' Mike, doing what he did bestů spine mashing. I long for those days basking in the glory of Mike's fresh kill. How youth is fleeting.