Jack reaches under his shirt and slowly drags his finger across the landscape of his stretch mark ridden stomach, they descend pink coloured, marks of casual overeating, drinking and stress.
George glares down at him
“ Wow Freddy Kruger gave you a few good ones, Jack the ripped apart”
Jack arises from the floor, pushing George away, glued to him a good slice of greased pepperoni pizza. He laughs. Slightly relieved he didn’t eat both the pizzas whole.
“ I should join the fucking X-Men, I’m the Pizzanedo, a heart clenching power”
George joins the laughter, he’s a lover of self-mockery. Jack touches the spot on his head where he knows he’s balding but acts as if he’s scratching the part, anxiety of it however is drowned away by the humming of the hangover, like a loud radio in a car with engine trouble. Lucky he thinks George didn’t pick up on it.
A mirror hangs in the corner, covered by a blanket, on the floor there lay a lego he’s had the unfortunate luck of stepping on countless times, eons he reckons have passed and there it still lay, a green menacing block of pure 100 percent straight from the source pain. Picking it up he throws it towards the wicker basket hitting the rim, no dice, it bounces back to it’s resting spot as he exits the room.
Roaring in the living room as if you could imagine a dragon in a cave and a knight lifting his sword perspiring and shaking in fear, now change the dragon with Betty, the champion snorer, the always passing out on the couch fuck buddy. Jack is the knight, the sword is a coffee cup and the fear is the relentless hangover. He knows she won’t wake up for a few hours so he plugs in his headphones and put’s on some buddhist monk sounds that supposedly help the brain learn more efficiently, problem is Jack doesn’t care about learning.
George sits on the table legs akimbo mocking the buddhist pose making a low hum with his mouth.
“ Be honest here Jack, the only time you feel at peace is those few seconds when you wake up and when you expulse your seed all over your clammy sheets, if anybody would actually feel at peace meditating, we would be lining up to the hottest mediation joints but no all we go to are expensive ass bars and strip clubs and even now with this mandatory eye enhancement that shows people the best you, even more people flock to the joints to soak their fleshy CPUs, pathetic”
Jack grins slightly.
“ Love the positivity there George, perhaps you should write a book about your nihilist views on the world, oh right you don’t have hands, you fucking dust cloud”
Georges mouth opens wide, and lunges towards him, about to swallow Jack he feels a tooth prick him, his eyes are now flames of red.
“ Maybe i’ll take over your fucking body and do it!”
Jack stumbles off his seat.
“ Sorry there George I didn’t mean it”
The words come out shattered, his body feels as if it’s submerged by ice.
“ Mean what and who the fuck is George, Jack”
Betty shouts from the living room couch. George is gone.
Jack a bit shook answers back without hesitation, he’s done this before.
“ Nobody just practising words for this little play i’m doing, nothing to worry about”
“ hmph well now that you woke me up bring the box of wine and order me a pizza”
Betty is beautiful, everything about her is perfect, skin, almond eyes, hair of a goddess but underneath the glasses that warp reality called Best of Everybody or BOEs, he knows she’s a fucking behemoth of lard, his worst fear is that one day she will die on his couch and he will see the “thing” he’s been fucking as the glasses only distort reality around live specimens.