“After two days, they smell like dead fish.” That was one of my dad’s lines. House guests sometimes are like permanent markers. Shall I proceed further with this matter? I think that sums it up.
They call him Nathan Nypen, brother of Natalie Nypen. Misspelling their names intentionally, I only wish to save them from scrutiny when our picture hits the nightly news. If he stays more than three days at our humble home, I may be forced to permanently injure him, just as he did to me two long days ago.
Engaged in the most fiercest of games known to somebody as “Scrabble”, Nathan and I had a dispute over his lackluster play and his refusal to allow me to utilize a hand written apostrophe. Nathan spelled the word “somebody” playing off of my wife’s “Y”. So, since I keep a garden of tiles in my pocket referred to as “S” and “Blank”, I believed the apostrophe S would fit in properly to spell “Somebody’s”. Sir Nathan Nypen then referred to me as Somebody’s Fool. Foolishly, I could only assume he was referring to my wife, or even perhaps me. Therefore, as any common cave dweller must do, I started a fight in your own living room. I still forget sometimes I’m close to forty years of life. My neck still hurts on day three because I merely wished to provide a friendly ass wiping (yes Dave W., I indeed spelled ass wiping correctly) but I think Nathan wanted to kill me. Being friends since the fifth grade, I didn’t think he would fight dirty, especially in front of my wife and in OUR living and dying room!
It was an amicable finale and my wife has since used the Scrabble tiles as Briquettes. This irritates me because I prefer a friendly game of Scrabble to a fight. Losing in Scrabble only hurts for three minutes. My neck has hurt for three days, and we have to put up with this ass wipe for a month. This isn’t fair. Wait until I break out my stash of a board game known as “Monopoly”. He won’t know what hit him.
Most of this is fictional, and Nathan (don’t call me “Nate”) has been a dear friend of ours for many years. (That’s non fiction.) We have welcomed him to our home and I must say, having very few friends, he has made me feel young again this morning. He has reminded me of the days when he was the fabulous high school quarterback and I was his scapegoat running back. Nathan dished the ball to me thirty times on Friday nights just because he knew my neck and entire body was going to be punished by eleven men all night under the lights. I think he got a kick out of it. It was payback for me stealing his mother, Patty’s, absolutely delicious chocolate chip cookies at lunch time. They were so good, this clown was trying to sell them. That’s when I chose to steal them. It’s the peasant way of glaring at life with principle.
So, if you don’t hear from me tomorrow, it’s only because Nathan will still be here for another day, and I will be staying, rent free, in the local penitentiary after beating the holy crap out of him…………….in Monopoly.
Just wait until he gets a load of Cribbage.