February 15, 2010
I went to Godfather’s for some lunch buffet today. Man, it is tasty and barely worth it. I had my fair share of dessert pizza, which is just about the best invention ever. It takes two great things, puts them together and makes something even better. It’s like Conan and Leno having their own shows every night on NBC…nevermind.
As far as I can tell, there is only one solution to that problem. They need to blow the whole thing up, and search elsewhere, somewhere in middle America, skip looking on TV, start looking for second rate, monthly talk shows , when you find them, don’t choose the one that is the best, instead choose the most mediocre, if they need help I know a guy. Take that show and stick it in after the local news, surely it couldn’t be any worse than the problem they have now. My friend, Chad, at Fair City News wrote a similar satirical article here.
For the last prompt I asked: Where did you get your pants?
They were all so good that I’m going to use everyone’s answer:
“i’m wearing loaner pants. they are blue and i don’t have to wash them”
“I’m wearing hand-me downs. I don’t know where they were originally purchased, but they didn’t fit someone right, so they gave them to me. They don’t fit me exactly right, either, but they’re stretchy, which is always good after the holidays.”
“Express. That’s where most of my dress pants come from. I’m a slave to the “young professional” look.”
I will write a short story using all of these answers at some point in the story. I haven’t done this for awhile, let’s see how it goes.
A Good Day?
Brady hated this situation. He stood with his trumpet, waiting to be introduced for the pep assembly. Brady was the second chair trumpet, so he was also stood right behind Stacey in line. The cheerleaders finished their rousing rendition of “Let’s Go Comets!” As they giggled and pranced by, Brady started up his part for the “Hey Song.” When he reached midcourt things seemed to be going pretty well for the eighth grader. He wasn’t sweating too much as he tends to do in these situations, making a shiny gleen on his forehead beneath the red curly hair.
Then, as if the halfcourt line, reached up and grabbed his foot, as Teddy Fendergrass used to do, Brady was on the floor, his trumpet punching his cheek and his face headbutting his own reflection on the waxed floor. All that wasn’t even so bad, it was recoverable, but as his left foot fell forward, his right slipped back. His blue pant legs followed correspondingly, only the cotton fabric couldn’t stretch as much as his skin and muscles and tendons. He didn’t know he ripped his pants when it happened, he knew 3.5 seconds later when the over enthused students gasped, pointed, laughed, and began yelling, “Banana split pants!” instead of “Hey!” during the appropriate parts of the song. It was started by Teddy Fendergrass soon spreading to everyone, and only partially making any sense.
Brady finished the song through a mixture of clenched butt cheeks and limited movements. After the assembly Brady was at his locker putting things away when Teddy approached.
“Hey Brady, nice job in the assembly. I think I saw your crack!” said Teddy.
“Shut up man,” whispered Brady.
“What’d you say?!” said Teddy
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything,” replied Brady.
Good. I’m going to try to come up with a good nickname for you, that will stick forever,” replied Teddy.
“Lay off man, they’re loaner pants, they’re blue and I don’t have to wash them,” said Brady.
“What does that mean, loaner pants?” asked Teddy?
“It means I forgot my pants today, so the office gave me some loaner pants, that’s why they ripped, they don’t quite fit.”
“So you showed up to school without wearing pants?”
“I was in a hurry, and besides, I was wearing a long coat.”
“What are you going to do now, Crack the Ripper?”
“I’ll have to go to the office and have my mom bring me some new pants.”
“Ha! Your mom? You still live with your mom?”
“Yes. I’m eighth grade.”
“So am I, and I have my own apartment.”
“That’s ‘cuz this is your fourth year in the eighth grade.”
“What’d you say Torn Identity?”
Brady hugged the wall and made his way to the office, where the gatekeeper sat. She was in her 50’s and didn’t like anything. Anything.
“I need to call my mom and have her bring me my pants,” murmured Brady, shifting his weight and staring at a spot on the counter.
“Didn’t I give you pants this morning?” replied Karen “Don’t call me Karen” Oldstaff.
“Yes, but they ripped, and I need some my size. My mom won’t mind…”
“Son, let me tell you something about pants. I’m wearing hand-me downs. I don’t know where they were originally purchased, but they didn’t fit someone right, so they gave them to me,” explained Ms. Oldstaff. “They don’t fit me exactly right, either, but they’re stretchy, which is always good after the holidays. So the next time you feel like complaining, just remember me in my pants.”
“I don’t want to,” whispered Brady under his breath and under his braces, but above his chin pimples. Brady took a deep breath, turned around and bent over so she could see the rip.
“Oooh, stop that. I get it. Stop it, Rip Butt Winkle”
Brady called his mom who agreed to come, so he took a seat on the bench up against the wall. He hadn’t noticed Addison sitting there already. She was also an eighth grader, she was about a foot taller than Brady. Addison had red hair, but not the bright kind, the subtle kind that Brady wished he had. Brady had always had a bit of a crush on her, but to be truthful, he had a bit of a crush on most of the girls in his grade. Brady slumped down and stared at the floor as he usually does.
“Why are you sitting here?” asked Addison.
“I had to get something for a project,” said Brady, lying.
“Was the project about repairing ripped pants?”
“Yes, it was funny!”
“It seems like everyone thought that except me.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. Not everyone noticed.”
“Yeah, I don’t know, I hope so.”
“Although I did see a video on Facebook already.”
Brady slumped up a little bit. He was still slumping, but more of an upright slump. No one else would have noticed, but there was a difference. He didn’t usually get the chance to talk to the pretty girls this long. It was usually either an, “excuse me,” or “pardon me” or a “I know this from a John Adams documentary on public television” in regards to a class project in American Studies, where Brady was an expert. He suspiciously tried to figure out why she was talking to him.
“Why are you talking to me?” he subtley asked.
“I don’t know, ‘cuz you’re here. You’re kind of like a celebrity today,” replied Addison.
“Yeah, but why are you here?” asked Brady
“Well…” said Addison. It was her turn to be nervous.
“What is it?” said Brady with surprising confidence, given the circumstances.
“Promise to not tell anyone?”
“Sure,” said Brady. Brady was usually on the outside of secrets, so this felt exciting.
“Well, you know when you ripped your pants and everyone was laughing?” said Addison.
“Well, whenever I laugh a lot I pee my pants a little.”
“So, you peed your pants a little?”
“Well, kind of a lot.”
“Did anybody see?”
“No! I’m wearing my best pants today too. They’re from Express. That’s where most of my dress pants come from. I’m a slave to the ‘young professional’ look.”
“So you’re waiting for your mom to bring you new pants?”
“Yeah, my stepmom is coming,” said Addison keeping her trapper keeper on her lap.
“Yeah, but you’re popular, you don’t do things like that.”
“I know. Don’t tell anyone. You have to promise. This is our thing, okay? I would say I won’t tell anyone about your problem, but everyone already knows. This is just for us, right?”
“I promise, not to tell anyone you peed your pants,” said Brady a little too loudly. With that, Brady decided that today wasn’t a bad day anymore. In fact, it was a good day.