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(A continuation of Kevin’s heartfelt tale)

—
I have taken very very sharp objects to my chest, opened my heart and poured my emotions into four cans worth of alphabet soup. I then spelled this out with the letters.

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Sadness sort of sideswipes me sometimes.

For no discernible reason, to be honest.

There I am on my computer, minding my own business when I see something particularly cute and heart-warming.
“Aw,” quoth I.
Five minutes later, WHAM.

Out of the blue, sadness came reeling at me at 45 miles per hour, taking out my passenger side and most of my glove compartment.
And then was the urge to cry.

I spent the next ten minutes doing other things I enjoy. In this case, it was floating around video game forums and walking while tossing a hackey sack around as if it wasn’t invented for the express purpose of humiliating people without coordination.

For some reason, I sat back at the computer and began typing this in the past tense and then WHAM.
Again. As if I hadn’t felt the first wave of acute surprise-loneliness, it hits me a second time. My eyes water.

This is stupid.

No, I tell myself after having some time to think about it, it’s regular emotion. Everyone gets highs and lows, and I’m just experiencing a low point.

Low points are stupid.

I met a girl who looked a good bit like Aubrey Plaza today.

That is neither the point nor the deal maker, tumblr.
It truly isn’t.

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This is probably my favorite entry so far. I didn’t write this out because of a challenge, but because writing actually feels pretty awesome. It concerns something I’m too clumsy and dumb to talk about, but balanced out with humor. Or at least an attempt at humor. Go easy on me.
—-

I feel like a bucket of warm spit right about now.
The best course of action in such a case is to write.
Write about something you take little to no interest in that happened four years ago.
Here goes.
…

The process had to be mind-numbingly simple. Humans more or less do it naturally, and I had seen it executed successfully in movies all the time. If anything, film is a pretty good example of the regular person’s aptitudes and abilities, says I:
Both parties involved would lean forward, close their eyes, and let lips do as hands do—preferably while waves crash against the cliff or fireworks flare in the background.
So during my junior year of high school, I asked this poor, patient girl to close her eyes while I leaned forward and went over the process in my mind.
- - -
Lean forward.
Close eyes.
Plant embrace ‘pon her lips.
She swoons instantly.
Everyone in school begins chanting my name, applauding my monumental success.
Morehouse and Harvard fight over which school is allowed to present me an honorary doctorate.
I have the best day ever.
- - -
This process running through my head, I began breathing harder and feeling lightheaded while making my way to her face. I was moving slowly in the name of effect for some strange reason; and after inching forward for what seemed like just long enough, I remember opening one eye briefly to make sure I wasn’t
(1) trying to kiss someone who was bending backwards in pure terror, or
(2) about to lip-lock a plunger conveniently placed in front of the girl’s face by a cartoon character from the 1950s.

I was about five inches away. Hm. I never was a good estimator of distance, I said to myself; And since she’s had her eyes closed long enough, I might as well hurry this up. I mean this is high school. We have important places to be, as we are important teenagers dynamically making our way through this world.
Or something.

Sure I was nearing my goal, I began breathing harder than any upstanding citizen should. And then trying not to make it seem like I was breathing hard by holding my breath. And then deciding that was stupid, and exhaling just enough to avoid implosion due to air pressure.
Finally, my mouth came into contact with something.
Thank God.

Except not really. It could probably count as a kiss, if the area of the mouth you wipe food from can still count as the lips. That would be like counting Tallahassee as Georgia.
- - -
And with that, I had dishonored my father and his father before him.
I had failed at leaning forward and touching mouths.
Even birds can perform a task as simple as that.
Let me say that again.
The animals that die by flying into glass could have pulled this mission off more swimmingly. Granted, she would have had to have food in her mouth, but that wasn’t the point.
Well, time to resign.
Time to apologize and dissolve into the background. If I put all of my time and resources into growing a beard and learning Spanish, maybe I can steal away to the west, open up a bar, and make an honest living South of the Border for a decade. I’d emerge during a high school reunion having only answered to the names “Monterrey Joe” and “Pinche Negrito” for the better part of my adult life. It would be a fitting alternative.
- - -
Of course, I was getting ahead of myself. I had to make an exit first.
And before making an exit, I had to stop staring at her nervously as if I had just broken every piece of glassware in her house.

Her expression at first was shocked. I was awful at reading expressions at the time, so I fully expected a swift knee to my Southern region and a restraining order.

No such luck. In a split second, her expression faded from surprise and into the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. She looked at me as if I were a puppy going through a sneezing fit.

She placed her hands on my cheeks and stood on her tiptoes as we both experienced my first kiss.

I can honestly say I underestimated how soft and warm another person’s lips would be. I was blushing. I could feel myself blushing, so I was visibly red. That effectively makes me look less masculine than a guy who posts narratives of romantic encounters on tumblr.

Nonetheless, she told me I was cute, and then went to her class.

I think I floated to mine.

My memory’s hazy.

Now I have to stop being a sentimental twit.

I’m getting too old for that.

Once again, I was tasked with writing about whoever’s name popped up in my ask box. In this case, the name was “Sierra, Jack, Jenna, Kevin, Caleb, Rasputin”. Here goes.

5:30 a.m.

After the vote of a simple majority, SierraJackJennaKevinCalebRasputin agreed to roll out of the bed and prepare for the morning commute. It had been about six years since they had agreed to sew their bodies together in a sad mockery of science. Though their unspeakable form was a waddling grotesque asymmetrical amalgam of skin, hanging limbs, and hatred, they managed a regular, single-bodied life; complete with a job, a home, and a shower, which they’d have to rush through if they wanted to beat traffic.

As per his daily routine, Caleb busied himself intimidating the black off of Kevin. A frightened Kevin very clearly made sounds humans consciously decide not to make after learning how to speak, as Calebs lips curled into a Cheshire grin. Caleb painfully craned his neck closer to Kevin’s face, which was on the opposite side of that continent they called a body.

“Kevin.”

”:

“I’M DOING THIS TO Y—”

”уро́д,” Rasputin cried from the bottom of his soul. His entire upper body was being used as a leg today, though he had specifically told them that his 142-year-old body couldn’t take the same amount of stress it could when he was at the ripe age of 47; and that he wanted the other five killed and salvaged for their organs. But no one listened to poor Rasputin. It was already six o’clock. They had to get dressed and get the hell out before Atlanta traffic turned unforgiving.

“Seatbelts, everyone” Sierra chimed from the driver’s seat of the Mini-Cooper, as Jack rolled down the window preparing to happily peak his head through after the car hit 45 miles per hour. Jenna bent backwards to find the seatbelt so she could force it toward the buckle. Of course Jenna is fat as f◙◙◙, so she passed out due to dehydration or diabetic shock or death or something.

Before long, Rasputin’s forehead was safely and comfortably situated on the acceleration pedal and the sextet was well on their way to I-85. Jack had his mouth open outside the window as the gravitational force of the speeding Mini-Cooper lapped his lupine tounge against the outside of his left cheek. He had found happiness.

Time to abuse the hell out of that HOV lane, they all thought at once. Because they did that.

During a 24-hour tumblr challenge, a user puts a name in my ask box, and I have to write about whoever that is. In this case, my friend Stephanie asked me to write about Pikachu.
This is what followed.

   “Get offa my shoullr, ye fat piece o’ shimf;fldks…zzzzzzzzzzz…” Ash was drunk again. Pikachu stretched enough to convince his Snorlax of a body that it had the wherewithal to take a single step forward and slide down the now unconscious Ash’s arm onto the floor. About ten feet away was Pikachu’s food bowl. Stretching his somehow cramped limbs while walking over to the miniature trough, Pikachu slowly came to the realization that he had no motivation to eat. He stared at the Alpo, almost exhausted by the idea of eating it for his late brunch because that piece of s◙◙◙ roommate Gary couldn’t be bothered to feed him table scraps or tuna or at least some rare candy for at least one day out of the f◙◙◙◙◙◙ month when he was living with them. Pikachu wouldn’t say that, because he couldn’t talk. That was Meowth’s schtick.

He looked back over at his trainer and reminisced for just long enough. He thought about the glory days before Ash’s horrific arm injury that left him benched for a year. Sure, he thought about the battles, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. He remembered fighting a mutated Eldritch Abomination that somehow turned Ash into a rock. He remembered the lavish parties aboard the S.S. Anne. He remembered that one time he became a ghost somehow. Or maybe he just remembered Pikachu things, like tail whip and thunder wave while the s◙◙◙◙◙ narrator recounted his own childhood.

He looked back at the drunken twentysomething, who seemed to have woken up for a second just to vomit on his sweaty t-shirt. Pikachu thought about drawing a phallus or a swastika on Ash’s head. The glory days were behind him now. He had to make the best of today. Pikachu held a sharpie in his mouth and diligently went to work.