Last Saturday night I heard my neighbors having what sounded like a good time on their porch, so I stuck my head around the corner and said hi as I was taking out the trash. "Come on over and meet Matt" they said.
I didn't have any idea that they were totally scamming me. They had been introduced to Matt by another neighbor earlier that day. He is someone's nephew or mom or something and he was looking for something to do. Matt is the kind of douchebag you might read about in Norse mythology, and before I could defend myself, he was my douchebag. He had apparently spent most of the evening inviting himself into their house, drinking their beer, nosing around their stuff, and generally suckifying a perfectly good Saturday.
The alarms started going off as soon as I said hello. He acted like everyone was supposed to like him, and the amount he would be liked was directly proportional to how loudly he spoke. He also instantly went into discussing college athletics -- people who talk too much about sports are not usually the type that spend their spare time solving for x, if you get my meaning. My opinion of these people drops to dangerous levels when they act like they have a vendetta with me because we went to rival schools TEN YEARS AGO.
"Where'd you go to college, Rusty?" (I never bothered to correct him about the name)
"Uh...Auburn."
"You should have tried a real school. I'm sorry." (Pointed to his dirty UGA hat, staring at me as if that was the single biggest and most hilarious insult ever leveled at another human being.)
"Sorry for leaving your fly unzipped, or not washing your hat?"
"Whuhuh?"
"I'M JUST KIDDING, MATT! *slap on the shoulder* GO WILDCATS! LEMME GET YOU A BEER!! WHADDAYA HAVING?! Maaaaatt..."
Please note that I made the comment about his zipper and his hat for the benefit of my neighbors, who I now understood only asked me to come over in hopes that they could unload Matt. I went back to my house under the pretense of getting him a beer, fully intending to lock the doors and go to bed so I could forget Matt forever.
"Nice place, I bet you get laid all the time here, dude."
Matt followed me into my house, which is creepy enough- but wait, there's more. TiVo, in its ever expanding effort to ruin my life, had switched channels to record NASCAR, and guess who loves the hell out of NASCAR? I'm not going to claim to know much about the nuances of car racing, but if you can spend four hours watching cars drive in circles and consider it the best way to spend a Saturday...I mean, I can kill some time fishing, but I am actually fishing- not watching someone else fish.
"Oh, you like NASCAR, Rusty? I knew I like you."
"No you don't, I think it's just a commerc-"
"Oh, this is the Barnyard 300, man, great race. Bifford Blakely's my favorite driver."
"Yeah...hey, let's go back to..." I looked out my window to see my neighbors had already gone inside and turned off all of the lights. My anger at having been duped was overshadowed by my admiration for their ability to disappear so quickly.
"You have beer and air conditioning, those bugs were bothering me anyway. I'm good here. Hey, did you say you follow NASCAR?"
"I don't even think I can spell it. I've heard of number three if that means anything to you"
"WHOA. Don't say nothing bad 'bout Dale."
"I didn't. I said '3'."
"Yeah, that's kind of sacred, man, just watch yourself."
"Three rhymes with gay," I said in my mind. I always think of stuff I would say if I wasn't such a pussy.
It was as if someone had taken every human attribute that I think should be eradicated through selective chemical castration, poured them into an asshole, and named it Matt. I looked around for hidden cameras, and then I realized that God brings people like this into my life so that I won't stop writing.
Oddly, it was pussy that got me out of this mess (not many guys can say that). Not long after he commandeered my recliner and told me in detail about his recliner that was much nicer and had a beer cooler in it, he began sneezing.
"Rusty, do you have a cat or something?"
"Oh hell yes. Check this out."
I opened a door and pointed to Queasy, a white feline ball of allergens, snot, and exhaustion.
This is the only picture I could find, taken shortly after the Skirt and I came home intoxicated and used her as a closet. I glued that penny to her head over six months ago in an effort to double her fair market value.
Matt was a vapor trail, heading out the door mumbling something about an inhaler and asthma.
I saw my neighbor the next day, and she was all "I'm so sorry. We feel bad, but when he left we had to make our move."
"Yeah, he sucked. I found his Achilles heel, though. Cats. He got all phlegmy when he went in my house and he bolted when he saw Queasy."
"Can we borrow her if he comes back?"
"Sure. $10 an hour. I should charge you twenty after you saddled me with Unwelcome Matt, but I'm a hell of a guy."
 Dusty
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14 Comments:
By the way, have you heard the new Tool album? Its amazing.
A. Nonymous
Well if he wasn't allergic to Queasy you could've pretended to be gay and hoped that it didn't backfire, although knowing your luck in those situations.......
Would've been a great story though!
Gluing a penny on his head to double his value, I mean.
First rule of thumb for television repair.
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