tampered | I suppose these things happen.

Current Location: The bar

I suppose these things happen.

When; January 26th, night
Rating; PG-13 for language
Characters; ikea_lifestyle. And ikea_lifestyle.
Summary; This is Tyler. This is Jack. Tyler, Jack. Jack, Tyler. Calvin, Hobbes.
(
Jack stepped up to a porch bench, annoyed that he had nowhere to stay, nowhere to go. His life was ruined, his job was gone, his money was gone, his furniture was gone, his condo had vanished, and now he was stuck here. Here in this shithole of a world that seemed like it was designed by comic book con fans and modern artists, this fucked up little reality. He had nothing.

A payphone shone off in the distance. He had only one person he felt he could trust here, Tyler. He shot a quarter in, and soon he found himself sitting at a table in the back in the bar, with two empty pitchers of beer between him and Tyler.
)

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"Well man, you know it could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and throw it out the window of a moving car." Tyler said, sipping his beer.

"There's always that..." Jack said, dejectedly.

Tyler took a sip and nodded.

"I dunno, it's just that when you buy furniture, you say, 'that's it. That's the last sofa I'll ever need. Whatever else happens, I have the sofa problem handles.' I had it all- I had a stereo that was very decent. A wardrobe that was getting very respectable. I was close to being complete." He said, leaning forward.

"Shit, man. Now it's all gone." Tyler said, then poured some more beer into his mug.

"You know what a duvet is? It's a blanket. It's just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a Duvet is? Is this essential to our survival in the hunter gather sense of the word? No. What are we then?"

"I don't know... consumers?"

"Right!" Tyler said, shifting, "We are byproducts of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me... What concerns me is the pansy shinigami. The Xuchilbara cult running around trying to act like they're special because they can stab people. People in robes and wizard hats. Some neo nazi trying to declare war on the world. The clock. The Automatica. Starbucks."

"The blogs..." He said.

"Fuck the blogs! It's all polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man. So fuck off with your obsession with sofa units and starbucks and your wish to befriend all these losers with your pathetic blogging shit. I say, be yourself. Surpass these losers, leave them to their shit. Do your thing and let the chips fall where they may. Fuck them all, and find your own path. You don't need them, it's them who need to wake up, not you. Who knows, that's me, and I could be wrong. I mean, you did lose a lot of versatile solutions to modern living when you came here."

"Fuck, you're right..." He said, as Tyler raised a pack of cigs towards him.
"No, I don't smoke... And well... I figure I'll be able to get a job here to be able to get all that stuff back."

"Fuck. The things you own, end up owning you. Do what you like man." Tyler said, finished his beer, and headed out.

"Fuuuck... Thanks for the beer... I should call a hotel." Jack said, looking at his watch after he followed Tyler out.

"Whaat? A hotel? Just ask man." Tyler responded, smirking.

"What are you talking about?"

"Three pitchers of beer and you still can't ask. You called me because you needed a place to stay."

"Hey, No no..."

"Yes you did. Just ask. Cut the foreplay and just ask."

"Would that be a problem?"

"Is it a problem for you to ask?"

"Can I stay at your place?"

"Yeah." Tyler said, walking off, then he paused.

In the distance, the clock ticked loudly.

"But I want you to do me a favor. I want you to hit me, as hard as you can."

"What?" Jack said, blinking.

"I want you to hit me, as hard as you can."

"What do you want me to do, you want me to just hit you?" He said, confusedly.

"Come on, do me this one favor."

"Why?" He protested.

"I don't know why, I've never been in a fight, have you?"

"No, that's a good thing..."

"No it is not. How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't want to die without any scars, so hit me, before I lose my nerve." Tyler said, setting two bottles of beers he had stolen from the bar on the ground near him.

"God, this is crazy..."

"So go crazy. Let her rip."

"I don't know about this..."

"I don't either. Who gives a shit. No one's watching. What do you care?"

"This is crazy. You want me to hit you? Where?"

"Suprise me."

"This is so fuckin' stupid..." He said, then paused before lunging forward and Hitting Tyler.

In the ear.

"Mother fucker! You hit me in the ear!" Tyler said, holding his ear.

"Well geez, I fucked it up..."

"No that was perfect!" Tyler said, suddenly lunging at Jack and punching him in the gut. He fell back towards a parked car, holding his gut.

"Wow... That really hurts..." He said, holding his gut. He then looked up at Tyler, and made a face that was stuck between a grimace, a grin, and a face of one of the speakers of tongues in a fundamentalist church.

"Hit me again."

"No, you hit me..."

Suddenly, the two were fighting and scuffling around the parking lot.

After the fight, the two sat and finished the beers Tyler had set on the ground, their bodies covered in bruises.

"We should do this again sometime."

Tyler simply grinned, and chuckled.

(end log)

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