So, about George.
He got married this past weekend, which makes me lose my spot on the miracle magnet list. It was when we lived together, however, that my life literally became a Seinfeld episode. He is George, but a little funnier, as obnoxious, with as bizarre belief system only he operates by, the most eccentric, lawless, absurd man I know. I have compiled a small list to give you an idea of what I mean.
He has had more jobs than any human being possible. I stopped counting after thirty.
As a pizza deliveryman, if you did not tip him, he stole plants and furniture off your porch to bring home.
For years, he confessed he would come into our house, in the middle of the night, eat our food, and leave.
Every morning we argued, blaming each other, LP furious if you touched her cereal or Cheetos.
He laughed his ass off, while our mouths remained open, shocked. He once put his hand in our fish tank and ate one of our goldfish for a six-pack of beer. He jumped off a bridge, naked, and was fined by the judge fifty bucks for endangering his life. He wasn’t relieved to not be hauled off to jail. Oh no, George was pissed his life was only valued at fifty bucks. Notorious for blacking out, he once pissed on my work clothes, my neatly pressed uniform, set our place on fire because he used his lamp as a coat rack. The most infuriating part of that is he is a hoarder, so he refused to throw away the lamp, decorating it, because he argued it still had a purpose, ugly burnt wires with a plug he used to hang objects from, proud of himself, which the angrier I got, the harder he laughed. If that weren’t bad enough, check out his feet, a replica actually, because they are his brother’s who I just met, and keep in mind George had it much worse, nor is the bottom represented. Even worse, he is brilliant. George is a lawyer, actually graduated from college and law school. I swear his proudest moments involve his black penis putter he plays golf with, his skateboard he just recently had Larry David sign.
I’ll give him that is cool. I love Larry David. He gave me the putter, saying I needed a date. Asshole.
It is sick how I love George. I miss dancing to reggae midday for hours, just because, or on a road trip, his ideas and humor endearing and charming, our conversations have yet to be matched. I must be Elaine or need serious therapy. Probably both. And here it is, the story I cannot die having left untold …
George is responsible for an entire group of us being wanted, suspects in a crime, and back then, we were all wild and crazy, but none of us wanted to be suspects, our actions being the opening of the five o’clock news.
I am certain the details are blurry, mainly because my entire college life I spent starving and drunk, which if that were a crime, just take me in handcuffs. Take a burger and cheese fries from this girl drunk and you might need a taser. I don’t know how we ended up at McDonalds, especially since it was not open. Pizza was our normal route so how we ended up at the golden arches really is a mystery. Ronald McDonald, the huge life size fiberglass clown was pointed out by someone who shall remain nameless, because I don’t remember. That dude is scary looking, the big red lips and striped panty hose. Seriously? I personally think it is weird kids even like him.
It was game on. We were sliding on him, dry humping him for pictures, doing things to Ronald we should have been in fact paid for, sitting in pairs on his lap, posing and laughing. The Duke, a hilarious soul, did things to Ronald I can’t help but belly gut laugh at, even now. Our tight group of male friends was amused but were busy trying to figure out how he fit into the cement, attached to a bench. I remember seeing kicking, getting objects to mess with the bolts, which seems pointless and stupid then and now, an impossible act.
