TERMINAL LAUGHTER

By LEE TIPTONHey brother-man, lay some skin on the Chadmaster!

Yo, you got plans for this afternoon? Because I was thinking that we could play that Big Lebowski drinking game where we get totally fucked on White Russians and — Dude, who is that band on your t-shirt? “Gang of Four”? Huh. No. It’s…It’s nothing…Its just that, well, I remember a time when the only ‘gang of four’ for you was the original line-up of Hoobastank. Remember when we saw them in the Belleville civic centre with Big J from high school? Man, were we ripped that night! See, that’s the dude-bro of a roommate that I remember.

I mean I can sort of get behind The Arcade Fire’s groove, but lately you only listen to all those bands made for those knobs in Mile End. Gang of Four? More like Gang of Bore. Magneta Lane? More like Magneta Lame. The Soft Boys? More like…fuck, dude. I don’t even have to rhyme anything with that. You listen to a band called The Soft Boys. Enough said. Listen to whatever you want, but you and I both know that beneath that lame-ass, pre-shrunk, extra-small Gang of Four shirt is a pretty sweet Incubus tattoo.

No, don’t walk away from me! No, I’m serious dude; sit down. Euro-Deli can wait. We need to have a serious talk about what you’re turning into. I mean, when you replace your poster of two hot chicks dykin’ it out on top of a Porsche with an annotated map of Williamsburg’s concert venues, it makes me wonder just who it is that I signed a lease with. And then there was that time that I came home early from the gym and caught you jerking it to Amelie. Amelie, dude? At least when I accidentally walked in on your last whack-off session, the girl on the T.V. wasn’t some mime-looking foreign chick with see-through skin. I mean Jesus, when did you even buy that DVD?

You know what man, we go back a long ways, and I’m a pretty easy-going guy. I can deal with all that hipster stuff if it didn’t affect us. But last Tuesday, slightly after nine o clock, you stepped over the line. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? Remember last Tuesday, when I quoted Stewie from The Family Guy and then leaned in for a high five? Well? Push your fucking bangs out of your eyes and answer at me, bro! Do you or do you not remember when I quoted Stewie from The Family Guy and then leaned in for a high five? What happened, huh?

Yeah. That’s right. Nothing. You just left me hanging there like a goon, and then left to watch a DivX of Waking Life. If you’re too good for Stewie Griffon screaming “Baby needs to suck ash, Baby needs to suck ash,” then I guess you’re too good for the Chadmaster. And you know something? I don’t even care anymore. Fuck it. I’m going to Peel Pub to mack on some girls. Girls who aren‘t Amelie, bro; remember those?

Oh, and one more thing: If I hear you use the word ‘meta’ one more time, I’m gonna punch you in the throat.

Peace out.