The Friend Zone Episode 4: The Canadian Moose
Posted on May 28, 2013
The Friend Zone
(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) You’re travelling through a vaginal dimension, a dimension not only of desire and rejection but of a sad need to be with a woman who will NEVER want you, a journey into a pathetic land whose boundaries are that of man’s inability to have a grip on reality, your next stop: The Friend Zone (buhd-oo-bud-up!)
By: Michael Allen Hempen
Brought to you by: Cous’n Hemp’n Entertainment
Cous’n Hemp’n Entertainment: Bringing out AMERICA’S inner asshole since 2009!
Featuring: The Ghost of Rod Serling
Episode 4: The Canadian Moose
Rod Serling: This is Mr. Michael Hempen, a failed Catholic who once a year takes a lead role in a uniquely popular institution, that of ‘drunken party host’ in a William Burroghs-esque version of a Christmas party. But in just a moment, Michael Hempen, ersot party host, will enter a strange kind of north pole; which is one part the wonderous spirit of Christmas, and one part the horror that can only be found in…The Friend Zone.
Part 1: Christmea Culpa
On December 7th last year I held my annual Christmas party. I’m not a very religious man, and I’ve never claimed to be. If fact, I’ve always believed that there’s nothing an Athiest can’t accomplish as long as he believes in absolutely nothing. So why all the pomp and circumstance of a yearly Christmas party? Well, I love the feel of Christmas. You have to admit, although the holiday may be tethered to an institution that prides itself on playing ‘Where’s Father Waldo’ whenever a molesty accusation pops up, the tradition of Christmas holds much more meaning for people who can see past the literal translation of it’s fairy tale message. At it’s heart, Christmas is about people coming together in a spirit of friendship, snow on the window sill, multicolored lights hung on balconies, good holiday movies, secret Santa’s at work, and shopping for something that will FINALLY convince your girlfriend that you’re a good enough guy for her to give up that butt hole. Nothing quite like some holiday anal to celebrate the birth of a deity, am I right guys? High five. To put it succinctly, Christmas isn’t soley about religious politics; it’s about that feeling of togetherness.
Now, I don’t know about you but one of my favorite Christmas activities is buying gifts for the woman I love. MAN, do I love the look on a womans face when she opens up that vacuum cleaner or hand mixer I bought to help her clean my house or cook my dinner better! (I watched a lot of “I Love Lucy” and “Dick Van Dyke” reruns as a kid) Unfortunatly, this Christmas I found myself without a significant other to share my sexist initiatives with. Now, as much as I’d like to think that my Halloween Eve date with the yoga instructor went well earlier last year, I havn’t heard from her since that night. So, feeling a tad rejected, I went back to the drawing board in my search for a significant other, and I found one.
We met on Craigslist (duh) and talked on Skype for about a month before we decided that we would meet at my Christmas party, instead of on a normal date type situation. Although my party would have a wholly religious theme, I can tell you that nothing religious happened that night. I’ve LONG since hung up my Jesus sandals, and now I bask in the light of science. What can I say? Dinosaurs are easier to believe in than an old dude in the sky who says he LOVES me…yet threatens to make me burn for eternity if I don’t beg his forgiveness because I accidentally farted in the confessional booth (Sorry Father Touchakid, but sometimes my ass needs to confess too.)
But I didn’t always have this jaded view of religion. Before I went to military school, I was baptized by the youngest ordained minister in Illinois. If memory serves, the kid was 12 and I couldn’t have been more than 5 myself. It was in all the newspapers at the time. (Shit, I don’t remember much from that time, but is it illegal if a 5 year old gets molested by a twelve year old? I think the church finally found its fucking loophole. Diabolical bastards.)
When we’re kids we don’t have much of a choice but to believe the religious stuff that our parents force down our throats. Not only do we believe it, we accept it. It’s just the way things are. Over the years, our religious beliefs become so ingrained in our psyches that a lot of us don’t even question it. I think that’s WHY so many people, including myself grow up to be fucking whack jobs. As a child, you can SEE the hypocrisy, hell you can FEEL it. But you don’t yet know the word, and searching for the definition of a term you don’t know, can cause an internal uproar. As you grow up, you learn about religious inspired horrors, but the simple lesson of common sense is sidestepped by your parents in favor of cultish excuses. Priests are fucking kids, and your parents just say: They lost their way. Abortion Doctors are shot and your parents say: God will forgive the shooter. Someone commits suicide, and your parents say that he’ll burn in hell.
Fuck that. I’m older now, and able to deduce things on my own. However, I KNOW that common sense SHOULD prevail, but invariably it does not. That’s the way it IS, but that’s NOT the way it should be. ANYONE who molests a child deserves to be publicly executed. A woman’s body is her own to do with what she will, and if someone wants to commit suicide? Let ‘em, just so long as they don’t jump out of a window or off a roof…because they might end up landing on me OR my car. And I don’t know if you know this or not? But your FULL coverage insurance will NOT cover that (Seriously.)
But like most of you, when I was young, religion was shoved on me like a ham sammich down Mama Cass’ throat (Too soon?). In military school I had church every Sunday and every year for the Christmas services, I was made to memorize and sing a hymn in its entirety, and NOT just the first verse that everyone knows, but the whole fucking thing; to this day I can sing every verse of “Hark the Harald”, and that’s not even a good one. Every Wednesday I went to CCD classes where I had to memorize a part of the bible, and when I could recite the particular passage verbatim, I was given a candy treat. Talk about Pavlov’s dog.
I didn’t quite understand the complexities of other religions, and my own was often a source of confusion to me. Church was a part of my life 3 days a week, and when I wasn’t there I was busy memorizing the Bible so that I could score more candy in my next CCD class. The initial reason I began to question my faith was because the people who PUSHED it on me seemed to live far below the standards that were being imposed.
However, as a good Catholic, I endeavored to ‘have faith’ as I was told, so I spent every single night, for the five years that I was in that military school, PRAYING that God would deliver me from its clutches, help my mother get sober, and send me home to her loving arms. All I saw when I went down on my knees and closed my eyes at the foot of my bed was a big middle finger in the clouds…it was God’s silent ‘fuck you’.
Well, now that I’m older I say ‘fuck you’ RIGHT back at him. I don’t mean that literally of course, because I don’t believe there IS a God. Although the fables of the bible are still entrenched in my head, I now know the truths behind them that people of faith don’t bother to read, or simply dismiss as lies if they do.
I don’t say that to be an asshole. I think that whatever religion YOU decide to practice is fantastic because it helps you through your day and in some cases, your life in general. The problem comes when you take it too seriously. I just ask that you don’t push it on me. I don’t need to be set up on a blind date with a God I have nothing in common with. Whatever you decide to share with your God is between YOU and HIM…leave me the fuck out of it, and leave the rest of us ALONE.
Just because I don’t have faith in any one particular myth though, doesn’t mean that I’m evil. Some zealots out there have called me a Satanist because I don’t believe in God. Well here’s an obvious truth, if I don’t believe in God, then I don’t believe in Satan you moron. I have my own ethical code that I live by, and my own set of values. I believe in love, kindness, and finding inner peace through orgasm, no matter WHO you have it with. I also know that there is a depraved world full of disgusting and sick individuals who would just as soon pray on old ladies as help them carry their groceries. These people only seem to find God after they get caught, and the church is only too willing to envelop them within its fold. Fuck that.
Justice is the true God and if some guy gets drunk and beats the shit out of his wife and kids? Well the only religion he needs to find is at the end of a baseball bat as he’s being throttled in an arena full of spectators. I don’t need to believe in a story about an old man with a long white beard coming down off of a mountain top after some dude in a cloud handed him a five hundred pound marble headstone that said; Don’t kill people. I have a fucked up way of looking at things, and I HAVE to believe that if that story WERE true, after Moses read the commandments to the people, ONE of those sheep shit smelling guys must have screamed out “DUH! But what do we do if some dude DOES kill someone?”
Where do I get off? I’ll tell you where I get off; I could recite the bible to you backwards and forwards, both the New Testament AND the Old. Working in a bookstore for 15 years, I had the chance to read every book I could, pro AND con, about religion and every science book I could get my hands on. I’ve familiarized myself with a lot of OTHER religions as well; I’ve read the Quran, I’ve studied Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Cabbalism, and Judaism. They ALL fascinate me and they all have one thing in common…it all goes pretty good RIGHT up until people start to IMPOSE their beliefs on others. Hello, 9-11 is on the phone; he wants to talk to you.
Also, I’m a registered minister with the Universal Life Church, which is a non-denominational institution that believes that people WITHOUT certain religious beliefs should be afforded the same rights given to the devout. This means that I can LEGALLY perform any ceremony that a priest can perform. And NO, smartass that does NOT mean that I diddle kids, although apparently, priests CAN do that legally. I also went to a Christian college where I majored in Aviation and minored in religious history.
I could sit here and tell you all the scientific AND historical reasons why I don’t believe, but frankly, I’m not here to try to change your views. You don’t push your shit on me; I won’t push mine on you. Plus, I don’t need some lunatic flying a Cessna into my bedroom window. My point is that because I was brought up Catholic, Christmas still holds meaning for me, even if I don’t subscribe to the literal point of its message.
Part 2: Castle Greyskull
When I was very young, I remember being filled with joy on Christmas morning. I would wake up before the sun and watch cartoons while inspecting my beautifully wrapped presents under the tree. Because my mother always worked on Christmas Eve, or went out drinking until all hours, she wouldn’t wake up until noon on Christmas day. I was allowed to open ONE present on Christmas Eve before she left, but Christmas morning I had to wait for her to wake up. The sound of her snoring filled the apartment on those mornings and seemed to go on forever, but the anticipation was always worth the reward.
Christmas time seemed to lift my mother’s spirits and put her in a better mood than the rest of the year. I get a great deal of joy from seeing the smiling face of someone when they open a gift from me, and I like to believe that I get that feeling from my mother. Although, like most children, I’d be disappointed when I’d open the gift with socks, or underwear, or school supplies, I DID receive 2 of the best gifts that I’ve ever gotten when I was a kid; A Castle Greyskull play set from the He-Man, and an Atari 5200. Hell’s yeah!
As time went on and her alcoholism began to take a deeper hold of her life, Christmas in military school became an unwelcome change to my early childhood experiences. Being left alone on that campus on Christmas day during my first year there was one of the most frightening things I’ve ever had to deal with. I was in 3rd grade, and a lonely old woman who ran one of the cottages on campus was the only person left there with me. She was a nice enough lady, but the whole day I cried and asked where my mother was. What could she say? There were no gifts that Christmas or the 5 that followed.
However, it became easier the next year, and more so the year after that. By the time I was in sixth grade, I almost preferred being alone on Christmas. I would walk around the empty, snow covered 180 acre campus, admire the frosted over window panes of the old brick buildings, the moon shining off of the snow covered trees, and the isolated feeling that fresh snow affords as it sucks all of the sound from the air.
After military school, I spent a few gift less Christmases alone because my mother would work double shifts at the jail for extra booze money. I still didn’t mind, and because I was older, I had a deeper appreciation for the feeling of solitude that a holiday spent by yourself can produce. After all, it was what it was. But sometimes I would watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, or ‘A Christmas Carol’, and wish that my mother would have that kind of holiday catharsis. Thankfully, she eventually would.
In my twenties I began going to Christmas parties that my friends would throw. They were grand occasions of gift exchanging, drinking, and laughing into the early morning hours. Those events meant more to me than most others because I knew that Christmas Day itself would be spent alone. On Christmas night I would stare out of my bedroom window into the parking lot and the highway beyond and wonder where all of those people were driving to. Were they going to a family member’s house? Or were they headed home from one? What gifts would they receive? Were they looking forward to it? Or was it an obligation that needed to be fulfilled? Then I’d catch my reflection in the window. The Mike that looked back at me seemed sad and distant, trapped in that square piece of glass with dull reflected Christmas lights hanging on the transparent wall behind him…and then I met Jackie when I was 22.
Spending Christmas morning with Jackie and her family warmed my heart in places that I didn’t know existed. I think the reason that I didn’t mind spending all of those holidays alone was because I truly didn’t know what I was missing out on.
I loved Jackie, but I was young…and didn’t know what I had. We dated for 7 years and every holiday during that time was truly fantastic. Her family’s home was warm and inviting during Christmas time, offering the feeling of stepping into a Dickens novel. A fireplace blazed on Christmas Eve with stockings hung over it and her sister would make hot chocolate while her mother began preparations for the next day’s meal. The sound of laughter filled the house as Jackie, her brother Chris, his girlfriend Nicole, and I would speculate as to the gifts we might be getting, and sometimes her intimidating father would hand me a beer and talk to me about current events, sports, or cars.
After he stopped hating me, Jackie’s father and I would set up the Christmas tree every year and decorate it with tinsel, lights, ornaments, an angel on top…and one year? He handed me a box and told ME to put what was inside on the tree. It was a small picture of his daughter and me holding each other next to the tree from the year before. The picture was in a tiny frame and there was a small hook coming from the top. In that moment I felt something other than love for Jackie, something that was in many ways more important than love…I felt like I was a part of her family. But like most things in my life, that was a feeling that was destined to be taken from me through my own ineptitude.
After our relationship ended, I started spending Christmas at home again. During the next several years, as I started the process of getting to know my mother, I would have Christmas parties at her condo where her presence was always welcomed by my friends. She had long since stopped drinking by that time, and I could tell that she enjoyed having everyone over for the holiday. Those were epic parties that filled our condo with laughter and joy. And in my effort to recrate those feelings, I still have a Christmas Party every year.
Part 3: The Players
Now, I know I joke around a lot about ‘getting pussy’, but the truth is that I’m always trying to find a woman with a sense of humor AND a sense of fidelity. It may not sound like I’m asking for a lot, but it’s been harder to find than a good review of ‘Highlander II: The Quickening’. I want someone to wake up with on holiday mornings, I want someone to buy presents for, I want someone to kiss under the mistletoe…in effect, I want someone to make memories with. THESE are the things that Christmas has always inspired in me, and for those reasons it’s a time of hope. So, when I met a woman during last year’s Christmas season who contacted me after reading one of my Craigslist posts, that hope sprung up inside me once again. She said that she shared in my search for love and asked if we could talk further. We exchanged pictures and I have to say, I was impressed with what I saw. Over the next couple of weeks we began talking on the phone, and I found out that she had recently moved to Chicago from Canada. As our fondness for one another grew, she asked me if I would like to ‘Skype’ with her and we could have our conversations over the internet while being able to see each other on a webcam. The next day I went out and bought the equipment, and that night we had a video conversation that brought our talks to a new level.
Because I work so much this time of year, it was hard for us to pin down a day that we could actually meet. She was 22 and going to college, but she got out of her classes early in the day. I was working mostly nights at my retail job, and my store was open later during the holiday season. I was reticent to invite her because we’d just met, but after telling her about the preparation going into it, she agreed to come to my Christmas party on Saturday December 7th. I was excited because like most men, I claimed to have fucked a Canadian chick when I was a virgin, but I had never actually fucked a Canadian chick. Merry Christmas to ME!
However, I have to admit to being on-gaurd, especially considering the douchebaggery that ensued following my conversations with Tiffany of The Friend Zone Episode 1: Dominus Nobiscus Hipotomus. One of the things that I noticed about this girl was that whenever we talked via the internet, her face was nearly pressed up against her web cam. She always said that it was because she was lying on her bed while she talked to me, but I started to get suspicious and asked her to take a step back. I told her the story of Tubby Tiffany, and made it quite clear, as I always do, that I’m not a chubby chaser. She assured me that the pictures I’d seen of her were really her, and the only reason she didn’t step away from the camera was because she was topless. I believed her because there MAY have been a nipple slip at one point. With my fears put to rest, I could concentrate on preparing for the party. My Christmas miracle would soon come in the form of a new girlfriend who I would be warming with my Yule log by Saturday night. Later I would think: “I GOTTA stop getting excited to meet these internet chicks.”
The day of the Christmas party extravaganze finally came and a vertibal who’s who of people you don’t know showed up. It was a joyous occasion of which was filled with copious amounts of alcohol and friends. I felt more comfy than Ed Bagley in an electric car on his way to a recycling center with a trunk full of empties and a solar powered auto suck. There were Christmas rap songs playing on the stereo, the TV’s played Friday after Next, Christmas Vacation, and Bad Santa. There were lights hung throughout my apartment, tinsel hanging from my cabinets, mistletoe in the doorways, and egg nog full of rum.
I like mixing people together from different parts of my life, and then shaking them up like a martini at a Kennedy family event. There were people from past jobs and my present one, old friends, dear friends, neighbors, family, and even cartoon characters (although they may have shown up after my 17th beer or so.)
It was a United Nations event because there were people from all over the world there as well. There was Gordon from Scotland, Babatunde and Olyanka from Nigeria, Anny from Puerto Rico, Tenice and Neecy from the ghetto, Martha and Ruthie from Mexico, Irish Mike and Joe, our Muslim friend Ali, I’M native American, and there was even a Cous’n Hemp’n in attendance. Once my new Canadian friend showed up, the circle would be complete. I was convinced that if I could have found a Jew and a North Korean, I could have hashed out world peace over a few white Russians and the occasional beer bong.
Parties aren’t successful because of your decorations, all you can do is deck the place out, throw some hors devours on a table, and hope that the right people come. People make the party, and this was the best group of people I’ve had at a party in a long time. I figure if someone gets laid (preferably me, but NEVER me), someone bleeds (accidentally of course), someone passes out and gets drawn on, and a woman leaves crying, it’s been a successful party. By THOSE standards? This was my most successful party ever.
Fade to black…
Part 4: The Aftermath
I woke up at around noon the day after the big party, and went out to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. My apartment was a disaster area, but I expected that would happen. When I looked down at the tile in the kitchen, I saw a pool of blood there. Not a murderous amount, but enough to make me go ‘hmmmmm?’ My dog was lying on the couch, wrapped in silver tinsel, and when I went to make my bed, I found a bra from, what I can only assume is an entirely NEW class of heavy set woman, LITERALLY strapped AROUND my queen sized bed, mimicking the size of its owner.
I looked at my phone to see if I had gotten any text messages and saw that I had 42 missed calls that occurred between 6 and 9 AM. I shook the cobwebs from my memory and tried to recall JUST what took place the previous evening.
People started to show up around 9PM. First, as always were Mike and Joe. Mike is my best friend and Joe is his friend that we both know from our job. I always liked Joe, but he’s always seemed a bit shady to me. Not that he’s a bad guy, it’s just that Joe has the tendency to be a pathological liar; never in a harmful way, but in a way that makes him hard to take at times. For one thing, he brags about getting laid in instances when it’s obvious he hasn’t been laid. He’s like the boy who cried ‘pussy’. His problem is that he tries TOO hard to get laid and comes off very creepy to chicks. Then after he creeps a girl out, he’ll tell us that he fucked her, someone asks her, she denies it, and Joe moves on to the next chick. It’s a little sad, but he’s not a bad guy.
Soon after Mike and Joe, other people started to arrive. By ten o’clock my apartment was packed. The Canadian chick lives on the North side of Chicago and doesn’t drive. She told me earlier that she would be at the train staition by my apartment at around 10. I planned on being drunk by then so since Babatunde and Olyanka were driving together and going past the train station on their way to the party, I asked them to pick her up. I sent Tunde a text at 10:30 and asked if they found her. He replied saying that he had, and that I was in for a big surprise. I didn’t know what he meant by that, but by that point I was feeling no pain.
When Tunde and Oly came into the party without the Canadian chick, I asked them where she was. Tunde told me that she wanted to talk to me outside before she came in and met everyone. He and Oly giggled at one another and went on to the kitchen to commiserate with the others and get a drink. I didn’t mind that at all because it meant I could kiss her under the mistletoe as we came in together. I went downstairs with the beginnings of a good buzz to meet the woman of my dreams…and she turned out to be a fucking line backer for the New York Jets.
Why must women tell such bold faced fucking lies? I TOLD her, from the start that I don’t like big chicks. I even cited a SPECIFIC example of a fat chick that lied to me on the internet and she ASSURED me that SHE wasn’t lying. But she DID lie. Even so, with my beer goggles firmly in place, I decided that maybe she wasn’t THAT bad. At least she wasn’t a fucking mess. She was about six foot two, with broad shoulders, large breasts, and bit of a belly. But it wasn’t a HUGE belly. However, I got the feeling that SHE was disappointed in MY looks when I went out to greet her. Who da fuck is YOU?
We talked outside for about ten minutes, and I made her comfortable enough to come meet my friends. The friends you have say a lot about the person you are, so I was convinced that introducing her around the party only made me look good. I wanted to rid her of that feeling of disappointment I caught on to when I first met her outside. I wasn’t sure if anything would come of this, but I was getting drunk enough to know that I wanted to fuck her. After all, she came all the way out to my place expecting to spend the night so I knew the INTENT to fuck me was there, I just had to provide her with a REASON to fuck me.
After having met everyone, I gave her the grand tour of my apartment. I was starting to get a little bit PAST buzzed, so I felt the need to cement my intentions for the evening, and make an awkward pass at her in my bedroom. She DID kiss me, but after that initial kiss she rejected me like Peter O’Toole at the Oscars. After we left the bedroom, we both went our separate ways into the party and began to drink more.
Mike approached me and asked what happened and I told him that nothing happened; I didn’t think she was into me. I can own that because I know that I’m not an attractive man. Even to fat chicks. Mike said ‘fuck that Canadian moose’ and the name stuck.
As the party continued and more people came, Mike and I heard a ruckus coming from the kitchen and went to investigate. Everyone was crowded around the window that looked out onto my balcony. Cous’n Hemp’n was laughing hysterically and told Mike and I that we HAD to see something. We crowded up to the window with everyone else and looked onto the dark balcony outside. Over to the left, we could see the Canadian Moose seemingly making out with an imaginary man. Her arms were held around thin air, and her face was pressed up against nothing at all. “Is she a mime or something? I know those French people are into that shit” Mike said as everyone else snickered like they were in on a joke that we didn’t know. And then Babatunde flipped on the balcony lights.
Holy shit! The Canadian Moose was making out with Olyanka! “He’s blacker than Wesley Snipes in a coal mine!” Tunde shouted hysterically in his Nigerian accent. And he was, which is why we couldn’t see him against the back drop of the night. It was like an optical illusion. Everyone burst into laughter as Tunde flipped the switch on and off while saying “he’s there! He’s NOT there. He’s THERE. He’s NOT there.” And then Cous’n Hemp’n turned to me and said “Wasn’t that supposed to be YOU out there with her Casanova?” and the crowd burst into another fit of hysterical laugher.
Well merry fucking Christmas to me. He was right. I had no comeback. That WAS supposed to be me out there with her. She CAME here to meet with ME. Sure I’d only known her for less than a month, but she JUST met Oly an hour ago. Fucking internet. At least when I would meet chicks at a bar, it would be a few years before I would catch them making out with a black guy on my balcony. I was disappointed, but fuck it…another bullet dodged. However, I would come to find out that Oly was NOT to be the recipient of The Canadian Moose’s favors that evening.
As I continued to drink, time seemed to slip away until I realized that it was five AM. Only a few stragglers remained, and the Canadian moose came to say goodbye. I asked her how she was getting home, and told her that I would sleep on the couch while she slept on my bed if she wanted to crash. Then she told me that Joe was going to give her a lift. Shit.
I tried to convince her that that wasn’t a good idea. First of all, Joe is the WORST driver when he’s sober, and right now he was drunk off of his ass. Second, although he DID live in the city, he drove Mike to the party. He would have to drive Mike home which was in Tinely Park, the EXACT opposite direction of where she needed to go. Third, I told her that Joe was going to try to fuck her, and in her state she MIGHT do something that she regretted. She ignored ALL of my warnings and all but told me to fuck off.
By then everyone was gone but her, Mike and Joe. As the three of them stumbled out of my apartment and left me standing drunk in the living room with Blue Christmas playing on the stereo, I found myself worried about a girl who I didn’t even find attractive, and who didn’t want anything to do with me. Ho, ho, fucking ho.
By the time I discovered the 42 missed calls on my phone the next day, it was noon. Every call was from the Canadian moose. I tried calling her back but she didn’t answer. I figured it must have been important for her to call so many times, so I tried calling Mike and Joe as well. No answer. I tried throughout the day to get a hold of all three of them, but none of them were answering their phones. It was frustrating to say the least.
Finally at around 8PM, the Canadian moose called me back. She told me that after they left the party, Joe drove Mike home and the three of them went into his apartment. Mike soon fell asleep and she asked Joe to take her home like he promised. Joe told her that he wanted to sleep as well, and would take her when he woke up. That didn’t sound unreasonable to me. THEN she told me that Joe said he would ONLY give her a ride home if she blew him. WHAT?
She fumbled around her words as she spun this tale, and apparently after she refused, Joe led her to the doorway and threw her out of Mike’s apartment. She tried calling me as she walked FIVE miles to the train station at 6 AM in the rain. When she got there, she realized that the Metra train doesn’t run on Sunday, and in a fit of tears she kept trying to call ANYONE who could give her a lift home. Finally at around 9AM she got a hold of a friend who came and picked her up.
That didn’t SOUND like something Joe would do. He was full of shit, but he was always harmless. Granted I didn’t know him that well, but I DO know Mike well enough to know that he wouldn’t hang out with someone who would do such a thing. However, if this were true…I’d have to kill Joe. There was nothing for it. Even though things hadn’t worked out between her and I, when I throw a party I take responsibility for the people there. This happened on my watch and it would have to be dealt with.
Mike returned my calls later that evening and when I asked him what happened, I got a completely different story. He said that he DIDN’T pass out and that he was awake the entire time. The Canadian Moose DID ask Joe to drive her home, but he was entirely too drunk and tired to take her all the way back to the north side of the city just then. They offered her Mike’s bed to crash on, and the two of them would sleep on the couches. She refused, and although she WAS upset, she walked out of the front door on her own steam, and NO sexual overtures were ever made. What the fuck? I was starting to feel like a detective. SOMEONE was fucking lying to me, and before I could make any accusations, I had to have the truth. So I called Moosey back.
When I told her of the conflicting story, she said that she didn’t want to talk to me ever again. She said that she wasn’t attracted to me, so it wasn’t worth wasting her time. I told her that I understood, but I was no longer interested in who’s attracted to whom. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. If I was ever to trust Joe again, I had to know the truth. Then she dropped the bomb and I got a THIRD story. She assured me that everything she relayed to me was true; only she left something out…she fucked Mike. C’MON! She said that she used to fuck a lot of guys when she lived in Canada, and she was trying to change her ways. Getting drunk at MY party put her back into her old mindset, and speaking with me would only remind her of what she did the night before. So I was being put on the ‘no call’ list.
Who gives a shit? I was now affected by this story. I HAD to discover the truth. I’m not gay, but I can tell when a guy is good looking. Mike is VERY good looking. Chicks often approach him in bars, and although his girlfriend is a hot blonde, he’s cheated on her with EVEN hotter chicks. He’s been with Sarah for almost three years now, and I’ve come to know her pretty well during that time. The three of us sometimes hang out together, and although they have their problems, as any couple does…Mike hasn’t cheated on her since they first started dating and I can’t see him doing it now, ESPECIALLY with a Canadian Moose. It would be like Brad Pitt fucking the wrestler China.
Well, of course Mike denied it and said that the Canadian moose was fucking crazy. I had nowhere else to go for answers, so even though it pained me to do so…I dropped it. And then two weeks later it resurfaced and the REAL story finally came out.
I was at Hollywood Blvd. with Mike and Joe. Hollywood Blvd. is a fantastic movie theatre that serves alcohol and dinner while you watch your flick. The three of us were sitting at a table in the lobby and sharing a bucket of Blue Moon. Mike had just broken up with Sarah, again, and we were all discussing our past conquests, as men will do when they drink. Mike told us of his love of ‘fidgets’, which are very tiny hot chicks. THEN, Joe blurted out: “I haven’t been laid since the Canadian moose.”
WHAT? Mike shot Joe a ‘shut the fuck up’ look, but my previous curiosity regarding that situation forced me into a full court press. “What? Mike told me she just left after you passed out?” Joe gave Mike an apologetic look and then said “Fuck it dude, you’re not with Sarah anymore.” Mike sighed, looked at me, and said “Dude, I didn’t want to tell you because I was still seeing her and I thought you’d be disappointed in me.” The wheels were turning in my head now “In YOU? Joe just said that HE fucked her, why would I be disappointed in YOU?” And then I finally got the truth.
Part 5: Hark the Handjob!
On Christmas Eve, as I was standing in my living room listening to Blue Christmas, Mike, Joe, and the Canadian Moose stumbled down to Joe’s van. Joe got in the driver’s seat, Mike got into the back, and instead of sitting up front with Joe, the Canadian moose climbed in with Mike. Before Joe even put the key in the ignition, The Canadian moose was blowing Mike in the back seat. As Joe drove towards Mike’s house, watching creepily in the rear view mirror, he announced that he was feeling left out…so the Canadian moose snaked her hand into the front, and started giving him a handy WHILE she was blowing Mike. Oofa.
Mike said that he never ASKED for a blow job, he wasn’t EXPECTING a blow job, and in all honesty he didn’t really WANT a blow job from this chick. However, how can you turn down a free mouth fuck? My reply to that was “So, in the scenario you just described, it would have been just as acceptable if JOE went down on you?” The two of them winced and told me not to be gross, and then they went on with the story.
When the three of them got back to Mike’s apartment, they all went into his bedroom. Mike has a tiny bedroom with only a twin sized bed and a TV. Joe sat on the end of the bed watching, as Mike fucked the Canadian Moose. I have to say at this point, that the image this brings into my head is creepy as fuck. I just imagine Joe sitting Indian style on the end of the bed, leaning in ever so slightly for optimum viewing, and watching with a sinister smile on his face as Mike’s white pimply ass was pumping up and down into the twat of a Moose. Ewwww, the horror.
The questions began to fly out of me “Joe, what the fuck do you SAY while you’re watching this? Because if you just stared silently, that seems even creepier than trying to join in.” Joe said that he KNEW he could get some of that too, because she didn’t seem to mind that he was in the room, so he got up and started taking his pants off. “Let me get this straight, because you were in the ROOM, you suddenly jumped to the conclusion that she would fuck you too?” his reply was simply “well, she DID give me a handy in the car” Fair enough.
Then I asked Mike “So you were on top of her in a missionary position while Joe was behind you? Doesn’t that make for an uncomfortable fuck? I mean, were you fearful at anytime that Joe might accidentally lance you?” Mike said “I wasn’t really thinking about Joe…until he slapped me on the back.” WHAT? This was just getting worse. I ALMOST didn’t want to hear anymore. “Are you telling me that he tapped you out?” Joe grinned like an idiot, and Mike just hung his head in shame “yeah”.
Mike didn’t stop fucking so Joe went around in front of him. When he did, the Canadian moose grabbed his dork and started pulling it toward her mouth. Joe put his knee on the corner of the bed and leaned in for the blowy. “Wait, wait, wait” I said putting a halt to their story of madness “She’s on her BACK, you’re on TOP of her, and now JOE is leaning in for the blowy? You realize that without SAYING it, I KNOW that your face was in the immediate vicinity of Joe’s junk?”
Mike told me that as soon as he REALIZED that Joe’s ‘who dat’ was in his neighborhood, that’s when he got off of her and sat out for a breather. The Canadian moose then guided Joe on top of her as if Mike had never left, and 18 seconds later, Joe was asleep on the floor while Mike bent her over and power washed her back. They BOTH got the distinct feeling that they were NOT her first threesome.
Well…let’s just all take a minute to soak this story in.
After Mike was done, the Canadian Moose insisted that he drive her home. When he told her that he was WAY too tired right then, she got pissed and drunkenly walked out. He pleaded with her to stay, he offered her his bed, and he even tried to call her a cab, but my guess is that as she sobered up, she became so full of shame that she just needed to get out of there. This is why she didn’t want to talk to ME anymore. Whatever. I’ve been more wasted than Hunter S. Thompson in a Canadian pharmacy during a half off sale, but I’ve NEVER given someone a handy WHILE giving someone else a blowy. Any feeling of pity I might have had for her died when I realized that I DID warn her, quite adamantly, not to leave with Joe. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.
Look, I’m HARDLY one to judge another person’s sexual activities, but watching a chick get DP’d in a porno, is WAY different than hearing about two of your friends doing it. It seems that Mike AND Joe got their Christmas Goose early, and once again, I was left holding the bag that it came in. (That’s what she said).
The bottom line is that I may not be a religious man, but the faith I have in my friends is all the faith I’ll ever need. And for that reason, I’ll always love Christmas time, I’ll ALWAYS have a Christmas party, and I’ll keep hope alive that one year I’ll have a girlfriend to show my friends off too at that party. They may do some seriously fucked up shit from time to time, but the stories they give me make life worth living.
So to all of you out there, friend AND stranger, I say: May your holiday be filled with whatever the thing is that YOU want it to be filled with. Even if that thing is two dicks.
In Loving Memory of
Lois Anne ‘Penny’ Hempen
Rod Serling: A word to the wise to all of the children of the 21st century, whether their concern be dating or fucking, whether they like to give head while fingering an asshole, or walk someone home at night and give them a kiss on the cheek; there’s a wonderous magic to Christmas and there’s a special power reserved for little boys and girls…but there are also adults on this planet who’s wish is for a Christmas Threesome. My advice is simply this: never stand behind a man with an erection unless he’s into that.
It should be noted that I did indeed find love again in my current girlfriend Katie, who has opened my heart up to an eschelon of love I never thought possible. This story was written before we met of course, otherwise it might not have been so graphic. There is no greater editor than love, huh?
Deleted Scene 1
I can’t eat ham anymore because living with my mother was like living INSIDE of a pork chop. Everything this woman ate was SOME part of a fucking pig. I can’t tell you how many nights I came home drunk and ended up puking on the kitchen floor because when I’d open the fridge to grab a tasty leftover, I’d find a fucking jar of pickled pig eyeballs or pork skrotums staring back at me from the top shelf. She ate bacon, ham, pig ears, those pork rhine potato chips, sausage, pork chops, and seriously…pigs feet. These were the most disgusting things I’d ever seen. They were LITERALLY pig feet in a jar. Fucking ick.
Deleted Scene 2
When Cous’n Hemp’n’s stripper girlfriend showed up, my first thought was “Yeah, she’s OBVIOUSLY a stripper…for the blind”. This girl was chunky with a face that made Mick Jagger look like Brad Pitt in the MIDDLE of Benjamin Button. It was the yellowed wrinkly saddle bag face of a smoker who suntanned ON the sun. Zits ran across her all-to exposed skin making it look as if War and Peace had been written in brail on the Dead Sea scrolls. Again, disgusting.
Deleted Scene 3
I’m not saying that working in retail has jaded me during the holiday season, but the other day some 10 year old kid cried in my store because we couldn’t fix his fucking Nintendo 3DS. “Whaaaaaa, now I can’t play video games or go on the internet with my Wi-Fi! WHAAAAAA!” he bellowed as his understanding mother patted him on the head and said “there there Timmy.”
Here’s a little holiday message to ALL the little Timmy’s out there, from me:
Shut the fuck up Timmy…you’re 10. What are you gonna do with Wi-Fi besides look up Justin Beiber haircut styles and (secretly) how his ass looks in his tight Beiber-Jeans anyway, you fucking little asshole. 50 years ago kids were lucky if they had a yo-yo or a slinky, and 100 years ago kids your age just died of tuberculosis, so shut the fuck up and be glad you HAVE a fucking toy you spoiled fat dickhead; there’re girls YOUR age in Nigeria who get their clits cut off after being raped you ass maggot, what kind of toys do you think THEY have? Now grow the fuck up.
of: The Friend Zone Episode 4: The Canadian Moose
but The General will return for more Douchebaggery in:
The Friend Zone Episode 5: The Yoga Instructor (Part 2)