True stories from the Happiest Place on Earth
The biggest concern that I had was roommates. I’d never had any besides my younger brother and wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. For one thing, I’m a slob. When I’m working, I’m all business and organization, but when I get home, there’s shit everywhere. As soon as I get through my front door, my underwear is on the ground like a police raid and I’m buck nekkid doing the electric boogaloo. It’s naked time MUTHA-FUCKA!!!!
But I digress.
Clearly I couldn’t let my freak-flag (much less the pole) fly with other guys around. But I was less concerned of their opinions of me, than mine of them. I attribute at least sixty percent of the United States current nonpolitical problems (violence, guns, teen pregnancy, drug abuse) with the proliferation of gangsta rap … or thug rap … or whatever derivative they’re calling it these days. The way I figured it, I could handle some 50 pound kid waking me at dawn with the opening chords of the Lion King. (I may even have preferred it.) I could not however deal with lying awake all night because a bunch of jack-holes want to hold a rump-shaking contest. Maybe all you want to do is “ama-zoom-zoom-zoom”, but I want to sleep.
My first impressions of my roomies in line were not favorable. And I will admit that I was being callously judgmental, but they weren’t exactly giving me much to work with either. But as it turned out, they weren’t half bad … most of them anyway. Soooo … I’m a dick. Sorry.
John was not who I expected him to be. He came off like a G-dawg when he first started speaking, but clearly I was way off on that assumption. He was given the nickname “Tapeworm” by his roommate Dan. ”Dude, you eat like you have a tapeworm up your ass!” And so the name was applied, though it didn’t stick around that long. John really is a phenomenon. I’m more or less a mobile bag of lard, but John can eat me under the table. … that metaphor was probably more disgusting than intended. Anyway, John is pretty much a bottomless pit. What gets me is that he simply does not gain weight. And he has a complex about it. Which I never understood. I never really saw the guy as being that skinny, but I have seen him flip out on people that called him that. Bizarre. But frankly, I’ve been exposed to most of his issues through the years and honestly, I just think the dude needs a hug. (It’s okay to cry little fella. Let it out.)
The loudmouth kid in line was Dan. He and John shared a room, which seemed to work pretty well. At first, anyway. He seemed funny and affable. Dan introduced himself, in a very sing-song voice, as follows:
”What’ssss uuuuuupppp? I’m Daaaaaannnnn, I’m from Buffalooooooo! I’m your favorite New Kid, call me Danny!”
First of all, the reason for the last part is that Dan was a big New Kids on the Block fan and not in an ironic, “Its so bad it’s good” way. He just loved NKOTB. I know they’re back, so this may be an unpopular statement, but what kind of dipshit listens to New Kids twenty years past their prime? And seriously, this was 2002 — who the hell was going to get that reference? And what I noticed was that this wasn’t a spur of the moment introduction. This was his standard intro. He used it on everybody, and seemed to think it was a great line for picking up women. I’m a complete loser, and even I know that’s retarded. But I took this standard line, and shortened it, so instead of being from Buffalo, he simply was Buffalo. At least at first. Later I began to refer to him as Goat-Fucker after I saw one of the girls he stuck his dick into. Sometimes at night… I can still smell her beard.
He had this baseball cap that he wore, which supposedly sported a Fighting Squirrel. To me though, the thing always resembled a Boxing Beaver. He wore the damn thing all the time. Never took it off for a full week. I think he slept in it. My guess is he showered in it. And we became used to the Boxing Beaver on his head, like it was part of his face. Until one day, while no one was looking in his general direction, he removed the cap. My head snapped back like I had been cracked across the forehead with a Louisville Slugger. The sight of his gleaming bald head had shocked me so. It wasn’t that I thought it looked hideous. Hell, I have male pattern baldness. It’s just … don’t walk around for a week with a hat on, and then one day rip it off to reveal that your head is a solar power generator. It’s confusing.
Sam was a really nice kid from Wyoming. REALLY NICE. A little too nice. Sometimes it was creepy. (I’m from New Orleans; everyone is a selfish dick in my world.) The first thing I noticed about him was that he never cursed and he had a cross around his neck. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the land of vaginal opportunity with Bob the Bible thumper, so I asked him about himself. Sam claimed that he was very religious, but had no desire to talk me out of my vile, disgusting, sinning ways.
“So you’re Amish?”
“No, I’m a christian.”
“Hey guys! This kid’s Amish!”
“I’m not Amish!”
“Wait you’re fuckin’ Amish?”
“He is! He’s like a fucking Mormon! He doesn’t even curse!”
“I’m not a Mormon!”
“No way! What do you mean he doesn’t curse? Bullshit! Do you curse Amish?”
”I’m NOT AMISH!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Whatever, Jedediah. You’re a fuckin Mormon. You churn butter and build barns. You have eight wives you call “Sister Sarah”. You’re a fuckin Mormon. — You love Jesus. Mormons love Jesus. Ergo you’re a fuckin Mormon!”
As I recall, he cried that night.
No, only kidding. It sounded good though, didn’t it? Sam was a really good kid. I liked him a lot. And for the first few weeks, when we were all still friends and hung out together, we found out he was useful as well. You see, Sam is one of those guys that looks like a puppy, and women were really just drawn to him. So we used him as bait to meet women. And IT WORKED. It was as if God said AND LO, LET THERE BE BITCHES. And there were bitches. And it was good. But the funny thing is, it never benefited Sam. It turned out Amish had decided to be celibate until marriage. I truly felt sorry for him. I mean, for someone like me, celibacy is easy, because most women would rather chew their own leg off than fuck me. But for Jedediah it must have been hell. Girls were throwing vagina at him like he needed a punani transfusion to save his life. But it was against his religious beliefs. It was at that moment that I completely denounced religion.
My immediate roommate, Lyle, turned out to be a really nice guy. He was definitely into rap, but he was hardly gangsta. In fact, he was a very intelligent person with whom I had quite a few discussions about art, music and race relations. Lyle was born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky…which I was informed is pronounced Luh-i-ville. Or whatever. We never quite made it through that. For the most part he was a fine roommate. Clean, intelligent, kind. But for the entire time he lived in that apartment, I slept on the sofa. It was impossible sleeping next to him. Lyle’s snoring is responsible for creating the tsunami that destroyed that place in the thing that one time. May those Nuns rest in peace. The crazy part was, he never exhaled; it was just a constant, bone-rattling sucking sound. I would’ve had an easier time sleeping through a spinal tap.
For the first few months, we all got along famously. We explored Disney and sought out female companionship as the best of friends. Many of the other groups that we were familiar with were at each others’ throats, so we felt lucky to get such a fun group of guys in the same place. A few months later we were individually trying to murder each other. But that’s another story.
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