Bunga Bunga parties, Video Games and Vampires
Posted: Sun Jan 06, 2019 7:27 am
((Michael Fischer start))
"And then, as if that wasn't, the guy who'd started the 9/11 conspiracy theory bullshit, he began rambling on about Gaddafi. You know, that Libya guy?"
"Yes. I do."
That was the one thing that annoyed Michael about Paul. He was a good guy, good brother (also a whizz at the subjects Michael was a complete failure at, meaning he was a convenient, easy-to-access source for answers to frustrating or long-winded problems Michael lacked the will and intellect to solve), but he had this annoying habit of mistaking Michael's political apathy for ignorance. He grew up surrounded by old stuffy (also almost unanimously white and male) Republican politicians; he knew what a continuing resolution meant, whether he wanted to or not.
"Well, this guy said, and I quote...well, not word-for-word, but, y'know..."
"Yeah, yeah" Michael interjected, with a tone that indicated to his younger brother that he should just get to the juicy bit.
"Okay, okay." Paul paused, clearly collecting his thoughts and building up to some obviously hilarious joke (if it wasn't hilarious, Michael would be sorely disappointed) "Gaddafi wasn't that bad a guy. Sure, when he began ordering his soldiers to rape women, that was pretty bad, but up until the West began to dispose him, he was alright."
Palm, meet face.
After removing his palm from his face, letting off a frustrated sigh and shaking his head in disappointment at the political "beliefs" in Paul's psychology class, Michael replied "How'd you respond?"
"Anyone who's a friend with Berlusconi can't be a good guy."
"Heh." Some Italian (Spanish?) guy he'd never heard of. A polite chuckle was Michael's response; he didn't want to appear ignorant, so he assumed Berlusconi was some mass murderer or Mafioso or child pornographer Gaddafi granted asylum. "So, this is the same guy who said that all Jews took a day off on 9/11 and that the government put subliminal messages in a song as a warning for a terrorist act they were about to commit?"
Paul nodded. "Yep."
"Was he the one you almost ended up in a band with?"
Like his elder brother, Paul was a committed bass guitarist. They were very much alike in a lot of ways, except everyone agreed that Paul was less boastful, more academic and more hard-working. Also, his friends tended to be more stupid. By a long shot. But that was probably pretty obvious already. "No", Paul replied, his eyes temporarily drifting to the side to either look at the contents of a store window or the rather nice ass of a hot girl who was looking into said store window (he'd seen the girl around before; a friend of a friend of a friend.) Michael knew which one he was looking at, but his non-family friendly thoughts were cut off by Paul continuing. "Nah, the one who wanted to start the band was that vampire book guy. The one who obsesses over Twilight."
"Ah." Yeah. Michael remembered that guy. Wrote some terrible "books". All, invariably, filled to the brim with super-strength vampires (one of the perks of being a vampire was supposedly losing any unsightly "baby fat" from your cheeks), gratuitous musical scenes, poorly done black and white morality, unfinished plotlines, names ripped from the guy's friends and teachers, and enough Mary Sues to fill a sinking ship. Those books were hilariously bad. Michael encouraged anyone and everyone to ask him about them. They were so bad.
All of a sudden, Michael's leisurely stroll was cut short, as Paul, walking at a pace just short of running and with a look on his face that was a cross between a hypnotised mental patient and Homer Simpson with a doughnut being waved in front of his face, cut in front of him without a word. Michael turned to the direction Paul was heading off in - towards one of the mall's video game stores, one that, for no real reason other than their easily-exploitable return policy, the Fischers had made their almost-exclusive place for video game purchases. Judging by the modest queues and the advertising decorating the store, it looked like one of those high-profile strategy games that Paul had a near-sexual enjoyment of was coming out.
"Hey, Paul, I'll be...err...near the music store", Michael apathetically "called" out to his brother, who almost definitely didn't hear him over the sounds of the mob of virgin nerds and confused parents in the game store he was pushing his way into. Eh. Not a problem. He's 14. Their mom really needed to be a lot less strict about having Michael escort Paul every time he wanted to go shopping for pointless shit.
So Michael wandered over to the store that he'd guessed (accurately, by the looks of it) to be a music store. Not really seeing any need to go in (Michael satisfied all his musical needs via iTunes or the internet anyway), he just sat down on a bench in front of the store, and began looking around to spot anyone he knew and thinking about possibly considering getting around to looking into the possibility of maybe doing some homework when he got home.
"And then, as if that wasn't, the guy who'd started the 9/11 conspiracy theory bullshit, he began rambling on about Gaddafi. You know, that Libya guy?"
"Yes. I do."
That was the one thing that annoyed Michael about Paul. He was a good guy, good brother (also a whizz at the subjects Michael was a complete failure at, meaning he was a convenient, easy-to-access source for answers to frustrating or long-winded problems Michael lacked the will and intellect to solve), but he had this annoying habit of mistaking Michael's political apathy for ignorance. He grew up surrounded by old stuffy (also almost unanimously white and male) Republican politicians; he knew what a continuing resolution meant, whether he wanted to or not.
"Well, this guy said, and I quote...well, not word-for-word, but, y'know..."
"Yeah, yeah" Michael interjected, with a tone that indicated to his younger brother that he should just get to the juicy bit.
"Okay, okay." Paul paused, clearly collecting his thoughts and building up to some obviously hilarious joke (if it wasn't hilarious, Michael would be sorely disappointed) "Gaddafi wasn't that bad a guy. Sure, when he began ordering his soldiers to rape women, that was pretty bad, but up until the West began to dispose him, he was alright."
Palm, meet face.
After removing his palm from his face, letting off a frustrated sigh and shaking his head in disappointment at the political "beliefs" in Paul's psychology class, Michael replied "How'd you respond?"
"Anyone who's a friend with Berlusconi can't be a good guy."
"Heh." Some Italian (Spanish?) guy he'd never heard of. A polite chuckle was Michael's response; he didn't want to appear ignorant, so he assumed Berlusconi was some mass murderer or Mafioso or child pornographer Gaddafi granted asylum. "So, this is the same guy who said that all Jews took a day off on 9/11 and that the government put subliminal messages in a song as a warning for a terrorist act they were about to commit?"
Paul nodded. "Yep."
"Was he the one you almost ended up in a band with?"
Like his elder brother, Paul was a committed bass guitarist. They were very much alike in a lot of ways, except everyone agreed that Paul was less boastful, more academic and more hard-working. Also, his friends tended to be more stupid. By a long shot. But that was probably pretty obvious already. "No", Paul replied, his eyes temporarily drifting to the side to either look at the contents of a store window or the rather nice ass of a hot girl who was looking into said store window (he'd seen the girl around before; a friend of a friend of a friend.) Michael knew which one he was looking at, but his non-family friendly thoughts were cut off by Paul continuing. "Nah, the one who wanted to start the band was that vampire book guy. The one who obsesses over Twilight."
"Ah." Yeah. Michael remembered that guy. Wrote some terrible "books". All, invariably, filled to the brim with super-strength vampires (one of the perks of being a vampire was supposedly losing any unsightly "baby fat" from your cheeks), gratuitous musical scenes, poorly done black and white morality, unfinished plotlines, names ripped from the guy's friends and teachers, and enough Mary Sues to fill a sinking ship. Those books were hilariously bad. Michael encouraged anyone and everyone to ask him about them. They were so bad.
All of a sudden, Michael's leisurely stroll was cut short, as Paul, walking at a pace just short of running and with a look on his face that was a cross between a hypnotised mental patient and Homer Simpson with a doughnut being waved in front of his face, cut in front of him without a word. Michael turned to the direction Paul was heading off in - towards one of the mall's video game stores, one that, for no real reason other than their easily-exploitable return policy, the Fischers had made their almost-exclusive place for video game purchases. Judging by the modest queues and the advertising decorating the store, it looked like one of those high-profile strategy games that Paul had a near-sexual enjoyment of was coming out.
"Hey, Paul, I'll be...err...near the music store", Michael apathetically "called" out to his brother, who almost definitely didn't hear him over the sounds of the mob of virgin nerds and confused parents in the game store he was pushing his way into. Eh. Not a problem. He's 14. Their mom really needed to be a lot less strict about having Michael escort Paul every time he wanted to go shopping for pointless shit.
So Michael wandered over to the store that he'd guessed (accurately, by the looks of it) to be a music store. Not really seeing any need to go in (Michael satisfied all his musical needs via iTunes or the internet anyway), he just sat down on a bench in front of the store, and began looking around to spot anyone he knew and thinking about possibly considering getting around to looking into the possibility of maybe doing some homework when he got home.