zesty_pinto (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zesty_pinto) wrote2002-12-28 04:54 am
zesty_pinto) wrote2002-12-28 04:54 am
Entry tags:
"The Incredible Gene"
Write about life. It's beauty and sadness. Write about strenght and weakness. Create a person and then challenge yourself to make them real. [Nicolinne]
8:29 was when he always came in. The fashionably late Gene Erlenkratz would come in to his eight o'clock lecture with just enough time to catch the recaps of his professors right before they began their lectures. As always, he would keep the smug expression, slanted against a cheek like he knew something that no one else did, and frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. His hair was slicked back, in a sort of greasy sort of way like something out of a 70s greaser flick. His own personal Fonz, some of us would think, and you know what? We were somewhat right.
Gene was a pretty bright kid, but he always liked to play it cool. His personality sort of ran the way mint does when it comes in contact with your tongue; with a little agitation, but overall a smooth aftertaste that hits you all over. Yeah, I hate mint too; the stuff's everywhere like weeds, and not the type the theatre majors are taking.
"Gene, you ever thought of being a poli sci major?"
"Heh, me? Fugeddaboutit." He never talked in the cheesy Italian accent unless he wanted to like he was something out of a mobster flick. We wouldn't have thought of him as the type that studied Physics until he'd try to remind us that he was here for a "liberal arts education." Personally, I think he could have taught the department something or two about what it was like. Then again, I hated the fucking bastard.
Nothing personal about his style, no, or the way he used women left and right almost as quickly as he would slick back his hair. I guess what got to me was that style of his... it seemed too perfect.
"Hello, dad?"
"Oh hello sweetheart, how've you been?"
"Good dad, never felt better. How's the family been?"
"We're doing fine over here. Tim's doing great in little league."
"Mm-hmm, and how about his grades?"
"Good as always."
"Are you sure they're fine?"
"Honey, you shouldn't worry for your brother like this again."
"Why not? I'm his sister, aren't I?"
"Maybe I should just get him here for you..."
"No no, that's something that I don't need right now, I don't want to meddle into his affairs directly."
"..."
"Heh, sorry dad. Anyway, tell me about mom..."
I was a journalist major and I had my nose ready to be picky enough to stick my nose into anything and everything that needed to have a sticking into. Everyone wants the big scoop, and I had my shovel ready to take one big dive into it, one shit-filled awl at a time. I love that sort of thing, just being a nosy ass, and what better way to be nosy than to do journalism? Of course, whenever you get into this sort of work, who doesn't get a dare from someone for some sort of scheme that leads to a misadventure?
"Laur," Olan Bernaby, one of the only frat boys I know that has the honor of actually being considered respectable in my book. For a rent-a-friend, he's a decent boy to have around, if all those 80s movies didn't brainwash him to join "the elite." If I remember right, the bastard caught me while I was busy writing up my third paper in the comp lab. The foot doctor, Dr. Shulz, loved hitting me with extra work, especially since I always begged for extra grades.
"Yo."
"Six of spades to seven of hearts." I was resting up, give me a break. What, you expect me to be a workaholic?
"Shut up, I see it."
"Yeah, I know you did."
He always talked like the biggest skeptic, and he probably was too. A regular old hypocrite when you thought about it.
"What do you want anyway?"
"The guys bet me a pool."
"Really! I'm so surprised!" Emphasis on my wide-eyed expression! Oh, what a surprise to an innocent lil' blue-eyed blonde like me!
"Shut up, could you at least pretend you're working and not playing Solitaire?" You had to love him, especially when he said it with that pseudo-english accent they call Canadian.
"Girl's got to get her work done somehow."
"Uh huh... two of clubs to-"
"-too late, beat you! ...now, what did you need me for, and no, I'm not going to be the frat ride like you wanted."
"Ha, you'd probably be the only one they wouldn't touch."
"Yeah, well-"
"-enough of your catcalls, they want to have you do a report about someone for the school paper." You got it right, he was an editor for the college paper; why did you think I loved him so much?
"Oh, not for Beta Thi, huh?"
"Of course not! What makes you think that?"
"Who, 'she said questioning the fatass'?"
"Gene Erlenkratz."
This would be where I start to just go blank.
"Don't tell me you've got your eyes on him too."
"Shut it, big boy."
"You know you love it big." He won, especially when he winked at me like something out of a Marilyn Monroe wink. I burst out laughing my ass off and got stared at by the entire cluster. One of the goddamn T.A.s ended up stalking up to us with their stick-in-the-ass approaches.
"Something wrong here?" He said it with a sort of way you'd want to punch someone. You know, like the anal guy that works a Mcdonald's with a pissy job that wants to show everyone just how pissy he is.
"Yes, this person is annoying me and getting in the way of my work!"
"Piss on it, he knows already. Now, you gonna do it?"
"Tell them I'll think about it."
"I know you enough to know that that means you'll take it."
Shit, he's good. I'd have to marry him if he wasn't engaged to his Biology professor. First gay student-professor relationship I ever heard of, and first scoop I wanted to get all on a notepad when it happened. I promised the two I wouldn't embarrass them... too much. Anyway, he was right, I was curious.
I knew Gene back during first year. Never seen a freshman come home with so many women and not be gay to begin with. Don't think I liked him like that; he was definitely not my type: too macho; he even made the Christian ROTC nazis look like kids in comparison to his macho shpiels. Didn't say much, though it was because he never had much to say to begin with. Take, for instance, this one little instance I got to have the "benefit" of seeing for a speech class.
The professor was a nice guy.
-...okay, if you knew me that meant he was a dick.
A five foot three dick on a stick with nothing going for him except a five year health insurance plan with Rogaine. He wanted Gene to go up and express to the audience his point on the issue of sex. Gene goes up, looks at all of us with his Chico suave look or whatever the hell you call it, and then says something brilliant. I'm fucking serious, everyone knew it was good, and even the bored looking T.A. was looking at him like he said he was giving away free beer. We were all in awe, and he just shrugs it, bows, gets off the stage. Of course, it's so good that the professor had to make up some bullshit about him not standing right for a proper speech.
He looked at the professor like he didn't even care about what he was saying, and that pissed him off even more. But we knew he was good, and in a class of fifty, when all fifty actually are forced into the class to see something good, we know when a professor is acting jealous. He probably hated mandatory attendance for that, because he said to come in whenever we wanted just in case he had to pull Gene up to the stage again. Fucking hilarious.
The stories go even beyond that. Some talk about where he did speeches for safe sex, where he rewired the entire LAN network whenever one of the servers got worn, even when he caught muggers and rapists and gave them his own "personal justice." The man's like a GOD on campus, but no one touches him unless it's a girl he brings to his room for "teaching lessons." If you got rid of everything else, you could call him the biggest gigolo on campus, but in this case he'd be the world's finest gigolo on campus; you know, like Bond only without the gadgets.
"Hey Laura, are you really going to get a background on Gene?" Melissa was the local ride for Beta Thi. BT boys ate her like ambrosia, I prefered poking her like the diseased herpes machine she was.
"Yeah, fun stuff. You know the bastard put me on a waiting list to talk with him? Fucking a."
"He's a great lover," she sighed happily with that dreamy princess look. Excuse me if I don't roll my eyes then and there "He told me how to".
"-yeah, that's fine and well, but I'm sorry, I actually need a breath of air."
-because she reeked of weed, so I took a walk to the Rath and ate a plastic salad to commemorate her love of veges. Five fucking days until I could meet the man, and you know what I had to deal with? Melissa was just one of them. I got bothered by ten to twenty different people a day about this guy that I barely even remembered; they just went from weird to fucking INSANE.
"Hey, Laura, you actually were floormates with him, weren't you?" Yeah, about an eternity ago, asshole.
"Laura, you know he's a sleaze right?" No, really?
"Laura, we pray for you about your pilgrimage to-" -I think that said enough. Okay, you got the picture here. You either love the guy or hate him, sort of like dual nature that the philosophy classes liked to spew out to make you think they're right and you're wrong.
When it finally came to the time to meet the "Famous Gene Erlenkratz," the guy waited for me outside his house where he had people look after him. Poor little rich boy with all his attendants... excuse me if I didn't roll my eyes at this time. Of course, a few of his "friends" waited around outside handling his schedules, including one very undersexed-looking guy that stared at me like I was the antichrist. You know what? I love that look.
"Here to see Gene," I looked around a living room-turned-lobby. I don't think I could ever earn enough money to get a place like this even if I became the next Walter fucking Cronkite. His place had enough Victorian finish on it to blind someone if the candelabras weren't so dim.
Gene came down from his round staircase from above, looking at me through his shades with that mightier-than-thou look. I knew his type and just stuck to sucking ass as much as possible and hope my psychology professors weren't feeding me total B.S.
"You are...?"
"Laura Herrig." Asshole, he could have remembered my name at least.
"The reporter? Come on in." He gestured to his main room. I just followed, trying not to let the glare of the servants and fanboys hit me as badly as the finish of his gaudy lil' wonderland.
His den looked pretty nice... if you believed that you needed to make those sort of things all nice. Velvet couches and bear rugs and a fireplace that wasn't on and electric candles to make you feel "in the mood." Oh, how shockingly amazing! How full of taste! I wondered where he kept his Hugh Hefner robe.
"Hey, take a seat," he said it with that Guido accent again and pointed me to a velvet couch. He took to lying on the sofa like he was expecting me to jump on him.
"So what's up?"
"I have a few questions for you, if you could answer them for me, mister Erlenkratz."
"Hey, hey, just call me Gene, gotcha?" I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes, had to stop, had to stop...
"Yes... Gene..." I had to give him that grin, that extremely fake one that no one believes.
"Hey, okay... you gotsa nice smile there, babe." It was a prozac grin. I just tried to keep it, tried not to make myself go over, just kept smiling until...
"So what's the questions you got for me?" I hoped he was going to ask...
Questions, questions, all of them boring. Son of a rich man, preppy boy school life, yadda yadda yadda...
"Hey, I'm not boring you or anything am I?"
"Oh no, please! Go on, go on!" Ugh, next thing you know, he'd tell me about his love of polo clothes and polo sports.
I won't bore you with technical information. To put a long story short, he was dull like another episode of the Real World in the real world. Yeah, dull with dull; pretty lame. Son of a rich family, excelled in school, did well in life, got lots of girls, top and everything, yawn.
I was going to go home and report the bad news, but then I got that lucky break.
"Seeing as it's almost dinner, you wanna discuss more at a restaurant?"
Bingo. Booze him and then squeeze him for anything he's withholding. The art of subterfuge, courtesy of every college kid's favorite stimulant.
"Le Chateau Rouge," or "Red Cottage" was one of the fancier places in this shithole college town catering to the wealthier parents and the academic faculty with the money to impress people: I should know since Olan got invited here by his professor when he got engaged. Don't think that just because I lived off of McDonald's all my life doesn't mean I know decent food when I eat it. Chicago had some of the finest restaurants in the Mideast. That's not saying much, and fuck you if you thought that, but I don't care: this place here was where you were paying an extra fifty bucks to eat a three star meal for a four star restaurant. I could tell you about the college students that worked here too, but I don't want to bore you a storm.
"The 'Canard a l'orange' is excellent here."
"Oh really? Maybe I'll try it..." -when I feel like choking on dead duck, rich boy.
"How about a wine? A Chardonnay?"
"Sure, I'll trust your judgement." A shame I didn't drink or else I would have hit him for the best wines they had.
"Now... did you have anymore questions?"
"Me? Oh, yes, I do find your life so very, very interesting..."
"Really? You don't sound so interested."
"You're a VERY interesting man, mister Erlenkratz."
"You are the very first woman who was interested in me that refered to me by my last name, know what I mean?" He got me. Bastard could read through me, and I knew it.
I would have been busted there if the appetizers didn't come in and break the mood. The bastard was good... oh, I have to admit it, he was good. I kept my mouth always nibbling on something though... I needed to think my way out of this. It came when the wine did and I took sips. Careful sips. I didn't drink but my dad had a proud wine collection: I had the bloodline of winos to protect me from anything.
-so why the fuck did I get smashed? Because the bastard was better than me, but I was at least able to keep some sense.
"Oh god, I feel like shit."
-shut up before you think anything, I had control of the situation.
"You're a pretty hot mama, Laura."
"Mmmm, thank you..."
"-but do you want to have me?"
"Pft, yeah right! I was just using you to-"
"-find out any dark secrets about me?"
"Hee hee... you're right, you fucking bastard! I hate your kind! Hee..."
"I assure you that I only think towards one's best interests."
"Oh? An' whyzzat?"
"Because I'm not human."
"Ehhh...?" I wouldn't have believed it, but it was on my tape recorder. I wanted the scoop and he was giving it to me.
"When I say I am the son of a wealthy Fortune 500 tycoon, I am partially correct: I was actually a creation of his eugenics lab."
"What the fuck does your jeans have to do with this, you fuckin' perv?"
"Heh... I guess I got you more drunk than necessary. There's 46 chromosomes in a human... let's just say that mine are made especially into me for special reasons."
"Whuzzat? So... you use your special powers to have sex with women?"
"That would be too simple. In actuality I was taught about acupuncture and know many pleasure points similar to giving a woman something similar to an orgasm... it's merely a facade to make sure you don't get too far in the way."
"Wuh the fuck are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm a step above you."
"Shut the fuck up, you fucking high and mighty bitch. I should pound you for your bullshit."
"Do you know why I am telling you this?"
"..."
"It's to inform you when you wake up. I know about the tape recorder in your pocket. I know about the Sigma Lau wanting to get some dirt on me, and I know about your history Laura Letterham Herrig."
"You know nothing, dipshit!"
"I know more than you'd ever want to have known about you, from the five puppies you once had to the Dave Matthews CD you bought yesterday."
"Liar!"
"I just tell you this and your tape recorder to tell you to leave me alone. I merely plan to observe you humans."
"Just shut the fuck up... I'm tired..."
"Very well, I will drop you off at your apartment. I hope that this information will lead to a very fruitful understanding." Bastard turned off my tape recorder then. I wasn't entirely smashed then though... I still remember most of this. Fucking a', can you imagine someone being a clone? No one would believe it. Instead, I just decided to write up a new story... and hope that the Sigma Lau pigs would buy that crap.
* TheGeneBean has joined #WasteWorld
< TheGeneBean > sup folks
* Kuni waves at TheGeneBean
< handsinsidethepuppethead > Its the Gene Bean!
< BenDover > sup TGB
< TheGeneBean > Hey Kuni, hitph, BenDover
< MorticiaAddamsApple > Hey Bean, did you scare the shit out of her?
< TheGeneBean > yeah lol thanks for the info man
< NumberWon > d4 g3n3!
< MorticiaAddamsApple > Anytime, bitches deserve it and she was the biggest one
< BenDover > bout time someone got her rofl think shell buy it?
< TheGeneBean > nah, she'll probably do something about it sup NumberWon
< Kuni > LOL thats balls to trick every girl you meet into thinking you fucked them and then make them think your something else
< handsinsidethepuppethead > Revenge of the Nerds part VII: TheGeneBean strikes back!
< TheGeneBean > lol
< NumberWon > y0, g1v d4 ch1k5 2 m3!
< TheGeneBean > you'd have a cleaner time doing your vacuum, NumberWon
* MorticiaAddamsApple lols
* BenDover rofls
< Kuni > LOL
8:29 was when he always came in. The fashionably late Gene Erlenkratz would come in to his eight o'clock lecture with just enough time to catch the recaps of his professors right before they began their lectures. As always, he would keep the smug expression, slanted against a cheek like he knew something that no one else did, and frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. His hair was slicked back, in a sort of greasy sort of way like something out of a 70s greaser flick. His own personal Fonz, some of us would think, and you know what? We were somewhat right.
Gene was a pretty bright kid, but he always liked to play it cool. His personality sort of ran the way mint does when it comes in contact with your tongue; with a little agitation, but overall a smooth aftertaste that hits you all over. Yeah, I hate mint too; the stuff's everywhere like weeds, and not the type the theatre majors are taking.
"Gene, you ever thought of being a poli sci major?"
"Heh, me? Fugeddaboutit." He never talked in the cheesy Italian accent unless he wanted to like he was something out of a mobster flick. We wouldn't have thought of him as the type that studied Physics until he'd try to remind us that he was here for a "liberal arts education." Personally, I think he could have taught the department something or two about what it was like. Then again, I hated the fucking bastard.
Nothing personal about his style, no, or the way he used women left and right almost as quickly as he would slick back his hair. I guess what got to me was that style of his... it seemed too perfect.
"Hello, dad?"
"Oh hello sweetheart, how've you been?"
"Good dad, never felt better. How's the family been?"
"We're doing fine over here. Tim's doing great in little league."
"Mm-hmm, and how about his grades?"
"Good as always."
"Are you sure they're fine?"
"Honey, you shouldn't worry for your brother like this again."
"Why not? I'm his sister, aren't I?"
"Maybe I should just get him here for you..."
"No no, that's something that I don't need right now, I don't want to meddle into his affairs directly."
"..."
"Heh, sorry dad. Anyway, tell me about mom..."
I was a journalist major and I had my nose ready to be picky enough to stick my nose into anything and everything that needed to have a sticking into. Everyone wants the big scoop, and I had my shovel ready to take one big dive into it, one shit-filled awl at a time. I love that sort of thing, just being a nosy ass, and what better way to be nosy than to do journalism? Of course, whenever you get into this sort of work, who doesn't get a dare from someone for some sort of scheme that leads to a misadventure?
"Laur," Olan Bernaby, one of the only frat boys I know that has the honor of actually being considered respectable in my book. For a rent-a-friend, he's a decent boy to have around, if all those 80s movies didn't brainwash him to join "the elite." If I remember right, the bastard caught me while I was busy writing up my third paper in the comp lab. The foot doctor, Dr. Shulz, loved hitting me with extra work, especially since I always begged for extra grades.
"Yo."
"Six of spades to seven of hearts." I was resting up, give me a break. What, you expect me to be a workaholic?
"Shut up, I see it."
"Yeah, I know you did."
He always talked like the biggest skeptic, and he probably was too. A regular old hypocrite when you thought about it.
"What do you want anyway?"
"The guys bet me a pool."
"Really! I'm so surprised!" Emphasis on my wide-eyed expression! Oh, what a surprise to an innocent lil' blue-eyed blonde like me!
"Shut up, could you at least pretend you're working and not playing Solitaire?" You had to love him, especially when he said it with that pseudo-english accent they call Canadian.
"Girl's got to get her work done somehow."
"Uh huh... two of clubs to-"
"-too late, beat you! ...now, what did you need me for, and no, I'm not going to be the frat ride like you wanted."
"Ha, you'd probably be the only one they wouldn't touch."
"Yeah, well-"
"-enough of your catcalls, they want to have you do a report about someone for the school paper." You got it right, he was an editor for the college paper; why did you think I loved him so much?
"Oh, not for Beta Thi, huh?"
"Of course not! What makes you think that?"
"Who, 'she said questioning the fatass'?"
"Gene Erlenkratz."
This would be where I start to just go blank.
"Don't tell me you've got your eyes on him too."
"Shut it, big boy."
"You know you love it big." He won, especially when he winked at me like something out of a Marilyn Monroe wink. I burst out laughing my ass off and got stared at by the entire cluster. One of the goddamn T.A.s ended up stalking up to us with their stick-in-the-ass approaches.
"Something wrong here?" He said it with a sort of way you'd want to punch someone. You know, like the anal guy that works a Mcdonald's with a pissy job that wants to show everyone just how pissy he is.
"Yes, this person is annoying me and getting in the way of my work!"
"Piss on it, he knows already. Now, you gonna do it?"
"Tell them I'll think about it."
"I know you enough to know that that means you'll take it."
Shit, he's good. I'd have to marry him if he wasn't engaged to his Biology professor. First gay student-professor relationship I ever heard of, and first scoop I wanted to get all on a notepad when it happened. I promised the two I wouldn't embarrass them... too much. Anyway, he was right, I was curious.
I knew Gene back during first year. Never seen a freshman come home with so many women and not be gay to begin with. Don't think I liked him like that; he was definitely not my type: too macho; he even made the Christian ROTC nazis look like kids in comparison to his macho shpiels. Didn't say much, though it was because he never had much to say to begin with. Take, for instance, this one little instance I got to have the "benefit" of seeing for a speech class.
The professor was a nice guy.
-...okay, if you knew me that meant he was a dick.
A five foot three dick on a stick with nothing going for him except a five year health insurance plan with Rogaine. He wanted Gene to go up and express to the audience his point on the issue of sex. Gene goes up, looks at all of us with his Chico suave look or whatever the hell you call it, and then says something brilliant. I'm fucking serious, everyone knew it was good, and even the bored looking T.A. was looking at him like he said he was giving away free beer. We were all in awe, and he just shrugs it, bows, gets off the stage. Of course, it's so good that the professor had to make up some bullshit about him not standing right for a proper speech.
He looked at the professor like he didn't even care about what he was saying, and that pissed him off even more. But we knew he was good, and in a class of fifty, when all fifty actually are forced into the class to see something good, we know when a professor is acting jealous. He probably hated mandatory attendance for that, because he said to come in whenever we wanted just in case he had to pull Gene up to the stage again. Fucking hilarious.
The stories go even beyond that. Some talk about where he did speeches for safe sex, where he rewired the entire LAN network whenever one of the servers got worn, even when he caught muggers and rapists and gave them his own "personal justice." The man's like a GOD on campus, but no one touches him unless it's a girl he brings to his room for "teaching lessons." If you got rid of everything else, you could call him the biggest gigolo on campus, but in this case he'd be the world's finest gigolo on campus; you know, like Bond only without the gadgets.
"Hey Laura, are you really going to get a background on Gene?" Melissa was the local ride for Beta Thi. BT boys ate her like ambrosia, I prefered poking her like the diseased herpes machine she was.
"Yeah, fun stuff. You know the bastard put me on a waiting list to talk with him? Fucking a."
"He's a great lover," she sighed happily with that dreamy princess look. Excuse me if I don't roll my eyes then and there "He told me how to".
"-yeah, that's fine and well, but I'm sorry, I actually need a breath of air."
-because she reeked of weed, so I took a walk to the Rath and ate a plastic salad to commemorate her love of veges. Five fucking days until I could meet the man, and you know what I had to deal with? Melissa was just one of them. I got bothered by ten to twenty different people a day about this guy that I barely even remembered; they just went from weird to fucking INSANE.
"Hey, Laura, you actually were floormates with him, weren't you?" Yeah, about an eternity ago, asshole.
"Laura, you know he's a sleaze right?" No, really?
"Laura, we pray for you about your pilgrimage to-" -I think that said enough. Okay, you got the picture here. You either love the guy or hate him, sort of like dual nature that the philosophy classes liked to spew out to make you think they're right and you're wrong.
When it finally came to the time to meet the "Famous Gene Erlenkratz," the guy waited for me outside his house where he had people look after him. Poor little rich boy with all his attendants... excuse me if I didn't roll my eyes at this time. Of course, a few of his "friends" waited around outside handling his schedules, including one very undersexed-looking guy that stared at me like I was the antichrist. You know what? I love that look.
"Here to see Gene," I looked around a living room-turned-lobby. I don't think I could ever earn enough money to get a place like this even if I became the next Walter fucking Cronkite. His place had enough Victorian finish on it to blind someone if the candelabras weren't so dim.
Gene came down from his round staircase from above, looking at me through his shades with that mightier-than-thou look. I knew his type and just stuck to sucking ass as much as possible and hope my psychology professors weren't feeding me total B.S.
"You are...?"
"Laura Herrig." Asshole, he could have remembered my name at least.
"The reporter? Come on in." He gestured to his main room. I just followed, trying not to let the glare of the servants and fanboys hit me as badly as the finish of his gaudy lil' wonderland.
His den looked pretty nice... if you believed that you needed to make those sort of things all nice. Velvet couches and bear rugs and a fireplace that wasn't on and electric candles to make you feel "in the mood." Oh, how shockingly amazing! How full of taste! I wondered where he kept his Hugh Hefner robe.
"Hey, take a seat," he said it with that Guido accent again and pointed me to a velvet couch. He took to lying on the sofa like he was expecting me to jump on him.
"So what's up?"
"I have a few questions for you, if you could answer them for me, mister Erlenkratz."
"Hey, hey, just call me Gene, gotcha?" I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes, had to stop, had to stop...
"Yes... Gene..." I had to give him that grin, that extremely fake one that no one believes.
"Hey, okay... you gotsa nice smile there, babe." It was a prozac grin. I just tried to keep it, tried not to make myself go over, just kept smiling until...
"So what's the questions you got for me?" I hoped he was going to ask...
Questions, questions, all of them boring. Son of a rich man, preppy boy school life, yadda yadda yadda...
"Hey, I'm not boring you or anything am I?"
"Oh no, please! Go on, go on!" Ugh, next thing you know, he'd tell me about his love of polo clothes and polo sports.
I won't bore you with technical information. To put a long story short, he was dull like another episode of the Real World in the real world. Yeah, dull with dull; pretty lame. Son of a rich family, excelled in school, did well in life, got lots of girls, top and everything, yawn.
I was going to go home and report the bad news, but then I got that lucky break.
"Seeing as it's almost dinner, you wanna discuss more at a restaurant?"
Bingo. Booze him and then squeeze him for anything he's withholding. The art of subterfuge, courtesy of every college kid's favorite stimulant.
"Le Chateau Rouge," or "Red Cottage" was one of the fancier places in this shithole college town catering to the wealthier parents and the academic faculty with the money to impress people: I should know since Olan got invited here by his professor when he got engaged. Don't think that just because I lived off of McDonald's all my life doesn't mean I know decent food when I eat it. Chicago had some of the finest restaurants in the Mideast. That's not saying much, and fuck you if you thought that, but I don't care: this place here was where you were paying an extra fifty bucks to eat a three star meal for a four star restaurant. I could tell you about the college students that worked here too, but I don't want to bore you a storm.
"The 'Canard a l'orange' is excellent here."
"Oh really? Maybe I'll try it..." -when I feel like choking on dead duck, rich boy.
"How about a wine? A Chardonnay?"
"Sure, I'll trust your judgement." A shame I didn't drink or else I would have hit him for the best wines they had.
"Now... did you have anymore questions?"
"Me? Oh, yes, I do find your life so very, very interesting..."
"Really? You don't sound so interested."
"You're a VERY interesting man, mister Erlenkratz."
"You are the very first woman who was interested in me that refered to me by my last name, know what I mean?" He got me. Bastard could read through me, and I knew it.
I would have been busted there if the appetizers didn't come in and break the mood. The bastard was good... oh, I have to admit it, he was good. I kept my mouth always nibbling on something though... I needed to think my way out of this. It came when the wine did and I took sips. Careful sips. I didn't drink but my dad had a proud wine collection: I had the bloodline of winos to protect me from anything.
-so why the fuck did I get smashed? Because the bastard was better than me, but I was at least able to keep some sense.
"Oh god, I feel like shit."
-shut up before you think anything, I had control of the situation.
"You're a pretty hot mama, Laura."
"Mmmm, thank you..."
"-but do you want to have me?"
"Pft, yeah right! I was just using you to-"
"-find out any dark secrets about me?"
"Hee hee... you're right, you fucking bastard! I hate your kind! Hee..."
"I assure you that I only think towards one's best interests."
"Oh? An' whyzzat?"
"Because I'm not human."
"Ehhh...?" I wouldn't have believed it, but it was on my tape recorder. I wanted the scoop and he was giving it to me.
"When I say I am the son of a wealthy Fortune 500 tycoon, I am partially correct: I was actually a creation of his eugenics lab."
"What the fuck does your jeans have to do with this, you fuckin' perv?"
"Heh... I guess I got you more drunk than necessary. There's 46 chromosomes in a human... let's just say that mine are made especially into me for special reasons."
"Whuzzat? So... you use your special powers to have sex with women?"
"That would be too simple. In actuality I was taught about acupuncture and know many pleasure points similar to giving a woman something similar to an orgasm... it's merely a facade to make sure you don't get too far in the way."
"Wuh the fuck are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm a step above you."
"Shut the fuck up, you fucking high and mighty bitch. I should pound you for your bullshit."
"Do you know why I am telling you this?"
"..."
"It's to inform you when you wake up. I know about the tape recorder in your pocket. I know about the Sigma Lau wanting to get some dirt on me, and I know about your history Laura Letterham Herrig."
"You know nothing, dipshit!"
"I know more than you'd ever want to have known about you, from the five puppies you once had to the Dave Matthews CD you bought yesterday."
"Liar!"
"I just tell you this and your tape recorder to tell you to leave me alone. I merely plan to observe you humans."
"Just shut the fuck up... I'm tired..."
"Very well, I will drop you off at your apartment. I hope that this information will lead to a very fruitful understanding." Bastard turned off my tape recorder then. I wasn't entirely smashed then though... I still remember most of this. Fucking a', can you imagine someone being a clone? No one would believe it. Instead, I just decided to write up a new story... and hope that the Sigma Lau pigs would buy that crap.
* TheGeneBean has joined #WasteWorld
< TheGeneBean > sup folks
* Kuni waves at TheGeneBean
< handsinsidethepuppethead > Its the Gene Bean!
< BenDover > sup TGB
< TheGeneBean > Hey Kuni, hitph, BenDover
< MorticiaAddamsApple > Hey Bean, did you scare the shit out of her?
< TheGeneBean > yeah lol thanks for the info man
< NumberWon > d4 g3n3!
< MorticiaAddamsApple > Anytime, bitches deserve it and she was the biggest one
< BenDover > bout time someone got her rofl think shell buy it?
< TheGeneBean > nah, she'll probably do something about it sup NumberWon
< Kuni > LOL thats balls to trick every girl you meet into thinking you fucked them and then make them think your something else
< handsinsidethepuppethead > Revenge of the Nerds part VII: TheGeneBean strikes back!
< TheGeneBean > lol
< NumberWon > y0, g1v d4 ch1k5 2 m3!
< TheGeneBean > you'd have a cleaner time doing your vacuum, NumberWon
* MorticiaAddamsApple lols
* BenDover rofls
< Kuni > LOL