Monday, September 24, 2007

Leon Wants a Motorcycle, Max!

My review of the Bears' gigantic upchuck from yesterday will arrive tomorrow. My dog ate it. Instead, meet Leon and Max. They have adventures.


- Hey Max, what are you doing this afternoon? I need to buy a truck.

- Why on god’s green earth do you need a truck?

- To move things. Large, weighty things. Objects nigh unmovable by mortal man.

- Like what?

- Like…furniture. And boulders. And motorcycles.

- Are you also going to buy a motorcycle?

- Why would I buy a motorcycle? I’m buying a truck.

- So whose motorcycle are you going to transport across this great land?

- It’s a metaphor, idiot. It’s the motorcycle of freedom!

- How bout the furniture?

- Well that could be real. What if I have to move?

- Leon, don’t you live with your parents? What makes you think you're moving now?

- First of all, I live in the basement. And I have my own separate entrance. It’s a got a different lock, and mailbox, and everything. And don’t forget my doormat.

- You have a doormat?

- How often have you been to my place, Max? You don’t remember the doormat? I spent months searching for the perfect one.

- First, it’s not your place, it’s your parents’. Second, if I remember correctly, didn’t you steal that doormat from some house down the street?

- Yeah: the “Woodcocks.” How hilarious is that?

- I have to admit, it’s actually pretty funny. You got me there.

- That’s right. Anyway, I’m not living with them forever. At some point I’m out, and I’ll need a truck to cart away my crap.

- Is any of it actually yours?

- Yes. It’s my bed, my dresser, my tv –

- Isn’t that the bedroom set from your old bedroom upstairs?

- Twenty years I’ve had that stuff.

- You can tell. Maybe it’s time to sleep in a bed that doesn’t have GI Joe decals all over the headboard.

- Why?

- That’s an excellent question. We could probably head over to O’Sheighs and ask the fine women there whether cartoon stickers are a turn on. But I think we already know the answer.

- I’ve never heard a complaint.

- Have you ever brought a woman home during the day? Or when the lights are on?

- Several, actually.

- Really.

- You calling me a liar, Max?

- Not right now. But the day is young. Who knows where fate will take us?

- Exactly! Now you understand why I need a truck.

- To move furniture. And metaphorical boulders.

- There might be real boulders. What if I’m driving up to Mt. Rufus and I see a damsel trapped under an avalanche of dusty, heavy rocks? I can free her with my truck, while wearing dusty boots. And a mustache.

- Will she be wearing a ball gown? Is she cursed to remain buried in her igneous prison until a fair knight rescues her, using his broadsword and winch?

- Wow. Pulled that one right out of your ass, didn’t you?

- Which, igneous? One of the two things I remember from junior high earth science.

- What’s the other?

- Krebs cycle.

- Amazing.

- Isn’t it just?

- So are you going to help me or not?

- What, still with the truck? Let it go, Leon, you are not buying a truck.

- I am too. And if you don’t help me, it will haunt you forever.

- Somehow I find that quite unlikely.

- It’s true. Because I’ll get something garish and neon with all sorts of unnecessary options, and park it outside your house deep into the night, and blast hardcore hip-hop out of the oversized woofer. Is it wooter?

- The thing with the crazy bass?

- Yeah. Tweeter? Overhead cam? I’m so lost when it comes to trucks. That’s why I need one, so I can learn.

- I’ve heard they give classes on autoshop at the Y. Also the high school. Did you take woodcutting instead?

- No, pottery. I thought I’d get to kiln things, and people.

- You forgot about the “n” at the end, didn’t you?

- I was a late developer, what can you do?

- Late developer meaning the ability to read?

- Also body hair – I didn’t shave until I was 19. The blade of a razor had yet to graze my virgin cheek, my innocent jowl. Help me buy a truck, dammit!

- I am helping you. By distracting you with high-falutin concepts I mean to put you off this wholly impractical purchase.

- Why can’t you just help me? This is me being adamant. Herewith I stamp my foot…so. Come with me to the dealer, Max. You can pick the color.

- Why not use the money for something, you know, useful? Like a real, non-metaphorical motorcycle.

- Well that’s obviously the final objective. But I can’t just leap right to motorcycle. And even if I did buy one, how would I get it around? Here we are then, back at the truck.

- Or you could ride the motorcycle as god intended. And it would fit in your front hall, which already doubles as the garage.

- No way. My parents would kill me if I got a motorcycle. That’s why I need the truck.

- I don’t follow.

- It’s like buying a dog before you have a baby.

- So if you show your parents that you’re responsible enough to take care of a truck, and feed it every day and play with it and pick up after it, you’ll be ready to birth a Harley?

- I’ve even got a helmet. Want to know what it looks like?

- Does it have GI Joe decals on the sides?

- Close. FLAMES.

- Awesome.

- Right? So come with me, and I might even let you wear the helmet.

- Your generosity honors me. But no. And why do you need my help?

- Because you have a truck, you know how truck people talk.

- I have a minivan. And who are truck people?

- Now who’s being stupid?

- Alright. But I still don’t know anything about trucks.

- You know more than me, and that’s enough.

- If I do help you – and I’m not saying I will, I’m reserving my right to walk away – if I help you, I want your doormat.

- You sneaky bastard. How long have you had your eye on the “Woodocks?”

- Months. Ever since you stole it. But I need it, Leon. Yearning for it keeps me up at night.

- I bet it does. OK, if you help me buy a truck, I’ll give you my doormat.

- I think we have a deal.

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