how to chose a best friend
My best friend keeps an immaculate yard. I mean landscaping next to none. Perfectly groomed. The grass is always neatly cut and trimmed, sidewalk and driveway edged, by hand I think. Bushes are square and unblemished. Lush green ivy runs up the side of his porch interweaving into the elegant lattice that was handmade by a 4 year old girl in China giving shade to the early evening loungers who gather there to take in their libations. The yard is so neatly manicured that it looks as if it were Ward Cleaver himself setting of to work first thing in the morning, complete with coffee and brief case in hand as June gives him a kiss on the cheek and he rubs the Beave's head on the way out the door to the office. There is a Koi pond, just off the front porch right below the white washed railing with its smartly sculpted woodworking. I am convinced 30 or 40 antique rocking chairs had been sacrificed to produce such a graceful safety measure that was so desperately needed so that children, intoxicated adults, and dogs would not fall into the Koi pond and be eaten alive by the devilish fish...Koi really aren't carnivorous, I mean they will eat your spit. They are dumb as hell and don't even care or know any better.
He had meticulously planted tall wild exotic grasses from far away lands where the people there eat dirt pies for sustenance and worship cows and pigs as their gods. Every now and then they will put ants on their dirt pies to get more protein or when they sell the grass that grows in front of their hut they take the profits and buy some sweet Air Jordan basket ball sneakers on Ebay or a Sony jam box without batteries. Basket ball is huge in New York and Europe these days.
There was a kaleidoscope of flowers smiling at me through magnificent rays of sunshine, the entire light spectrum spilled down from heaven and poured its nourishment into the delicate flora. Little bees dancing around the budding bushes and thickets seeking the all mighty pollen, that monetary nectar of the tiny bee gods. This little garden of Eden my new best friend had created was a living vibrant hub of natural commotion. It seemed to me a living organism of its own, it was perfect. Never before in my short life have I seen such a feat of human gardening like my buddy has made right here in his own front yard.
I could hear the screaming from inside over the pleasant hum of nature. " I fucking hate you you fucking cunt!" "Listen to me you bitch!" An army of ants marched in unison, columns of mighty warriors, servants and laborers all with one goal in mind, the only thing to live for, work for, it is what they do, obey the status quo.
"Man, this dudes yard fucking rules", I said to myself out loud.
More screaming and sobbing resonated from within the little white two story Victorian house in this generally peaceful suburb that could have set on the ever expanding outskirts of any major town in the New Republic of United States of America.
I heard a crash and a door slam.
A small child was crying.
He was a mistake of course, my new friend and his wife really didn't want children. Well, abortion wasn't legal then, and they couldn't get to Mexico with the war going on and all so she started to show that she was pregnant and that made it difficult to terminate by that time, with family and friends and all knowing about it and such. Her mother wanted a grandchild more then she wanted to be a mother. So they decided to keep the baby and try to start a cute little nuclear family. Nuclear it was indeed, there were frequent massively explosive violent fits of rage that engulfed that house on a daily basis. From both sides of the family unit. The wife needed more shoes, the husband needed more TV time to watch the football games. He never listened to her, she was a cold bitch. He drank heavily and she snorted coke. She was thin and beautiful, or so she thought she used to be, looking down at herself in the mirror every morning at the large scar on her lower abdomen brought waves of regret for every bringing a new life into this cursed earth.
Life without responsibility, accountability, reason or cares would be hers again she swore to herself as she chopped her breakfast on a mirror.
I knocked on the door and rang the door bell, it was quiet inside now, and as I gazed at this masterpiece of landscaping before me Carter answered the door. I walked in as little Timmy was cleaning up the broken shards of what used to be a vase or something that held something else pretty to look at. I gave him a pat on the head and my friend gave me a beer out of the fridge. "Yard looks great!" I said. "Yeah" he shrugged," I need to clean out the pond, its getting a little green, either that or just buy a big ass piranha and let the mother fucker eat!" we both laughed and the boy laughed a little.
Carter went into the bathroom for a second and I heard more yelling and screaming. A loud WHAP! echoed through the house and all was silent. I told little Timmy that his dads yard was super sweet and asked him what kind of fish he wanted to put in the pond. His eyes shifted to the bathroom door 2 or 3 times as he hesitantly mumbled something about a shark or an alligator. Carter came out and we went to the man place, otherwise known as the garage.
With frosty brews in hand and a shiny silver flask that stuck out of his back pocket, we sat there an eye humped his brand new motorcycle. It was a Jesse James factory custom "Death Star" production bike that he just got last week. Carter makes a few pennies to rub together, he's got some jack. And he knows how to manage his finances. That's one of the two main reasons we are best friends, He knows how to economically plan for wicked purchases like this iron horse in front of me, and he can keep a bitchin' yard.
"fucking bitch is pregnant again" he grumbles and winces while taking a pull from the flask. " I told her I am not going to pay for another abortion, I cant do it now, not with the DEATH STAR sitting here, I cant do it for another month. Then she will start to show and it will be too late. I told her she needs to pay for this one, I paid for the last 3 or 4, I lost count really, but its her problem not mine."
"I really like the way the pipes route in between the frame and the motor", I say to Carter. "Yep, they charge extra for that" he sputters, wiping whiskey from his lips. " I fucking told her if she would slow down on the ski slopes she would be able to afford to terminate this one in a week or two, our insurance won't cover it either. fucking whore." "coke head slut". He slams the rest of the beer and yells at Timmy to get us two fresh brews and make it snappy or dad will kill the puppy in the yard in front of Timmy's face. I got a good laugh out of that one. You see when a man can turn his yard into a work of art like Carter did, that is what really defines him as a man and when you take into account how well he manages his resources, his investments and is able to properly manage his portfolio the way my best friend Carter does, then, well, you can see why he has so many friends and people want to be around him. People want to be like him.
We fired up the Death Star, we fired up the bong, we drank some beers. Drained the flask. Laughed, he yelled at the kid and wife. It was a good evening with the Johnson's...
