فيزا
I'm here, still in my living room of course, in the middle (not East, sadly for me) of this super awkward, super weird, super cringe, Stone Gossard x Frank McKinney sandwich, doing my best not to be too obvious about the fact that I'm laughing my (almost invisible) ass cheeks off because that'd be pretty disrespectful towards both men involved in this ridiculous sitch. I'm howling in secret, while Stone is looking at Frank like he's wondering what the heck I must've done to get the police delivered at my door while he was just showering, besides drumming of course... and Frank is looking at Stone like he's wondering why the heck I have a half naked, fairly attractive man who ain't his son straight outta the shower at my place. Whatever this situation is, I don't know because I'm just as confused as them here, it's so absurd and so bizarre that the only thing I can do is chuckle at the ridiculousness, and hence give both men reasons to believe that to me, this is nothing but a joke. Well it is just a joke, a huge fucking joke and the weirdest crossover I've ever been a part of, but my way of being so nonchalant and ironic about it (but they can't tell it 'cause they don't know shit, and they surprisingly don't even know eachother) is only warranting me weird, confused and questioning looks from both men. This situation over here is starting to feel like a staring competition, and looking (no pun intended, I swear) at the way Stone and Frank are handling it, I feel like my chuckles, my nonchalance and I are winning it by a large margin: my unbothered, self assured gaze is flipping from the semi opened door of my restroom, very inviting because I have a full bladder and need to sit on the white trone very urgently, unless I want to piss on my beautiful, Oriental living room carpet ... then to Stone, looking at me like he's wondering if the police is over to bust me for undercover, terroristic activities, all the way to Frank, looking at me like he's urging me to give him an explanation or two for what's going on here. In reality, I'm not a cheat as Frank is assuming (or at least so I believe he is), and I'm not a threat to public order as Stone is assuming... I'm just a Good Samaritan, and my house has turned into the house of the Good Samaritan, as in the tale narrated in the Holy Bible. Couldn't be any other way, 'cause I'm from Bethlehem, and just like Jesus Christ himself, my most famous compatriot ever, I'm a little bit of a socialite too. I like to gather people around me, I am a people pleaser, I am a fairly decent storyteller, and that must be the reason why I have two super fly guests over at my place at the same time. They're both making the wrongest assumptions on my account, but if I ain't saying a word nor giving them an explanation here, it's because my poise is what's making this whole thing funnier than it'd be if I faced it in a reasonable, rather civilised manner. This shit is so funny, that I wish I had a phone with a built-in camera so that I could call Sean and show him the absurd fucking situation I'm being up to, and have a good laugh at the absurdity in itself with him. But I can't, because technology ain't gone that far just yet... and also because I know he's playing a show right now, and he wouldn't answer my call anyways, not even if I told him I'm dying and he's the only one who could save me. So I do the only thing I could do in this instance, and I invite both present men to sit around my kitchen table with me. And have a coffee too, the kind of coffee in which not only I tell them that they've been pranked big time, although I had no manifest intent to pull a prank on them tonight... but I also tell them that they don't have to either doubt me or worry about me. I'm pretty much harmless, and a modern day version of the Good Samaritan dude mentioned in the Bible. The only difference between him and I is that I smoke cigarettes and he doesn't... but I'm pretty sure that it's just because in Jesus's time, cigarettes didn't exist just yet. Which is, unironically much, the same excuse I make when someone tells me that I should quit smoking because it's haram. How is it haram, if in the time the Quran was written, cigarettes didn't fucking exist? Come on... even my bigot, overly religious mom agrees with this point and would have a smoke at the nonsense. Change my mind, I'll light myself a cigarette and sip some coffee in the meantime. And I'll also keep laughing and doing the 1312 sign with my hands, just for the sake of confusing my non father in law, father in law some more ... and Stone too, because why the fuck not? My feathered son is squawking 'the cops are here, mama! The cops are here! Squawk!' from his tallest perch, and his rowdiness is only adding up to the absurdity of this already absurd, surreal even situation. And right now, I'm getting the vibe that Stone and Frank aren't just thinking that I'm crazy... but guilty of something too, to some extent. I'm clowning these dudes big time, I'm having the time of my life doing that, although unintentionally... and trust me, I just needed a laugh worthy, halal pastime in order to feel slightly more present to myself tonight. Said pastime came in when I was expecting it the least, my beloved guests ended up being the target of my brutal clownery... and I'm fucking living for this moment. I fed them and I made them bombastic (no pun intended) coffee ... this means that now I have all rights to give them fifteen minutes of pure hell and acid reflux, don't I ? Sean would've surely said yes and been fucking proud of me if he was here, so I'll keep doing my own thing. And thinking about him all along, because I just can't help it. Celibacy does weird things to people, they get weirder the weirder the person in question is... and being the person in question me, I can guarantee that the side effects of not having gotten laid for too long are starting to show brutally at the minute.
