Caligula and Caesar's American Adventure

I am Not a Boy (Cae)

Seriously, does Cali not care for human safety? She drives like a fucking maniac. Thank God she let me take over the wheel or we’d be dead now. I mean, I love her but she’s freaking insane. I think I may be driving for a lot of this. Get this: we were coming up to a set of lights, and they turned red but she freaking ran them. She ran the lights! Christ, I didn’t realise she was so homicidal. At least she got a decent camper. There’s just something so special about a ratty old VW, right? I don’t know what it is.

Anyway, I guess this is the beginning. I’ve never been to America before, not like this. Cali’s been to England but all she does is whinge and moan about how everything’s different. And she had the audacity to take the piss out of my name. I mean, not on. Come on, she’s called fucking Caligula. I shit you not, ten minutes ago she hit me with this one:

Cali: “You know you have a dude’s name, right?”

Me: “A fucking awesome dude. Come on, didn’t he, like, overthrow the Roman empire or something?” I don’t know a thing about history, not a single fucker of a detail. I mean, I know people didn’t like Margaret Thatcher, but is that history? How old does it have to be to be history? Fuck knows.

Cali: “Dunno. Still a dude, Caesar. What was going on with your mom when she named you?”

Me: “My mum was … actually, yeah, she was probably high. Says you, though – isn’t Caligula like, a fucking casino or something?” Don’t get me wrong, I love my mum, but she loves pot.

Cali: “Only if you play more Grand Theft Auto than you know about history, jeez. He was an emperor.”

No joke, I spluttered when she said that. “He was an emperor. He.”

Cali: “At least it sounds like a girl’s name. And what’s my nickname?” She stuck her tongue out at me and this point. “Cali, like, a pretty name. You know? Yeah. Cae, you’re like, half a kite.” She laughed at her own joke.

I gave up after that. I try to encourage Cali too much – she’s up herself enough already. I mean, it’s great that she’s comfortable with herself … but man, she loves herself. More than she loves anything else. See what I mean? Right now she’s preening herself in the mirror. And according to her, she can’t help being beautiful. I will laugh on the day that someone punches her for saying that.

Right now, she’s bitching at me for driving “too fucking slow, we’re gonna stall.” At least I’m not gonna kill us both.

Me: “Shut up, tosser. I’m trying to drive.”

Cali: “What the fuck is a tosser? Jeez, Cae, are you being all British again?”

Me: “Well, I kind of am British.”

Cali: “So, it’s an insult to throw things?”

Me: “It means you’re a dickhead who should let me drive.”

Cali: “You should let me drive. We’ll get there before it fucking closes.”

God, I swear I wouldn’t give in but she did that thing with her eyes. Anyone would think we’re, like, together. Bet she wishes we are.