This is a work of fiction. No true person's story was depicted here to the best of my knowledge. If I said your story or a part of it, or a story you know, it was by pure chance. The story and all good and bad parts of it or in it are mine. I don't have an editor, so please bear with any typos. I tried to get them all, but they always tend to creep up where you don't expect them to.
As a final word: I don't usually erase any comments. If you want to be an asshole to me, rest assured I am a bigger one, hence the name, so feel free to being your true selves. You literally cannot offend me.
Anyway, hope you like it. If not, sorry for your time. This last bit, from asshole to asshole.
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It was a nice evening at the coffee shop down the corner from my house, where my dear friend Joyce was trying to put some sense into me, the poor bastard named Rob. Joyce truly cares for me (please notice the present tense, all is thankfully good today as we speak), and shows it in a mother-hen sort of way, and I absolutely adore her. Don't get any funny ideas: all this as a friend - she is the wife of my lifelong best friend and work partner George, but at this point I have a hard time choosing between the two of them, and thank the Universe I don't actually have to; they are a package deal, and I do love the package. I care for them both that much.
She, for some reason unknown, felt that I definitely needed to find a "good woman, and yes, there are some of those too, you know!" and worse of all, she needed to be the one to find that elusive entity for me. She had tried to do that for a while, and the results were very... questionable, at best. But Joyce is such a sweetheart, so I knew she meant well. And she is so cute, talking with that sing-song voice of hers. A voice of a great heart. When we met we instantly knew that we would love each other as best pals - no romance or sexual chemistry at all - but she is perfect for my friend and a treasure of a friend for me. I would, without a shadow of a doubt, murder a village to keep her safe, although I would never see her as a romantic interest or she me for that matter. Weird maybe, but it happens. Still, her matchmaking abilities, unfortunately, left a lot to be desired.
"Joyce, you have been pestering me for over an hour now. I believe you need to stop this," I said.
"Rob, I wouldn't be on your case if I wasn't sure that you two are made for each other!" she exclaimed.
Did I say I love her singing voice? There you have it.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like all those times that you said the same and it turned out to be... sub-optimal? No, scratch that. A bona fide horror story is more like it!" I remarked and chuckled.
"Oh, poor darling, how terrified you must have been. Poor you, against all those... girls! Poor, poor baby!" she said and laughed.
Well, to be honest, for an outsider, it did seem ridiculous; if you weren't there. If you were, it truly was a collection of horror stories for generations to come.
"Girls? We are still talking about the nutcases that you have been trying to send my way? Again and again? Certifiable, loony-bin wackos?" I asked, smiling at her.
"Oh, come on! I always warned you about any... traits you should know beforehand. You were forewarned, mister!" she playfully said in her melodious, sing-song manner. Such a sweetie, Joyce is.
"Forewarned?" I asked her. "Definitely not! I mean, yes, technically you did tell me to expect *something*, but you warned be about a light wave on a pond and I got myself against full oceanic deep impact mega-tsunamis, repeatedly so in fact."
She couldn't help but chuckle at that.
"Joyce, there came a time that I seriously thought you were playing me. Laughing your cute little butt off my demise. I mean..."
"Cute and little?! Hahahaha! I only wish! Hahahaha! Anyway, please be serious for once. Everyone has their own peculiarities. It is not a big deal. Oh, poooor little maaan!" she said and laughed.
"Poor for sure, Joyce dearest. Poor me, again and again! I mean... that last one... Debby she was? Yes, Debby. Oh Lord, she did not let me utter more than *three* sentences the whole night! I mean, for crying out loud!"
"OK, I told you she was talkative. I did warn you!" she sang.
"Joyce, talkative is one thing. Monopolizing the utterance of human speech for two hours is another. We are talking about a hostage situation here! I seriously hoped to be saved somehow. Do you understand that I was actually hoping for my very own wing-knight in a shining armor to scoop her up and save my ass? And damn, do I look like a friggin' princess to you? Yeah, thought not!"
She laughed hard with that one.
"And that other one, what's her name... Helen? Yes, Helen. Oh my God. Beautiful, I'll give you that. But..."
"Careful there, buster. She is my friend!" she warned playfully. What a combo. Warning but playfully. Joyce can pull this up like nobody's business.
"Joyce, please. One minute passed and she started crying over that guy... Justin something?"
"You mean Jacob, her ex..."
"Yes, thank you! Jacob. Well, you remember, I told you all about it. I learned *everything* there is to know about Jacob. How he smells, how he so beautifully farts when he makes that Godly sweet, sweet luuuuv..."
She almost lost it laughing. I kept going.
"... how his farts smell better than the Roses from the Garden of Eden and his asshole sings better than the trumpet of Louis Armstrong, and..."
She almost tossed her coffee laughing. I continued.
"... his shit smell like carnations, taste like Pizza Hut's special and ain't just edible, but nutritious too. Even Keto-friendly if you're lucky. Mmmmm, shit gets me hungry, for real."
She almost fell off the chair. But I did not stop.
"Lady, I heard it twice the first time! OK, he is *God*, the one and only. Then what the hell does she want with a mere mortal like me? I know MY shit ain't Keto. They don't have any nutritious value to save my life. Nobody could live much on a steady diet from my excrement, that much I can guarantee."
I watched her struggling to compose herself and chuckled a bit myself, before continuing my tirade.
"And, what's her name, Amanda? Oh Lord oh mighty, don't get me started there. When she opened her mouth I felt like a little girl on a steady diet of French, piano and savoir-vivre, as opposed to her, the proverbial sailor with a 30-inch super-dick! Her language was swear words interspersed with a few regular tidbits. 'Asshole this, fuck that, bitch this, fucking cunt that, motherfucking this, lousy piece of shit that, your mother's fuckhole this, your father's shithole that'. A true wordsmith. A woman's woman, feminine to the core. I get a hardon thinking about her. 'Fuckity Shit motherfucking fuck', oh Lord I'm ready to soil my pants. Yes, that was an actual transcription, no joke!"
She gasped for air. I had to put a lid on it soon if I wanted George not to assassinate me for the death of his wife, even if it was death by laughter.
"These were actual phrases she used, I shit you not! I am an altar boy, compared to her. No, scratch that, an altar gurlie. I sincerely looked at her pants fully expecting a hardon the size of John Holmes, but to no avail. And, my dearest Joyce, as you understand, I can go on and on and on, many more niceties like the aforementioned where these came from. Each time, a new level of shitshow. We should Reality-TV it. We are losing revenue here, I'm telling you! You should make this a business!"
"Oh stop it Rob, you're killing me! Ah, I can't breathe! Oh Lord!"
After a while, both of us with a semblance of composure.
"Rob, this girl is the one. I am telling you. She is your other half. Your soulmate. I just *know* it!" she said.
"Joyce, please leave it alone. It will fail. For sure. I can smell it from a mile away."
"Rob, stop it. She really is. The one for you. She is like, molded on you, it's not even funny."
"So, she's like me with a vagina? Is that what you are saying?"
She almost snorted her coffee through her nose.
"Joyce, f.y.i., I would *not* fuck myself given the chance. Except if you count masturbation, that is. But it is a different concept from fucking oneself, isn't it? Or is it?"
She totally lost it. She waved me to stop, she needed air. I obliged, chuckling.
"Look Joyce dearest. I know you will be on my case for eternity, so let's just get on with it. As the Greeks say, 'If a soul is bound to exit - a body - let it exit'. So, once you can breathe again, would you mind telling me about her? So that I know what lies ahead in my date of torture?"
Once she came to, she looked at me with a mild surprise.
"So you will get out on a date with her? You will do this?"
"Joyce, for some reason I cannot understand, I love you beyond words. You are like the sister I never had. I can easily say I love you as much as George, and he is my very best friend and has been so for so many years, but if I were to choose between him and you, it would be an incredibly hard choice for me to make. You know that."
"The feeling is mutual, sweetie. And I love him so much, I don't think you will ever have to make that choice."
"I know, my dear Joyce, and he you. And that is why I cannot say no to you. I will do it. But *please* tell me about her. I need info on my tormentor of the day, when it comes. And please don't understate the facts this time. You know that I will eventually find the exact truth, so please don't go PC on me."
