Happy Pappy Song .
“Why are you doing that?” He looked at Darrin, who just stared ahead and continued humming. “Okay, okay,” Cal said. “Enough of that shit.”
Darrin acted like Cal wasn’t even there. “Be kind hmm hmm hmm be fond hmm hmm hmm …”
“Do you want to walk?” Cal shouted.
Darrin stopped humming. “Damn, man. Relax. I was just about to give you something for your self-esteem. That’s all.” Darrin reached into his pants pocket and held up a small baggie of white powder.
Cal nodded. “Fuckin’ awesome!”
“Oh yes,” Darrin said.
CHAPTER 5
The tuxedo made Crawford uncomfortable. It always did. The jacket was too big and the trousers were too small, especially in the crotch. As he drove, he questioned why he hadn’t bought a new one in almost five years.
Buying clothes is such a hassle, he thought, shifting his penis to a more comfortable position. A new tux never crossed his mind until he had to wear one, probably because he didn’t like to go to events where they were mandatory.
“Humans have a tendency to be ill-prepared for things they don’t want to endure, hence the importance of deliberate effort,” he once wrote in Self-Confidence .
Yeah, yeah. What stupid shit .
Dorothy was different. She enjoyed dressing up and going to highbrow events. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures, as she put it. She felt that her husband’s cynicism about such occasions was just the intellectual posturing of a grouchy old man. She concluded he enjoyed protesting about such things — that was one of his simple pleasures. So, considering that, there was nothing to worry about. Each of them, in their own way, was going to have a good time.
The California University of Arts and Sciences auditorium parking lot was filled with mid-range luxury cars and formal attire.
A trip to the university campus always included burning contempt for the people Crawford ran into, and an event like this made his disdain break out like a nasty rash. Crawford looked down upon most of the professors as shallow poseurs who didn’t respect the sanctity of the institution that employed them. It was bad enough that the student body was filled with slackers trying as hard as they could to do absolutely nothing. They were supposed to be young and stupid. But college professors that taught subjects like philosophy, literature and psychology, they were supposed to uphold a few standards. They were supposed to carry themselves in a certain way. But this bunch , they were the types that showed up to a university event and talked about their new cars, their recent vacations and what they had read in some interior design magazine.
But who was Crawford kidding? He was the most embarrassing guest of them all. Doctor Popular, Doctor TV . How could he call anyone a fraud?
At least I’m aware of it.
“I don’t know what you’re fretting over,” Dorothy said enthusiastically. “Everyone’s going to be happy to see you. This is your alma mater. They love you here.”
“Uh huh,” Crawford groaned, trying to straighten his awkward tuxedo.
The display above the auditorium read “Dr. Phillip Peters Honorary Banquet.” And below that, written in graceful script, “Helmut Vogel Fellowship.”
Crawford read the lavish billboard and knew it was time to paint on his meet-and-greet facade and do some bullshitting. Just inside the reception area, Crawford saw them — the men he despised most after himself. He first saw their cocktails — gin martinis — resting lazily in their hands, promising to embellish their mindless chatter. Dr. Jay Berry and Dr. Albert Scott, the kiss ass twins, as Crawford used to call them back in university, two guys who were always together, both with an annoying penchant for brownnosing everyone in a position of power — except for Crawford — while looking down on everyone else. And there they were, same as always, talking big talk, their giant bellies quaking as they laughed at their
“Why are you doing that?” He looked at Darrin, who just stared ahead and continued humming. “Okay, okay,” Cal said. “Enough of that shit.”
Darrin acted like Cal wasn’t even there. “Be kind hmm hmm hmm be fond hmm hmm hmm …”
“Do you want to walk?” Cal shouted.
Darrin stopped humming. “Damn, man. Relax. I was just about to give you something for your self-esteem. That’s all.” Darrin reached into his pants pocket and held up a small baggie of white powder.
Cal nodded. “Fuckin’ awesome!”
“Oh yes,” Darrin said.
CHAPTER 5
The tuxedo made Crawford uncomfortable. It always did. The jacket was too big and the trousers were too small, especially in the crotch. As he drove, he questioned why he hadn’t bought a new one in almost five years.
Buying clothes is such a hassle, he thought, shifting his penis to a more comfortable position. A new tux never crossed his mind until he had to wear one, probably because he didn’t like to go to events where they were mandatory.
“Humans have a tendency to be ill-prepared for things they don’t want to endure, hence the importance of deliberate effort,” he once wrote in Self-Confidence .
Yeah, yeah. What stupid shit .
Dorothy was different. She enjoyed dressing up and going to highbrow events. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures, as she put it. She felt that her husband’s cynicism about such occasions was just the intellectual posturing of a grouchy old man. She concluded he enjoyed protesting about such things — that was one of his simple pleasures. So, considering that, there was nothing to worry about. Each of them, in their own way, was going to have a good time.
The California University of Arts and Sciences auditorium parking lot was filled with mid-range luxury cars and formal attire.
A trip to the university campus always included burning contempt for the people Crawford ran into, and an event like this made his disdain break out like a nasty rash. Crawford looked down upon most of the professors as shallow poseurs who didn’t respect the sanctity of the institution that employed them. It was bad enough that the student body was filled with slackers trying as hard as they could to do absolutely nothing. They were supposed to be young and stupid. But college professors that taught subjects like philosophy, literature and psychology, they were supposed to uphold a few standards. They were supposed to carry themselves in a certain way. But this bunch , they were the types that showed up to a university event and talked about their new cars, their recent vacations and what they had read in some interior design magazine.
But who was Crawford kidding? He was the most embarrassing guest of them all. Doctor Popular, Doctor TV . How could he call anyone a fraud?
At least I’m aware of it.
“I don’t know what you’re fretting over,” Dorothy said enthusiastically. “Everyone’s going to be happy to see you. This is your alma mater. They love you here.”
“Uh huh,” Crawford groaned, trying to straighten his awkward tuxedo.
The display above the auditorium read “Dr. Phillip Peters Honorary Banquet.” And below that, written in graceful script, “Helmut Vogel Fellowship.”
Crawford read the lavish billboard and knew it was time to paint on his meet-and-greet facade and do some bullshitting. Just inside the reception area, Crawford saw them — the men he despised most after himself. He first saw their cocktails — gin martinis — resting lazily in their hands, promising to embellish their mindless chatter. Dr. Jay Berry and Dr. Albert Scott, the kiss ass twins, as Crawford used to call them back in university, two guys who were always together, both with an annoying penchant for brownnosing everyone in a position of power — except for Crawford — while looking down on everyone else. And there they were, same as always, talking big talk, their giant bellies quaking as they laughed at their
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