Bobby D'Angelo
It’s 11:09 AM, and you wake up with a bones day. For the last three weeks, you’ve been telling yourself that tomorrow will be the day that you get it together, but much like any of my ex-girlfriends, tomorrow never comes. You walk downstairs where your Dad talks to you about his first summer job when he was eight months old, in which he somehow traveled back in time to live through the British Industrial Revolution and worked in the textile industry because that’s how bad it was. You have a job as a lifeguard or some other shitty gig that pays you minimum wage to deal with mostly children and whatever the fuck the new politically correct term for people with disabilities is- side note. How weird is it that America takes its most inexperienced workers and puts them with society’s most vulnerable people? Either way, your off today, and just as you are about to escape from suburban Alcatraz, your Dad hits you with an array of chores that you can occupy yourself with while growing more and more anxious over what you snap texted the girl you shouldn’t talk to anymore last night.
Just as you finish weeding, you flip on your living room TV to witness a disgusting act of white-on-black violence, JJ Reddick debating Stephen A. Smith. The best part about summer, other than girls showing off their robust features and dogs eating ice cubes, is by far the fact that you can kill two hours, pinch itching sack/doing something that benefits your life in no meaningful way, and there are no consequences. In normal life, your just a guy whose most likely insecure with no concrete life direction, but in for the few hours a day in 2k, you get to be a 6’5 guy who Jay Wright recruited out of high school, before making it primetime and sharing the love with his racially ambiguous friends. After dropping thirty-two points on Dejounte Murray, you decide that much like noon on Shrute Farms… it’s beat time, so you throw on a video of Mia Malakova getting an in-depth personal training session and watch what would probably have ended up in hundreds of thousands of dollars in student debt dissipate into a sock.
By now, it’s five, and you don’t feel like going too crazy tonight after last night, so you make plans to meet up with some friends to smoke and get anxious together. Before you depart, it’s essential to take full advantage of your Mom’s cooking, so you grab a hefty bowl of whatever chicken dish she made, pick out the mushrooms, and hop into your car. As soon as you start your engine, you let out a Jason Bateman-Esque sigh because you’re low on gas. You head to the local gas station that has been selling you Hyde bars for the last three weeks, and you’re a little surprised to learn that Shell is celebrating pride month. As you fill up your car, you begin to grow more and more defeated over the price being the same to fill up your car as a G-Eazy general admission concert ticket in 2016. It’s cool to live in a country prioritizing the ever-important things like JK Rowling[a lady known for writing a fictional series about Wizards] ‘s thoughts on Trans rights. Just another day in paradise.
