Games

George and I were discussing the edgy public debate between the nominated first ladies that would decide the next election, when Lardass came into the office. He was wet, dripping dirty rainwater on the floor from his mud caked orange slicker. As usual, an aroma of shit pervaded the area where he stood. He carried a large brown paper bag.

"Hey guys, what's up?"
"What's up, my ass. Where have you been?"
He ignored my question, and went to the table whereupon he began taking items out of the bag. Coffee and donuts. Yumm, donuts.

"Where the fuck have you been?" I repeated. "You are supposed to open up, not stroll in like an invited lunch guest."
Lardass glanced over to George. "I figured George could get it opened up today, for a change. I slept late."
"Watching the game? Hey, we were up late too. We got here on time." I yawned.
"I wasn't watching baseball. Professional spectator sports are a waste of time. What kind of dufus sits and watches two groups of overpaid entertainers going through the motions as if they enjoyed 'playing' the sport? The games are dictated by Big TV money. That's why they are playing a summer game in October. It's all bullshit. You might as well be jerking off." Larass stuffed a boston kreme into his unshaven puss.
"If you weren't up late watching the game, then just what were you doing?" George wondered.
"Playing poker."
"Poker, you mean that you drove down to the casino last night? Foxwoods?"
"Naw, I play poker online. Texas Hold'em. It's addictive. You don't play for money, just bonus points."
"So you can't lose?" George twiddled his thumbs as he lined up for the killshot. "Talk about the ultimate jerk off!"

Suddenly, Lardass seemed to comprehend the emptiness and meaningless of his existence. He dropped like a heap into a chair and stayed staring at the floor as if he was watching a preview of a trash strewn future, devoid of hope or escape. I felt sorry for him. Even George realized that he had scored a deep wound, but could not bring himself to show compassion for the vanquished foe. He strode over to the table and grabbed one of the coffees that Lardass had brought.
"Didn't you get any bagels?" he demanded.

Pressure Cooker

It was a dark and stormy morning when I got to the dump this morning. At 7:20 the gates were still locked. Where the fuck was everyone? I pay these guys to get in early and get things organized. I shouldn't have to do everything - especially on a nasty morning like this. I got out of the van and pulled the ring of jingling metal out of my slicker pocket. In the rain sparkled light from the headlights, the wet keys look momentarily like a handful of gemstones. But, they were just the keys to a huge yard full of junk, I mused. I found the key to the padlock after a few tries and pulled the gates back. The dump was supposed to be open for business at 7:30am sharp, and here I was the only one on the job.

I was sitting at my desk still dripping and fuming when George came through the office door. He was soaked. His handlebar moustache drooped like wet puppy tails around his jaw like that angry guy who builds custom choppers on the cable channel.
"Not fit for man nor beast," he intoned in his best WC Fields impression. I wasn't in the mood for levity.
"You're late, I had to open the fucking gates this morning."
"I noticed. Good job"
"Fuck you. Why weren't you here?"
'Man I slept late this morning. stayed up late to watch the game. Where's Lardass anyway? Isn't he supposed to be here early too?
"I'll deal with his fat hide when he gets in. Meanwhile you're on warning, mister."
"ooh. I'ma shakin' in me boots..." he is such a thesbian.

But I started wondering about Lardass. He's never late. He has no life, other than the dump. Maybe he had died in his sleep. Or been jumped by muggers and thrown in the river hogtied with duct tape. Or maybe his jeep had gone into a ditch on the way in. The roads were slick and it was dark at this time of the morning...I was playing out all the disasters that I recalled from the evening news when George interrupted my revery.
"Turn out the lights, the party's over," he sang as he held up the morning paper.
"You mean the Red Sox?" I asked. I had heard that they won game 6 on the news as I was driving in.
"No, clueless one. I am talking Election. That remark by Theresa about Laura. That cooks it!" he had a wide grin. "How can you be first lady when you don't even know if your husbands opponent's wife ever held a job? No one will want to vote for Kerry now!" He was pleased with that bit of pretzel logic.
"You mean the job she had working in a library?"
"Yes, and don't forget she was a teacher."
"Ahh." I was wondering how many times Laura had been laid off, or been yelled at by a stupid egotistic manager. "But I think the gist of Theresa's speech was that the Bush's were pretty isolated back in Texas, not global travelers with a developed weltanschauung. I think they had once gone to the International House of Pancakes for Belgian Waffles." I chuckled

George just glared at me.

Points of View

By the time I got into the office in the cobb house, George was already there going through the morning papers. He looked a bit wild eyed, as though his meds had worn off.
"Bush won the debate." he shouted as I swtched on my PC. I just smiled.
"Well, good morning to you too," my voice was syrupy with faux sympathy for a supporter of lost causes.
"Good morning. Bush won the debate." he repeated.
"He got his ass kicked." I pretended to be looking at some papers on my desk, but I guess my smirk of victory was infuriating.
"I judge a debate on substance not on style." Pompously, as if that settled it.
"Too bad you are the only one who sees a debate that way." I Said. "The proper scoring of a debate is on the best presentation of argument not necessarily the monotonous repetition of talking points."
"Kerry was weak on facts."
I just smiled at his pathetic defense of the president's inability to think on his feet.
"His record doesn't match his rhetoric." His voice more strident.
I yawned, wishing I had a cup of coffee.
"He's a tax and spend Liberal." George was shouting now. He has always believed that loudness trumps logic.

"Did you watch the baseball game?" I asked. Another losing debacle for the locals.
"I don't care what they say," He roared, "I thought the Red Sox won the game."