|You guys like Devo? Wanna whippit?|
Having the vaguest memory of his previous visit, Boomtown apologized for what he called his alleged behavior. "One lesson my daddy taught me was waking up with paint on your taint means you ain't been a saint." To set things right, Boomtown offered to finish the job he'd so aggressively abandoned. "It would be the neighborly thing to do." To make further amends, he then offered us "sloppy firsts" with his old lady, as that would be a "neighborlier thing to do." When asked what "sloppy firsts" were, he told us that it was a position he'd invented for his black-market yoga class. He then gave us coupons (winks) for a free session.
By the time he got the lid off the paint can, Boomtown had inhaled enough whippets to kill a possum -- 'killing possums' being both a euphemism for decorating taxidermied raccoons and also the first thing listed as a TALENT on his resume', which is actually just a handwritten I.O.U for Fun-Sized Kit-Kats he apparently keeps on him at all times. "I like to put a hint of CK1 on my resume'," he bleated, holding in the lungful of paint fumes he'd huffed moments before, "potential employers appreciate that kind of..."
|"You think you're better than me?"|
|I will eat your soul!|
As his painting built momentum, Boomtown's mood shifted from happiness to bewilderment to outright freak-out over the paint's ability to always be "one fucking step ahead." Though we felt bad, we decided not to tell him that he didn't actually have paint on his roller. We don't have cable, and the poorly-self-named "Dillary Huff" was more entertaining than our normal afternoon activities of doing nothing, writing heavy-handed blogs justifying our clichéd-existence against the backdrop of society's failings, and arguing over which farmer's market sells the most toothsome organic goat cheese.
Boomtown, reaching critical mass, gave up the painting, and began stalking down the hallway. Putting his ear to the wall, he whispered to us, "this is how it always starts."
In a strange moment of clarity, Boomtown had what can best be described as a heart-to-heart with a patch of wall he took a shine to, saying, "You and me both, buddy. I got poetry and magic at my fingertips most of the time, and that includes my LiveJournal blog." He followed this tender moment with a violent mood-shift. "I'm an F-18 and I will murder you with nothing but the memories of previous murders!" He then blacked out for a third time. When he woke up, he informed us that he'd been visited by his spirit animal, which is somehow another human being, more specifically an albino gristmill worker named Lenny Koggins (his roommate), who'd told him that he'd left his oven on. As Boomtown was leaving, we asked if we'd ever see him again. "As sure as I know nipples grow back, I shall return," he assured us.
What a relief, we agreed.