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scubatankfilledwithfarts It hasn’t been an elephant in the room (or building) so much as it is a turd dangling from a butthole, just swinging in the air, oblivious to the precarious splash down below. The subject hasn’t exactly been hushed, either—when they see him, they slant side eyes to each other and try not to laugh. Well, some are respectful, most aren’t, and the rest just don’t give a damn.
Within their boy gang (as Butch likes to call it, which is exactly why this is all his fault), they’re forbidden to mention it; all that’s allotted is a vague humming of agreement, mostly just sound that sounds somewhat positive and maybe this side of attentive.
But now they’ve all gotten together in one of Agatha’s rooms that isn’t drenched in the aura of death, sex, and despair. There aren’t even free snacks available, that’s how serious this is. And Badou has a very important job he was volunteered for.
“So it’s a chocolate one, right? With Cass’s signature and kiss mark on the bottom? I wonder what I did to deserve this…” Butch is practically thrumming with excitement, the poor, stupid bastard. Badou lights a cigarette, his fourth within the hour, to keep his irritation at bay.
As usual he’s the one doing the bitch work. Dave gets to just sit his behind around and do nothing.
“Yeah, man, a chocolate one, all for you. You’ve been working real hard uh, catching those Pokethings and cutting your bangs and shit. Gotta celebrate it.”
And because he’s Butch, he grins, and believes him.
There isn’t guilt in Badou’s heart. Just weariness. Regret, for living in this building.
When he pushes his friend through the door, the residents of their crappy building crowd them, some surrounding the doorway to ensure no one escapes. There goes Badou’s plan to slip out.
“Intervention, intervention, intervention!” They shout, hopping around Butch’s quickly transitioning expression. Surprise, confusion, and finally, a crestfallen crescendo of disappointment.
“You said Dave was gonna be in the cake,” he whines to the younger Nails brother.
Badou takes a seat beside Harley, who looks delectably cute in her glasses, hair pinned up on her head. “You wouldn’t have come otherwise.” He doesn’t question the subject matter because…Butch is gross, and so is Dave.
“I wouldn’t have come otherwise if you hadn’t promised crying,” Agatha growls from her perch on one end of one of the couches she has crammed in there. Crammed, just like her cootch. “So get to it!” She adds.
“Alright, calm down, everybody. Bob, buddy, we’re all here cause we care about you,” Harley begins, her voice softer than velvet and as smooth as a shrink’s. Makes sense, seeing as she was one.
("It's Butch!" is overturned with the oncoming noise)
“Speak for yourself,” Pam grunts, and fluffs up her hair when all eyes in the room flicker to her.
“Now Pam-a-lamb, we talked about this,” Harley wheedles, her big blue eyes shimmering. In that moment, Badou, like most moments, truly admires her grit. “We’ve got to help him! It’s good for team morale.”
“We ain’t a team,” Watson burps, and wipes his mouth with his own mustache. It gets in his nose a little, and Badou tastes a preview of vomit in his mouth. Or maybe the mustache is coming from his nose? Is it nose hair? One can’t tell.
“We just live together and I was told there was gonna be cake too!”
“You and your forty days, nights, and tits don’t need any more cake,” Agatha hisses.
“You’re one to talk about your tits—we should have this intervention about spreading the glory around—I’d say if your mammories weren’t as dry as my ass is sandy,” Watson fires back.
David T. Nails, the other man of the hour, the organizer for this bullshit, finally makes his peace.
“Guys! Chill out. We have a mission here—so put your mammories and your saggy balls on the backburner, into the void, and never bring them up again for the love of all this Holy.”
Somehow, someway, this works. Even as an adult, Badou’s in awe of the way Dave takes charge. He isn’t sure if it’s charisma, or his giant forehead. Either way, Watson and Agatha are silent, and even Poison Ivy has no further complaints.
Butch is in tears, “You guys really do care about meeeee!”
“OF COURSE WE DO, MY LITTLE GERANIUM!” Might Gai bellows as tears streak his own face but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, he draws Butch into his comforting bosom and the two weep together.
For some reason Gai has decided to brand them with unfortunate flower nicknames. Badou doesn’t want to think about his.
“I’m going to throw up, I taste it…it tastes like Caesar Salad,” Agatha gasps and gulps, truly green in the face.
“You mean tossed salad you had off the whimpering little twinks you have in here,” Watson, never missing an opportunity.
Everyone’s mostly accounted for, barring Kakashi, that ninja jerk, who outright refused to attend no matter how many puppy dog eyes from Harley and Gai. However there is one resident who has remained silent until now.
Cassidy sits on the opposite side of Butch, who peeps at her from between Gai’s rumbling boobage. He wants her approval, her love, Her.
Plump pink lips part, Butch hangs off her every word.
“Take the earring off. It’s on the gay ear.” Her advice hangs in the room like doom, like gloom, like the sound of Dave’s muffled laughter in the background.
The reaction is instantaneous. Butch bolts from Gai’s safety, safetitty as it were, fingers dig into the tiny gay as hell loop in his ear, and he flings it in the air.
Dave claps, Gai whistles, and Agatha closes their session out with:
“Get the hell out of my room.”
She shuts the door on them with gratitude (to be rid of them) in her heart, which leaves the remainder of the group out in the cold. The heater hasn’t kicked in yet.
“Drinks?” Badou suggests, gaze flickering from the door to his companions.
Dave grins, true pride in his eyes as he turns to look at Butch, folding his arms around both their buddy and Ivy in turn.
“Drinks!” They all chorus. A pact is made to hereby make sure Harley isn’t lost. Again.
“I’m the one that looks good in earrings,” Cassidy snidely shoots this comment at Butch, who’s lower lip flips over his top in a pout.
“But,” she concedes, “the ear’s better than a chain gang gold necklace.”
Badou can practically hear Butch’s lust in a tizzy over that. It’s a good thing drinks are on the way so he can forget all this.
Within their boy gang (as Butch likes to call it, which is exactly why this is all his fault), they’re forbidden to mention it; all that’s allotted is a vague humming of agreement, mostly just sound that sounds somewhat positive and maybe this side of attentive.
But now they’ve all gotten together in one of Agatha’s rooms that isn’t drenched in the aura of death, sex, and despair. There aren’t even free snacks available, that’s how serious this is. And Badou has a very important job he was volunteered for.
“So it’s a chocolate one, right? With Cass’s signature and kiss mark on the bottom? I wonder what I did to deserve this…” Butch is practically thrumming with excitement, the poor, stupid bastard. Badou lights a cigarette, his fourth within the hour, to keep his irritation at bay.
As usual he’s the one doing the bitch work. Dave gets to just sit his behind around and do nothing.
“Yeah, man, a chocolate one, all for you. You’ve been working real hard uh, catching those Pokethings and cutting your bangs and shit. Gotta celebrate it.”
And because he’s Butch, he grins, and believes him.
There isn’t guilt in Badou’s heart. Just weariness. Regret, for living in this building.
When he pushes his friend through the door, the residents of their crappy building crowd them, some surrounding the doorway to ensure no one escapes. There goes Badou’s plan to slip out.
“Intervention, intervention, intervention!” They shout, hopping around Butch’s quickly transitioning expression. Surprise, confusion, and finally, a crestfallen crescendo of disappointment.
“You said Dave was gonna be in the cake,” he whines to the younger Nails brother.
Badou takes a seat beside Harley, who looks delectably cute in her glasses, hair pinned up on her head. “You wouldn’t have come otherwise.” He doesn’t question the subject matter because…Butch is gross, and so is Dave.
“I wouldn’t have come otherwise if you hadn’t promised crying,” Agatha growls from her perch on one end of one of the couches she has crammed in there. Crammed, just like her cootch. “So get to it!” She adds.
“Alright, calm down, everybody. Bob, buddy, we’re all here cause we care about you,” Harley begins, her voice softer than velvet and as smooth as a shrink’s. Makes sense, seeing as she was one.
("It's Butch!" is overturned with the oncoming noise)
“Speak for yourself,” Pam grunts, and fluffs up her hair when all eyes in the room flicker to her.
“Now Pam-a-lamb, we talked about this,” Harley wheedles, her big blue eyes shimmering. In that moment, Badou, like most moments, truly admires her grit. “We’ve got to help him! It’s good for team morale.”
“We ain’t a team,” Watson burps, and wipes his mouth with his own mustache. It gets in his nose a little, and Badou tastes a preview of vomit in his mouth. Or maybe the mustache is coming from his nose? Is it nose hair? One can’t tell.
“We just live together and I was told there was gonna be cake too!”
“You and your forty days, nights, and tits don’t need any more cake,” Agatha hisses.
“You’re one to talk about your tits—we should have this intervention about spreading the glory around—I’d say if your mammories weren’t as dry as my ass is sandy,” Watson fires back.
David T. Nails, the other man of the hour, the organizer for this bullshit, finally makes his peace.
“Guys! Chill out. We have a mission here—so put your mammories and your saggy balls on the backburner, into the void, and never bring them up again for the love of all this Holy.”
Somehow, someway, this works. Even as an adult, Badou’s in awe of the way Dave takes charge. He isn’t sure if it’s charisma, or his giant forehead. Either way, Watson and Agatha are silent, and even Poison Ivy has no further complaints.
Butch is in tears, “You guys really do care about meeeee!”
“OF COURSE WE DO, MY LITTLE GERANIUM!” Might Gai bellows as tears streak his own face but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, he draws Butch into his comforting bosom and the two weep together.
For some reason Gai has decided to brand them with unfortunate flower nicknames. Badou doesn’t want to think about his.
“I’m going to throw up, I taste it…it tastes like Caesar Salad,” Agatha gasps and gulps, truly green in the face.
“You mean tossed salad you had off the whimpering little twinks you have in here,” Watson, never missing an opportunity.
Everyone’s mostly accounted for, barring Kakashi, that ninja jerk, who outright refused to attend no matter how many puppy dog eyes from Harley and Gai. However there is one resident who has remained silent until now.
Cassidy sits on the opposite side of Butch, who peeps at her from between Gai’s rumbling boobage. He wants her approval, her love, Her.
Plump pink lips part, Butch hangs off her every word.
“Take the earring off. It’s on the gay ear.” Her advice hangs in the room like doom, like gloom, like the sound of Dave’s muffled laughter in the background.
The reaction is instantaneous. Butch bolts from Gai’s safety, safetitty as it were, fingers dig into the tiny gay as hell loop in his ear, and he flings it in the air.
Dave claps, Gai whistles, and Agatha closes their session out with:
“Get the hell out of my room.”
She shuts the door on them with gratitude (to be rid of them) in her heart, which leaves the remainder of the group out in the cold. The heater hasn’t kicked in yet.
“Drinks?” Badou suggests, gaze flickering from the door to his companions.
Dave grins, true pride in his eyes as he turns to look at Butch, folding his arms around both their buddy and Ivy in turn.
“Drinks!” They all chorus. A pact is made to hereby make sure Harley isn’t lost. Again.
“I’m the one that looks good in earrings,” Cassidy snidely shoots this comment at Butch, who’s lower lip flips over his top in a pout.
“But,” she concedes, “the ear’s better than a chain gang gold necklace.”
Badou can practically hear Butch’s lust in a tizzy over that. It’s a good thing drinks are on the way so he can forget all this.