Dear Adam Powers,
I know this pair of roommates, and one looks like Jake Gyllenhaal and the other one looks like Toby Maguire, and sometimes I wonder if they just sit around at home in their underwears just staring at each other. I often have an urge to call up my manager at Carrburritos, who is a dead ringer for Peter Sarsgaard, and who loves 80s music, and have him rent their third bedroom so that I can go over there and perform menial chores for no monetary compensation. I could, like, put on Point of No Return and wash their dishes and get their autographs and shine their shoes.
We had a Billy Ocean dance party at Carrburritos today. We discussed what Billy must be doing now, and decided that he must be into holistic medicines or a Zen Master or still in love with the Caribbean Queen, and that he’s just chill. He probably owns a fleet of truffle-sniffing pigs all named after various gods and idols. “Find that truffle, Jesus Christ,” he must say a lot. “Shiva, sniff me out a snack.” He drinks Sloe gin Fizzes in well-lit pubs with Simply Red on a bi-monthly basis. He’s the coolest, and never partakes in love on the run.
A black guy in the restaurant heard us talking about Billy Ocean and he yelled out, “That N***a’s whack!” He didn’t say “ninja.”
I don’t say the “N-word.” White people never say the “N-word.” Remember when Louis C.K. did that stand-up bit about it? He said he hates the actual term, “N-word,” because when people say it, they make him think of the real, actual word, and that’s unfair. But today at work, Mac told me that, until the late 70s, there used to be a town in North Carolina called “Niggerskull.” I looked it up on the internet and it’s true. Mac said there was even a Hardee’s there. This tidbit sparked a discussion about what their district meetings must be like. Like, all the Hardee’s managers are in a circle at the conference table and they have to go around and identify themselves, saying things like, “Joey C, Store #4425, Wake Forest, NC,” and “Harold, Store #226, Asheville, NC,” and “Scooter, Store #5564, N***erskull, NC,” and how mortifying that must be. What if you had to tell people that you never graduated college and you were the night porter at the N***erskull Hardees? Turns out the name was recently changed to “Negroskull.”
WHY COULDN’T THEY JUST CHANGE THE NAME ENTIRELY?? (Which they ended up doing in 200-fucking-6). It reminds me of the joke where Shithead McFuckstick got made fun of his whole life till he went to the name-change office and paid his fee and proudly introduced himself by his new name, Shithead Jones.
And here’s something else for you, just to round out the weird. Today I waited on a couple I had never seen before, and the woman ordered a Corona Light. I turned to her husband and asked, “Would you like a beer also?” And before he could respond, the wife reared her ugly head and said, verbatim, I swear it, “HOW DARE YOU?? He is an ALCOHOLIC and he is in AA and you offer him a BEER?? HOW DARE YOU???”
I giggled a little out of shock, which was perhaps inappropriate, but still loads better than what I wanted to respond with, which was, “You’re the reason he drinks.”
I imagine she’s the type of person who resides in Negroskull, NC, now, scarfing down greasy jalapeno poppers half-cooked by beleaguered fry cooks while Loverboy plays softly in the background, a wistful reminder of a gentler, inaccessible place where Billy Ocean is king and the truffles are fresh and abundant.
And in case you forgot what it looks like when Red Riding Hoodasaurus rescues a purple haired alien from a poor-man’s Cantina in the most incongruous music video of all time, I leave you with: