How I Met His mother!

I find it strange and amusing how a grown man makes friends in the
world we live in today. There was a time before pop-culture
psychology, ambulance-chasing lawyers and the god damn internet when
men were men. A time when a punch to the shoulder was a sign of
respect and friendship. Sadly, those days are long gone, and a
friendly punch to the shoulder has become assault and battery with
intent to do bodily harm, resulting in years of therapy and excessive
whining on social media. The modern man is a fragile, emotional soul
seeking like-minded individuals in the digital wilds of the world
wide web – myself included (as much as it pains me to admit it).

I've made a lot of friends through online gaming over the years. Most of
these friendships have dwindled and died simply because it never went
beyond a certain guild, or a game. The select few that I've kept in
touch with regularly have become as close to me as anyone I've ever
known. Among these select few, there's one particular individual that
stands out. A special case, if you will. I was playing “World of
Warcraft” when I stumbled upon this special case in the most
unlikely of places.

For reasons beyond comprehension, I found myself in this weird, little
guild with a terrible name that seemed to be run by a bunch of idiots
with the collective brain capacity of a parsnip. I was at the end of
my ropes, fed up with the game and losing faith in humanity
altogether. And then – in my darkest hour – I saw a glimmer of
light. In the midst of this never ending fog of cerebral flatulence,
a spark of intelligence lit up the night sky like a beacon of hope. I
beheld the holy fire with great enthusiasm and proceeded to throw
some gasoline at it. And in a great flash of fire, he was revealed to
me. The guiding hand of destiny led me to find my long lost evil
twin. The perfect clone of my warped mind. A mirror image of my
rotten soul. This miraculous encounter would forever change my life.

After some quick back and forth, we came to the inescapable conclusion that
everyone else in the guild were – in fact – morons! Turns out,
they were actually just a bunch of kids. It's funny how that works.
When all you see is a character created by textured polygons jumping
around on your screen, acting retarded and speaking gibberish in the
guild chat, it's not a far stretch to conclude that you might be
dealing with the mentally challenged. I tend to automatically presume
that I'm dealing with people my own age, for some reason. I'm not a
parent, and I don't have much dealings with people who do, so kids
don't really exist in my world.

Imagine my surprise when I found out my new friend was only fourteen years
old! He kept insisting that he was almost fifteen, though. That fact
seemed to be very important to him. Regardless, we got along like two
peas in a pod. The boy appeared to be mentally adept. He spoke fluent
English (even though it's not his native tongue), and – most
importantly – he was smart enough not to let his ego get in the way
of learning from his older and wiser friend. An admirable quality, if
I may say so myself.

Shortly after we met, his parents went through a rather nasty divorce (not my
fault). That whole fucked up situation is probably what cemented our
friendship. He needed someone to talk to, and that's what got us
talking about all the real, deep, heavy shit. Once you get to know
someone on that level, you've pretty much got a friend for life...
unless they turn into assholes, or there's a zombie apocalypse and
you need their shoes. I'm sorry buddy, but when the dead starts
walking, you'll be the first one to go! I'm a survivor, remember?

Our friendship inevitably took on the tone of mentor and protégé. I saw
in him a younger version of myself and decided he was worth my time
and effort. We could sit around talking shit all day long, much to
the displeasure of his control freak of a mother. She used to
interrupt our conversations all the time to have these long, serious
talks with him, criticizing his life decisions (and choice of
friends). No doubt she had some misgivings about her son befriending
a man twice his age on the internet. Hell, I can understand that. She
probably had me pegged for somebody's fat uncle looking to diddle her
little boy where the sun don't shine. There's no shortage of perverts
out there.

As for me and him, all we ever cared about was gaming, ranting and
binging on movies and various entertainment. We sat up late one night
fixing to watch “Jurassic Park” (synced up in a Skype call) when
his mom came into his room to deliver yet another sermon. He put his
headset on the desk and scampered off in a fit of loud and obvious
drudgery to convey his disgruntlement. His mother was not amused with
this display of obstinacy and tore into him for the better part of an
hour. Eventually, boredom got the best of me and I went: “Ba-gawk!”
To my surprise (and endless amusement), their dog heard me and went:
“Roof?” I replied with a longer, stretched out, “Ba-gaaa-aaawk!”
The dog lost it's marbles and started barking like crazy! His mom had
a conniption when she realized that I might have been listening in on
their private conversation (as if I understand the Danish language).
She stormed out of his room with great and terrible anger! I can only
imagine the shit-storm he was in for in the morning.

About a year later, he asked if he could come visit me in Norway. I told
him straight up to fuck off and hide, but he just kept nagging at me
until I gave in. It's simple really... no grownup can withstand the
nagging of a petulant child for the distance the child is willing to
take it without being able to physically beat the living shit out of
said child. Unfortunately, this child resided in another country, so
I was left with no other recourse than to capitulate. I was counting
on his mom to object, but she had only one stipulation: That she'd
have to come with him.

The entire situation was snowballing on me, so I went to my utmost
extreme to discourage him. I said I'd get it on with his mom in the
shower, and went into grizzly details about how I'd have her give me
a soapy massage on a blow up mattress, and then we'd play around with
a lubed up squeegee and anal beads. To this day, I have no fucking
idea what dubious pleasure one derives from having a bunch of balls
on a string crammed up one's most unholy orifice, nor am I
particularly curious to find out. But, he didn't know any better, so
I just put on my best hillbilly voice and painted the “purtiest”
darn picture of me pulling those beads out the back of her, one by
one, making popping sounds for dramatic effect, and speaking porn
language like: “Oh yeah, baby... you like that?”

Apart from freaking him out of his fragile, little mind, my efforts to
dissuade him were utterly futile, and the visit went ahead right on
schedule. Having a friend over isn't exactly the end of world, but I
never had a friend bring his mom over before. That was undiscovered
territory. I had no protocol for dealing with that situation.
Thankfully, his mom wasn't planning to stay at my house. She just
wanted to meet me before leaving her only child in my care. That
seemed like a reasonable compromise to me. I didn't give it much
thought at the time, but after having seen a few clips from that TV
show “To Catch a Predator” on YouTube recently... let's just say
I understand her concerns a bit better.

I wanted to have dinner ready for them when they arrived, so I had my
mom (who lives next door) pick them up at the train station while I
prepared the meal. I was going on about my legendary tortillas for
months before the little guy asked to come visit, and he demanded
that I have tortillas ready for him by the time he arrived. I was all
too happy to oblige. The initial meeting was a bit awkward. His mom
was on red alert status (and probably packing heat), but we had a
nice dinner and talked for a bit. Frankly, I was more concerned about
his mom meeting my mom. Any positive impression I may have made on
that woman would have been shot to shit after meeting my mom, with
her tinfoil hats and crazy cats.

Once the meet and greet was over, it was just me and my buddy doing
business as usual. There's not much more I can say about two dudes
sitting around gaming all day. It's not like we partied with hookers
and got smacked out of our gourds on cocaine and waffles. All things
considered, we had a great time. I pretty much slept away the last
day, but I had him hooked on “Dexter”, so he was glued to the big
screen like a good, little boy. Who says parenting is hard?

When his mom came to pick him up a few days later, she immediately pulled
him into the guest room and closed the door on me. I must admit, I
found that very strange indeed. I couldn't hear what they were
talking about, but I'm pretty sure I know what was going on in there.
His mom is a nurse, so I'm guessing she performed some kind of
medical examination to confirm that her little boy was still a
virgin. I saw the shame on him when he emerged from that room. His
head hanging, red in the face, slouching like a whopped dog and
frowning like it's a rainy day! It was clear as daylight that he had
been sufficiently and thoroughly embarrassed by whatever demonic
ritual transpired within the privacy of that room.

His mother can rest assured that – unless he fucked my cat – he left
this house with his virginity well intact. He was a teenager at the
time, so I won't rule anything out. Like I said, there's a lot of
perverts out there, and that includes horny teenagers. He could have
been a sex-pest for all I knew! I did my due diligence in monitoring
his movements, but at some point, I had to sleep... leaving him free
to roam the castle. Truth is, I locked my bedroom door just make sure
he wouldn't come at me in the middle of the night and try to fuck me!
I was a real pussy about it too... not making a fucking sound when I
turned the key. The fact that his mom was worried for him, that's a
fucking joke! That fucker was as big as me! I wish my mom had the
good grace of wits to worry for my safety when cantankerous teenagers
bully themselves into my home and start eating my food. She didn't
ask me one fucking time if this was a hostage situation. Granted,
that would be an unlikely turn of events, but it's the thought that
counts, right?

As the years went on, I've seen that punk teenager grow up into a real
fucking asshole of a man. I couldn't be more proud of him if he
became the first Elvis impersonator to walk on the moon. At this
point, we have amassed such an amazing amount of shared culture
between us that we're damn near speaking our own language. We finish
each other's sentences and alienate any poor fool that tries to swing
with our groove. Between the two of us, there's simply too much
personality for anyone else to get a word in. I don't care what's
going on in that voice chat server, once the two of us drop into the
same channel... it's our show! We're rude, crude and outrageous!

Over the years, I've shared all my awesome knowledge with this young man.
I've taught him my grand life philosophy, opened his mind to
unimaginable coolness and imbued him with a groove that's gonna have
him river dancing in the old folks home long after I'm dead and gone
from this world. That is – of course – if he lives that long. It
is with a sad heart that I write this to inform you all that my
friend is dying. Not immediately, though. He's not sick or anything,
at least not yet, but he just started smoking, so he's bound to catch
the cancer at some point.

What special brand of moron do you have to be to ignore all the warnings
and pick up a smoking habit in this day and age? Oh, wait... I
already know the answer to that question. Behold my protégé! My
good and dear friend. My brother from another mother. The vessel of
all my wisdom departed. My legacy in the flesh. Behold my greatest
disappointment! Where did I go wrong? I don't understand how he could
end up like this… like one of them!

Smokers are a deplorable bunch, with bad manners and worse hygiene. There is
absolutely nothing cool or sexy about being a smoker, and it's not
exactly a state's best kept secret that smoking fucking kills you!
What boggles the mind is that he's one of these health-nut fitness
freaks (at least right now), yet he willingly adopts a poisonous
addiction without second thought! He damn well knows better... he
just doesn't give a fuck!

Apart from all the filth that comes with the territory, what I hate the
most about smokers is their attitude. They're always asking for extra
breaks at work and demanding smoking sections at restaurants and the
likes, all because they think they're a special needs groups. They're
always “stressed out” and can't function without that poison
running through their veins. I'm so sick of their bullshit! It's
about fucking time smoking was abolished from society. There may have
been a time when smoking made you one of the cool kids, but –
thankfully – that's a thing of the past. I will not sit idly by and
watch my friend turn into a god damn anachronism!

After all the time and energy I spent molding him into the enlightened
being he is today, that stupid asshole goes and does something that
flies right in the face of everything I've ever taught him! And who
do you suppose gave him his first cigarette? His mom, that's who! The
high and mighty nurse herself, that fucking hypocrite! I'm so pissed
off right now that I'm writing a god damn odyssey of our groove just
to remind him of a time when he was still innocent, before his soul
turned to dog shit, hoping I might get through to him and save his
worthless life! You hear that, you son of a bitch?

Believe me, that little fucker's in for a never-ending intervention. I
learned the art of nagging from the expert himself. I'll keep nagging
at him to stop smoking until the day I die, at which point he'll
start receiving anti-smoking spam mail until the day he dies! And
when he's finally dead from all that cancer, I'll have a prepaid
tombstone ready for delivery, with nothing but a shiny middle finger
engraved on it. And should he die before me, I'll make an effort to
stop by his grave every Sunday just to tea-bag his ungodly remains.
Yes, smoking bothers me!

We've been talking about arranging another visit for years now, but I've
had to cancel those plans indefinitely, because I don't see it ending
well. In fact, I can see it right now. This is my vision of the
future: “He just showed up on my doorstep one day, wearing a
raggedy, old trench coat and worn out army boots. He had an 80's
mullet on his head, and a crooked, spit-soaked fag fused to his lower
lip. He smirked as he stretched out his yellow-fingered,
unclefucker-hand to greet me... and that's when I shot him, your
honor.”