Life of George

Life of George
by Mr. Nobody

Dear Laurie,

I've been meaning to write to you for a long time. For some reason I've been missing you a lot lately. I wish we were together. And I wouldn't even care if we had nothing to talk about or if we were bored out of our minds; I just want to be with you.

         It was enough for us to just be together. We'd be sitting or lying next to each other, neither of us speaking, both following our own silent trains of thought. And then I'd remember something funny, and she'd ask me why I was laughing, to which I'd reply nothing, and then she'd hit me with a pillow. And I'd snatch the pillow and pummel her with it for a solid five minutes until she cried her eyes out and begged for relentance.
         She said she hated my guts.
         But it was enough. We were happy just being together.

I wish you weren't a year behind me. High school is a prison. I wish you could be here in my room, with your arms wrapped around me, watching heavy snowflakes fall past my window, just the two of us alone, with a sign on the door that says "No Jerks Allowed." There are too many jerks here and not enough Lauries. You need to come visit me.

She's the only person who's allowed to call me Bobby, except for my mom. Even my dad calls me Bob.
Growing up as a kid named Bobby, I had a very special nickname. They called me "Booby," and I hated it. From second grade up until middle school I was known as either "Booby," "Booby-doo," or the one that messed me up the most, "The Boob." But they were just kids; they didn't know what they were doing. I was just a kid, too; I didn't know what I was doing when I snapped one day at recess, jumped on them all, and beat the living peanut butter and jelly out of them. I sure showed them; I got myself expelled to a different school district, where I eventually met Laurie. I didn't start out as a violent kid, but elementary school does stuff to you. Ever since then I've been nothing but Bob and Bob alone, trying to bury Bobby and Booby in the cluttered rockbed of my past.

Maybe if you came down to visit me in a couple weekends, we could go to Ye Olde College Diner down the street. I know you'd probably say the name sounds pretty stupid, but their BLT's are actually very delicious. I tried one last week, and it surprised me. They'll have lots of mayonnaise, too, I promise.

         I made her BLT's all the time; it was her favorite sandwich. But it always had to have mayonnaise on it. If it didn't have any mayonnaise, she wouldn't eat it. I thought that was so annoying.
         Sometimes when we were about to go upstairs to my room, I would run up the stairs first and hide behind the door. There I would be waiting with a black velvet bag, a large wooden spoon, and a jar of mayonnaise. As soon as she stepped in the door I'd yank the bag down over her head and tackle her onto the ground. Then I'd hold her down while I took the spoon and smeared mayonnaise all over her belly. She said she liked mayonnaise, so there it was.
         Later on she told me she only likes it on her sand-wich-es.
         Oh, like it's all my fault now!

College isn't acting the way it's supposed to yet. It's been hard making friends and adjusting. I don't know if I should try to fit in with the people around me or if I should stay the same and seek out friends that are already like with me. Sometimes I think everybody here hates me. Sometimes I hate this whole place. As long as I don't let myself turn into a stupid frat boy, though, I think I'll be okay.

One day after school her best friend's boyfriend came up to me and tried to tell me I was an abusive boyfriend. He was making all these sweeping generalizations, and he kept telling me about myself. I hate when people tell me about myself; it gets me so angry. So I said to him, "How would you know if I'm abusive or not?" And then CRACK! I socked that jerk-off in his fat jerk-off jaw. "You know what it is about you?" I asked him. "You're so concerned with everyone else that you forgot to look out for yourself."

I think George hates it here too. The dorm rooms are really too small to keep pets in. Unless we're talking about Chia Pets -- the little afro's that come to Life -- but that was always yours and George's thing. Sorry again, about how he ate your chia pet. I didn't know dogs ate hair. But he's just a puppy; he doesn't know what he's doing. I think he misses you too.

         That day when I punched jerk-off boy in the mouth (and I didn't even hit him that hard, it was more like a love-tap) he fell down and started whimpering like a little puppy. I was still angry. I said, "Shut up, you puppy! Silence your pitiful whimpers!" But he gave me an idea.
         I went to the pet store and bought a puppy for Laurie. There were five of them in the pen, all brown and scraggly with white and black spots. One of them limped on his front right paw, which made him fall down a lot. I liked that puppy; it reminded me of myself. So I bought it and named it George and gave it to my girlfriend. When I put him down to show her, he was so happy that he kept trying to run, but every time he tried to run he tripped over his own paws and fell on his face.
         "This puppy sucks," she said. "He's retarded."
         I scooped him up in my arms and defended his name. "George is not retarded! He is unique, and henceforth, precious!"
         But she said she wouldn't be allowed to keep a puppy anyway, especially not a retarded little puppy that would probably poop all over her house.
         So George lives with me, and I love the little critter. Maybe I even love him more than I love her. I see nothing wrong with that.
         But he is not retarded!

You know what's strange? There are a bunch of people here who I see and at first glance I think they're you. I keep wanting to go up behind them and snap their bra-strap or pinch them in the butt or something, but then I realize "Oh wait, it's just some girl with the same haircut as you," and if I go pinch her in the butt she'll kick me in the sensitive area. So I restrain myself.
That would be funny, though, wouldn't it? If I pinched a strange girl in the butt?

         I kind of had a thing with pinching people's butts, and she hated it. Well one day she was walking by, and her butt was waggling all over, completely vulnerable and unsuspecting! I gave it a big, fat pinch. It was so gratifying.
         She whirled around, grabbed both my hands, held them together up to her chin, and told me to stop.
         "Why?" I asked, dying with laughter.
         And she said, "Because you don't know what you're doing. You're an idiot, but I love you despite that fact, and now I want you to stop pinching my butt.
         So I said okay, and now I've taken to spanking her instead. I'm so bad; I'm the one who really needs to be spanked. But if anyone tries spanking me, they're gonna get a serious mayonnaise bath. I know I should probably be nicer, but nice is boring. And I like to have fun.

Okay, well I just wanted you to know what I was thinking. College is okay. Tell me how bad it is to still have one more year of high school. Right now I've got to go stop George. He's eating my pillow as I am writing. But please write back to me soon. I miss you.

Love,
Bobby

Mr. Nobody doesn't live anywhere. You probably saw him on the stairs yesterday since there's a poem about him that says something about seeing him on the stairs but he wasn't really there or something. So, yeah.

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