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| This is not my friend this is Nick Cage in a Saturday Night Live skit, and this is exactly what my friend looked like. |
To be clear, I never called my friend Tiny Elvis, when he could hear me.
I am just using it as a pseudonym to throw all but the most ardent
sleuths off the trail. When we were in high school he moved to a town
twenty miles north and we didn't really stay in touch. One day he
called me up and said he was pretty lonely at his new place and
wondered if I would like to come and spend the weekend. I actually
would like that, I said and we organized a transportation situation.
The first night up there we rented a video game and played it until
it was beaten which was made considerably easier by the good old
Konami Code. In this game it gave you something like a thousand
lives. That mission done, we went for a late night walk around the
neighborhood and lightly vandalized a open foyer of a bank with a 24
hour ATM. By lightly vandalized I mean that we took a handful of
deposit envelopes and threw them on the ground. Bad boys for life. Just a couple of
street walking cheetahs with hearts full of napalm sticking it to the
squares – take that 'the man'. We moseyed home and called it a
night after talking and laughing till 3 a.m., when everything gets much
funnier. T.E. And his family were sleeper-inners and I am not so I
wandered about the house quietly trying to stay entertained until
they decided to roll out. When they finally woke up Tiny told me that
his friend had invited us to a party down in the rich part of town
and I was nervous to go because I am a smart ass and incapable of not
being a smart ass and that gets me in trouble on occasion
always. Before the party his friend came over and we started joking
and during the joking I made a joke about my penis being named Bill. That seemed funny at the time, because I was 14-years-old. That would have meant
nothing except for at the party, where I was actually getting along
really well, a kid asked me my name and I told him and I asked him his
and he didn't tell me so I said I will call you Bill. I have no idea
why I had that name on my brain that night but it proved fateful. I
was chatting up some girls who had just asked to see my hair which
was as long as it had ever been in my life, a luxuriantly flip-able shoulder
length. I took off my Bulls hat and did a 'thank-you Vidal' hair
flip and they declared my hair sexy. That was going really well and
I had to admire these newly met female's taste in coiffures when I
was punched in the back about kidney level. That was unexpected, so I
asked what exactly the hell was going on. The no-name kid said he was
told by Tiny E's friend that Bill was my personal slang for penis and
he was upset about me calling him Bill. I tried to explain that the
joke was independent of the name but he was not hearing the context
at all. He invited me outside to a more personal space for a beating
up party he wanted to throw in my honor. I declined, he insisted. We
went out to the side yard and my mouth was really dry from the fear
of having to fight in a hostile environment. I tried once again to
explain myself but he pushed me hard into the bushes I got up and he
asked if I would like to get my A-kicked. I did not want that but I pretended I
wouldn't mind that in the least. We had a few more shoulder pushes
and then he was whisked away on pending 'running-away' business
involving a passing police car that was evidently looking for him.
Saved from certain destruction I was relived and ate some snow to
calm my nerves. We went back inside where the girls the thought my
hair was sexy began apologizing for their friends behavior. I
accepted their apologies and later that night I accepted some nice
soft kisses from one of the brown haired ones. A good night except
for when I had to ride back to my friend's house with his stupid
seller-out friend who nearly got me killed. The mood was not friendly.
