Greatest Hits

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

I lived with Ryan in an apartment on Christman Drive; right next door to us were two typical Ole Miss frat fucks, but one interesting thing about them is that along with their two dogs, they had a pig. And, EXACTLY like that movie, the pig thought he was a dog, that he was “one of the guys.” Whenever I’d drive up the driveway, the 2 dogs would come tearing around the corner furiously to check out the action, and then….about 7 seconds later the pig would come chasing, belly swinging as he’d try to keep up, trying to look as angry as the dogs. “What the fuck’s up, guys!??!” Later in the evening I’d see them out in the yard trying to look like street toughs on a stoop, waiting for cars or people to come by to heckle, and you knew the pig was Horshack to the dogs’ Barbarino and Washington. Awesome. Another highlight from Oxford was Thanksgiving 1995. Ryan and I decided we were gonna stay in Oxford and make our own big Thanksgiving dinner. Anyways we go to Kroger that morning to get everything, and as we’re about to check out I decide I should grab a case of beer. Since you couldn’t buy beer cold in Oxford, you kinda had to plan ahead. So I come strolling up with a case and Ryan FLIPS out, yelling at me for wanting to get shit-faced for Thanksgiving Dinner. I try to explain to him I wasn’t gonna pound it when we got home and piss all over the Pilgrims, I was just gonna have it in the fridge for later on. Doesn’t matter, he’s furious, BOOM!! We don’t say one single word to each other after that. We go through the machinations of making a huge Thanksgiving Dinner, sit down and eat it…all while aggressively not speaking to each other. And, even better, we filmed the whole fucking thing for some reason. It’s all on videotape. You see us silently making this huge dinner, silently eating it. Our silence does not end then; it goes on for 2 solid weeks. For two weeks we pass by each other wordlessly, live next to each other in total silence. The type of simmering rage you can only have for your best friend, I suppose. Finally at the end of two weeks I’m sitting on the couch in the living room and he strolls in to the kitchen and grabs a box of cookies. I’m not paying attention, but because of my 14-day seething rage I can tell he’s looking in the box and strapping on his “I’m fucking incredulous!!” face. Then he does the ol’ look into the box-look up at me – look back into the box – look up at me routine.

“What?” (heeey…I broke the silence!! hooray!!)
“You ate my fucking cookies!!!!”
“What?”
“You ate all my fucking cookies you fucking shit!!!” (box thrown on the floor)
‘What the – shut the fuck up, I didn’t eat you precious fucking cookies!”
“You ate my fucking cookies!!”
“I did not eat your fucking cookies fuck you!!!!”
“You fucking shit!”
“Yeah, I got your cookies, ate them all, closed the EMPTY box up, carefully put them back on the shelf and chuckled ‘ooooh, he’ll never suspect a thing!!!!’!! fucking dumbass!!!”

This went on, screaming for 2 more minutes. Finally I stormed off to my room with a big “fuck you!!” and slammed my door. After about a 10 second pause I opened the door, saw him standing in the living room and shouted “You know what? Yeah, I ate your fucking cookies! And guess what – they were fucking AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” slam!!!

This of course was so ridiculous that within minutes we were on the floor laughing at our our ridiculousness. Rolling on the floor, entwined with each other in our youthfulness, young skin on young skin as we suckled each other’s neck.

It’s been almost 11 13 28 years and Ryan, and I can confess…I have no idea what happened to your fucking cookies.