If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my bullshit childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
My name is Trenton Stone, but I just go by Trent. I go to this real piece of shit school called Kenyan High.
I've been kicked out recently for failing every single class except for TV Production, and they're sending me to this even shittier school, Bowlman.
On one of the last days on campus, I sat at the top of the bleachers watching Kenyan High play Hurt High in good ol' fashioned 'merican football, and then it hit me: I don't give a FUCK about Kenyan High, or any of these so called "athletes" that are down on the field. I played rugby when I was younger, so I'm immediately tougher than them.
Actually, I do play volleyball for the Kenyan High Volleyball team, but I left all of our shit on the subway when we were coming back from Jew York City from an event earlier. My neglectfulness is one of the reasons I'm being kicked out of this piece of shit school in the first place.
Anyways, I left the game, and I remembered my old teacher Mr. Bartke wanted to speak to me once before I left Kenyan. So I started running towards his house for no apparent reason other than just because I felt like running, until I remembered I'm way out of shape and was out of breathe by the time I left the parking lot. So I walked there instead.
I got to Bartke's house, and he let me in, gave me a glass of pure, Jack Daniels liquor (because Mr. Bartke was the hypest motherfucker I knew), and I sat with him at his table. He looked like Abe Lincoln was dug up and given a white shirt and Peanuts tie, yet he was one of the hardest MF-ers in the world. He was so hardcore he had an anchor tattooed on his chest. If that doesn't yell out "hype as shit," I don't know what does.
"Trenton," he said to me. "How could you let this happen? You were so intelligent and hardworking when you were in my class."
"Actually, Mr. Bartke," I told him. "I didn't work hard; I copied all of Adam's work."
"Ah yes, Adam; I remember him. Or her. Whatever they are. Where are they going now?"
"Oh, they got accepted to an art school in SoHo. They have this philosophy that if it's unimportant to their major, then they shouldn't have to learn it."
He shrugged. "Makes sense. So Trenton, what are your plans for Bowlman?"
"I dunno. Live in a dorm and not get killed by the Mexicans. It's the same thing as it is here at Kenyan."
He laughed, and then said "yes." I dunno why he said "yes" all the time. He just kinda did.
"Well, Mr. Bartke, it's been fun," I said to him.
"You better watch out for yourself, Trenton," he warned me. "Life's a game and you should play by the rules."
That made me kek. Mr. Bartke, a punk before punk was cool, telling me to play by life's rules. I got up and shook his hand.
"Buh bye, Mr. Bartke."
"Bye, Trenton."
It started snowing like a motherfucker; it reminded me of when I used to sit in a picnic chair and lounge around in Colorado.
Anyways, we had a few dorms at Kenyan High, and I lived in the Pascal dorm, named after Mikaela Pascal from the show "Teens React." She was still a student while I was attending and I would see her in TV Production all the time.
I was wearing this new red fedora I bought in Jew York this morning. During the volleyball game, I had a feeling it was going to snow and I didn't like letting my black beanie get wet, so I bought this red fedora I saw at a store when I was shopping before the game. But I thought it looked kind of classy. It hid the dandruff I had on the scalp of my head.
When I got to my room, I sat down and started reading some great manga. It was getting really hype, but then something started to smell like shit. Literal shit. Fecal matter. And then I realized what it was. It was this filthy human who lived in the dorm next door named Edwin. He was in the joint bathroom masturbating; I could hear the bestiality porn he was watching. And then he walked into my room.
"AY BUDDAY," he said.
"Oh look, it's Eggwin," I said back to him. He hated it when you called him "Eggwin." He said he didn't resemble an egg but his head looked just like one. One of those brown chicken eggs. It made me kek.
"You're back from the game early," he said. "Wanna play some FIFA?"
"Sure, why not?"
We hooked up the Playstation and sat and played the FIFA World Cup 2014 game. Naturally, I picked the Germans.
We played for a little while, and after Edwin kept Jewing out and cheating, we turned off the game and I sat down to continue reading my manga. But Edwin wouldn't fuck off. He kept walking around my room, looking at all my punk records.
"Where the fuck is all the Skrillex?" he said.
"Up your ass with the rest of your shit, now please GTFO newb."
He walked around and little more, and then he put one of his fingers on his left nostril and started blowing.
"Don't you fucking dare, you piece of shit!" I said.
"Dude, I got a booger," he said to me.
"So use a fucking tissue!"
"Nah, nah, it's just a small one," he said, and blew this long, clear snot-rocket out of his nose and onto my desk. It hung from his face to the surface like a clothesline. It made me feel sick.
But then I heard the front door begin to open. It must've been my roommate, Karl. Him and Edwin hated each other.
Karl walked in and smelled a lot like some kind of dank kush. He was always into that dank kush.
"Ay," he said. "Lemme borrow your razor real quick."
I gave him my razor. It's okay, because I haven't had to shave in weeks. My neck beard wasn't all that bad.
Edwin quietly went back to his room, and Karl went in the bathroom and began shaving his clear, blonde facial hair.
"What're you getting all nice for?" I asked him.
"Dude," he said. "There is a movie night with all the popular kids and they invited me! There's going to be chicks there and everything!"
"Don't you have a math paper due?" I asked him.
"Pppptttt. Yeah," he said. "But you're gonna do it for me. If you don't, I'll kill you."
"What the fuck?" I said. "Little drastic, don't you think?"
"Nigga," he said. "IT'S A JOKE."
"Fine, fine. You know I'm failing math though, right?"
"Yeah, only because you're lazy and not because you're dumb."
Can't argue with that.
I started to feel like fucking around so I got up and put my fist to my crotch and made it look like I was jerking off.
"Eeerrrr," I said in an annoying, slurry high-pitched voice. "My name's Edwin and I'm a fucking faggot, errrr!"
Karl laughed. It made me kek.
"Alright, hey," he said. "That math paper better be done when I get back tonight."
"Fine. What movie you guys watching?"
"Double feature: 'Jack and Jill,' and 'Jack and Jill: The Prequel.'"
I sat down and Karl gave me his math homework. He got up, rolled a blunt, grabbed his flannel jacket, and left. Edwin came back in, we played more FIFA, and then went to the Everest Burger Restaurant.
After dinner, me and Edwin came back to the dorm, and he was laying his nasty ass in my bed while I sat down and tried to do Karl's math homework.
"You know Landon, right?" he asked me.
"Yeah, annoying motherfucker. What about him?"
"You know how he has that really young sister?"
"Yeah, freshman. What about her?"
He looked me dead in the eyes. "Would you fuck her?"
"Goddammit, Edwin," I said. "GTFO."
"I'm serious! Like, I don't care how young she is! I'd do her!"
"EDWIN, GET OUT," I said, real sternly this time. "I think 'Dog with a Blog' is on."
He looked at his G-Shock he was wearing on his wrist. "AW SHIT!" he yelled, and then finally left me alone.
Luckily, I was able to finish the homework by the time Karl got back home. I read some more mangas and then Karl walked into the dorm room, high as a kite. His little eyes were beating read and his headphones were playing "Comfortably Numb" really, really loud. He walked over to the window.
"Dood," he said.
"What?"
"teh stars lewk like… sumbuddy had this blankit… and they cut a whole bunch of holes in it."
Goddammit, Karl. After a few minutes of listening to U2 and crying, he finally got his mind straight again.
"Hey, where's my math homework?" he asked.
"On the bed."
He looked over it. "Goddammit, Trenton," he said. "You did it all wrong!"
"Well, what do you expect when you ask me to do your homework for you?"
"How many times do I have to tell you Four times One is NOT a circus clown with a flamethrower?"
I looked over the paper. Then it hit me; of course I did it wrong. I took the paper back and drew a pirate hat on the clown. Karl probably thought I was retarded, but he was the one who just came home from a long night of doobie smoking.
He went in the bathroom and started brushing his teeth. I just decided to sit next to him.
"How were the movies?" I asked.
"Oh, we didn't watch those ones," Karl said.
"Really? What did you watch instead?"
"Oh, just 'Happy Gilmour.'"
"I love that movie!"
"Yeah, I know you do. Hey, I knew we were going to watch it all along. I just didn't want you to invite yourself."
What the fuck? Karl knows nothing comes between me and 1990s Adam Sandler movies. I wanted to punch him, right there, while he was brushing his teeth, so the toothbrush would go through his throat. I swung and missed. Instead I hit him in the eye and it began to swell, but I don't think he noticed because he was still buzzed from the marijuana.
"Why did you do that?" I asked him. "You know I love 'Happy Gilmour.'"
"Trent, let me get this straight," he says to me, looking me dead in the eyes. "I don't like you. In fact, I HATE you. You're. Not. Cool. And I don't want my friend to think I hang out with a neckbeard brony-fag like you."
I body tackled him and had him in a neckhold. He just laughed. That's the thing with stoners: once they smoke that day, nothing hurts them.
So even though he was probably only half my size, he was somehow able to get on top of me and punch me in the face.
I don't remember what happened, but I woke up and my nose was bleeding, and there was blood all over the place. Karl left; I assumed he pussied out and ran off somewhere. I looked in the mirror at my bloody face and red fedora. I looked edgy as fuck.
I cleaned my face up a little bit and went to bother Eggwin. I knew he wasn't sleeping; he was up playing Minecraft.
"AY," he said to me as I walked in. His room smelled like used toilet paper. "WHADYA WANT?"
"Hey, I'm just gonna take Landon's bed and sleep for a little while," I said. I knew Landon was down at the game.
"Hey, wait," Edwin said. "What's wrong with you face?"
"Ah, me and Karl got into a fight. No big deal."
He sat there and kept playing his game. I tried to get a little sleep but I kept thinking about that manga I read earlier. I was scared that I was so into it that I might be some kind of disgusting weeaboo.
"Edwin?" I asked after a little while.
"Yeah?" he asked me.
"Is it possible to be addicted to anime and manga without being a weeb?"
"Uhmmmm," Edwin said. "I don't think so. We have a lot of people in band who claim to just like anime, but it turns out they're full on, putrid weeaboos. Dye their hair pink and everything."
Goddammit, I thought to myself. I can't let myself get to that low point. I already went to the Anime Club Kenyan High offered every Thursday. I even visited the Brony Club once or twice but stopped because even I'm not that stupid.
Eventually, Eggwin fell forward and fell asleep, ass up in the air and everything. I slowly got up, because I didn't want him to hear me, and left the room.
Back in my room, I decided to just leave Kenyan High that night. I wasn't scheduled to leave for a couple of days, but fuck it; I didn't want to be there. So I packed up my computer, all my mangas, my twelve different shirts and one pair of shorts, and left the room. Karl was nowhere in sight, but I heard Alice in Chains playing in the bathroom down the hall; I assumed it was him.
I walked towards the front of the school with my luggage, and once I exited the gate, I turned around and looked at the hell hole.
"See ya, faggots!" I yelled, and with a tip of my fedora, I left Kenyan High School and went to the subway station to go to Jew York City.
Once arriving at Jew York, I walked into a telephone booth. I assumed it was a ReTardis.
I wanted to call someone, like my roommate Jesse, who was probably in bed already. Man, I loved Jesse. He was edgy as fuck and yet so nice at the same time. You'd love him. He makes me laugh and gives me punk-style adrenalin all at the same time.
But I knew he would call me a faggot by running away from school. Besides, he was probably asleep and I didn't want to wake him up, so I abandoned plans to call him.
Then I thought about calling my friend Adam, that androgynous fiend Mr. Bartke asked me about earlier. They always overdressed for everything they went to, and even I couldn't really tell their gender and I hung out with them every time I was in town. But again, it was late, and I didn't want to wake them. I had a feeling that if they weren't sleeping, they were probably editing a movie and didn't want to be disturbed.
So I decided to hail a cab instead. I was picked up rather quickly because I'm a white male, and I have priorities, dammit.
The driver was this really quiet guy, but the license on the back of his seat said his name was "Ryan." I didn't have a good look at his face, but his hair was pointing straight up, so I assumed he was a pretty edgy guy himself.
"Hullo," I said to him, and tipped my fedora.
"Hey," he said. "No tipping unless it's money. I need to fund my new album, ya know."
Ah, Jew York City and their artistic types. Jesse was one, Adam was one, and this cab driver Ryan was one.
"Sorry, bb," I said, and sat quietly in the back.
"Where you going anyway?"
"666420 69th Avenue."
He drove for a little while, and then I realized I accidentally gave him the address to my apartment, and I couldn't have gone home yet. So I told him to take me to the Dakota Hotel, instead.
After a little while, I saw a billboard for Anime Expo, which was ending that night. I sat and thought to myself, and then I shot the crap with Ryan for a while.
"Hey, Ryan," I said. "You know that 'Anime Expo' thing, right?"
"Do I look like a faggot to you?" he asked.
He didn't, but I humored him.
"I bit, yeah. Anyways, do you know where all the weebs go when the convention ends?"
He turned and looked at me.
"You're a special kind of autistic," he said. That sort of told me to be quiet for the rest of the trip.
He dropped me off in front of the hotel, and I paid him his fee, tipped my fedora, and walked into the hotel.
The hotel was nice and all, but the service was lousy. After checking in, the bellboy came and took my bags. He was really, really black. Like, he resembled more of an ape then an actual human being.
"Ayyy," he said to me. "I'm the bellboi. Gimme yer bags, m8."
He took my bags and we went up to my room on the top floor. He put my bags down, and I gave him a tip of my fedora, but before he left, he gave me a card with a number on it.
"Ayyyy, if u evr get bord an' need qualitay entrntenment, call me, a'ight? I'll hook u up wit mai boi."
"Thanks, bb," I said, and he left.
Looking out the window of the hotel, I saw this edgy as fuck night club called the RKL Circle Jerkin' Germs of the Dead Kennedys. I knew I had to visit.
So I went downstairs and crossed the street and decided to go in for a visit. The band onstage was playing this super loud, fast punk music. It wasn't the best punk (I don't even think the band knew how to play their instruments), but it worked for me because it was punk and it didn't have to be good to be edgy.
I sat at a table after moshing for three hours and saw these three chicks sitting at another table. One of them was a blonde girl with big teeth, wearing a Nirvana shirt. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I tipped my fedora at her, and we went into the mosh pit.
After moshing for a little while, I asked her why she was hanging out at a punk club with a Nirvana t-shirt, and she said she wasn't there for the music, but because she heard that Blink-182 went there all the time.
I thought to myself for a minute, and came up with a brilliant conclusion:
Nope.
I ditched the bitch and went back to my room and read some manga.
After reading for a little while, I really sat down and thought about whether or not I was a weeaboo. The only time I ever saw weebs were at Anime Club and conventions. Were they just not open about their interests outside of these secluded areas? What if I wanted to talk about 'Cowboy Bebop' or something like that with just someone I saw on the street? I wouldn't know if they would want to talk about it or call me a faggot for thinking they were into that colorful shit.
I decided I was probably thinking too much about it, and went out once again.
After the RKL Circle Jerkin' Germs of the Dead Kennedys was ruined thanks to that faker, I thought I'd visit somewhere else. I knew of a club in Downtown Manhattan called A Flock of Eurythmic Animotions. It was mostly full of hipsters and goth kids, but it was post-punk, and if it has the word "punk," it's good enough for me.
So I went out and hailed a cab, and wouldn't you know it, it was Ryan again.
"Oh, it's you," he said. "Where you going now?"
"There's this place in Downtown where all the hipsters go. I thought I'd check it out."
"Ah, I know the place," he said to me, and I got in.
We drove for a little while, and then he actually said something to me.
"Ya know," he said. "I was thinking about what you asked me. About where all the weebs went when the convention ended. Can you imagine how many basement dwelling, neckbearded fedora tippers live in Jew York? Do YOU live in Jew York?"
"Yeah," I said. "Me and a buddy of mine own an apartment in Brooklyn."
"Wait, wait, wait," he said. "Why the fuck are you staying at a hotel when you have an apartment on the otherside of town? Does your roommate hate weebs or something?"
"Yes," I said, and then I realized I just called myself a weeb without actually calling myself a weeb. I started to get nervous because I knew I was better than that.
Ryan pulled up to the front of the building, and I paid my fare, and tipped my fedora. But before I walked off, I asked him if he wanted a drink; he told me to go fuck myself.
I went inside the club and there were dancers all over the place dancing to 'Blue Monday' by New Order. They weren't all dressed the same like punks are. While punks usually just wear black leather with patches and occasional flannel somewhere, the post-punk scene was all over the place. Hipsters, transvestites, and big haired creeps seemed to inhabit the entire club. I got a seat in the back and ordered a Henry Rollins Rock, my favorite drink; luckily the waiter knew what that was, so I wasn't too far out of my comfort zone.
After a little while of listening to some of the music and thinking it was pretty tight, the most hipster of all the big haired, creepy transvestites walked over to my table. It was Adam! They looked like absolute shit. Their eyeliner was smeared all around their eye and their hair was frizzy as fuck. I dunno if they were getting laid before this or something, but they seemed happy to see me.
"Hey Trenton!" they said to me. "How the fuck are ya?"
"I'm alright," I said to them.
"Me too. I just finished this film the other day."
"Does it have a story or is it one of your weird art experiments again?"
"Pppptttt. Why even bother asking?" they said. The waiter came over, and Adam ordered an Amy Wine-house. "So how's your brother Barrett?"
Here's something I haven't touched upon yet. It seems like everyone only knows me because of my older brother, who, even after dressing like Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween one year, seems to still be able to get more tail and better friends than I do. And every time someone comes up to me, they ask me how he is. He's fine, what the fuck do they think? He moved to California and was named the official governor for life. I don't even want to talk about it, if you wanna know the truth.
"He's okay," I answered the strange creature sitting across the table.
"Awesome, awesome," they said. The waiter brought back our drinks. Next thing I know, some Joy Division song starts playing from the DJ booth. Adam got into it right away. "Oh my goodness," Adam says. "I love Joy Division! Don't you?"
"Dude, they're like the hipster band to end all hipster bands," I said to them.
"Not necessarily," they said. "Lots of people like Joy Division. Not just hipsters, but art majors and filmmakers and musicians and emo kids and suicide fiends and…"
I just listened to them drone on and on, and then I excused myself to the restroom. In actuality, I got the fuck out of there.
After two music venues were a bust for me, I decided "fuck it, maybe the music scene isn't for me after all." I decided I was just going to go back to my hotel room and read some manga for the rest of the night.
I thought I'd walk instead of hail another cab, because I didn't want to bump into that pointy haired dick of a driver again. So I walked along, thinking about 'Prince Mackaroo" and whatever the fuck else when I found myself in the elevator with that weird dark skinned employee who gave me that weird phone number.
"Ay," he said, but I didn't hear him. "AY," he said louder, and I looked at him.
"What the fuck do you want?" I asked.
"Ay boi," he said. "Ya 'member tat numberrr I gave ya?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Ya gunna use it?"
"Probably not," I said, and looked away from him.
"Ay, ya look pretty bord m8," he said. "Wat room r u in?"
"666," I said, forgetting I told him I didn't want whatever he was offering me.
"Alright, m8," he said. "I'll send sumbudy there soon. Have five dollas redy."
The elevator door opened, and I walked to my room.
I didn't know what he was sending me. A hooker, a drug dealer, a stripper, I had no idea. But in case it was some hot chick or one of those Asian boys who look like hot chicks, I got dressed up anyway, with my red fedora and everything.
I sat there on my bed, waiting, reading a manga, when I heard the door knock. I put my book down and got up.
I opened the door, and this strange creature was standing there. He had this clown make-up on and was wearing a Wu-Tang shirt that for some reason had Edward from 'Cowboy Bebop' on it. His clown make-up was insane. He must've been from some kinda posse.
"HEEYYYYYYYYY," he said really, really loudly. "WHATDERFUCKISUP, MY MAN?"
I stared at this strange thing, who walked into my room.
"AYYY, SO," he continued. "THIS FUNNY NIGGER BRAXTON SAID THAT YOU WERE BORED AND NEEDED SOME ENTERTAINMENT, RIGHT?"
"Not really," I said.
"WELL DON'T WORRY, NIGGA. I GOT ALL THESE DANK MEMES WITH ME THAT I SAW ON 9GAG."
He pulled out this tablet and turned it on, and it played this video of Hank Hill from 'King of the Hill' talking while it started to static up and go apeshit. I couldn't hear what it was saying because this weird clown thing was laughing like a hyena at it.
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, SORRY," he said. "I DON'T WANNA USE MY BEST MATERIAL FIRST. ALRIGHT, SO, YOU LIKE JOKES?"
"No," I said.
"WELL THERE WAS THIS ONE TIME I WAS SITTING IN CLASS, AND THESE GIRLS BEHIND ME WERE TELLING THESE SHITTY FUCKING JOKES. LIKE, NONE OF THEM WERE FUNNY. BUT THIS ONE JOKE-" he stopped and I could see the sides of his mouth creeping up. "THIS ONE JOKE… THIS ONE JOKE HAD ME FUCKING DYING!" and he started laughing his hyena laugh. After giggling for a good five minutes, he stopped, and he stood there with his mouth wide open. I thought he had stopped breathing until he breathed in this "HEERRGGHH" sounding donkey noise. He did that a couple of times and then started giggling again.
"ALRIGHT…" he said. "ALRIGHT. YOU READY?"
"Sure?" I said.
"OKAY… OKAY…" he took a deep breath. "WHY. DID THE PLANE. CRASH LAND?"
"Why?"
"BECAUSE THE PILOT. WAS A LOAF. OF BREAD." and then he continued laughing his high pitched laugh for another five minutes. With all that buildup, I expected a little bit of a kek. But I didn't even chuckle. Or lawl.
"ALRIGHT, THAT'S ENOUGH JOKES," he said. "MY SIDES WENT TO SPACE AN HOUR AGO. HEY, WANNA SEE ME JUGGLE?" He pulled three mixtapes out of his pocket. "I CALL THIS 'THE JUGGALO JUGGLE.'" and he tossed them in the air and started juggling these tapes, all while rapping to Snoop Dogg. The room started getting hot, like it was on fire, but he stopped before I felt myself get burned. And then he saw the manga on my bed that I was reading. "SHIT," he said. "I LOVE MANGOS. MY FAVORITE OF ALL TIME IS 'COREY IN THE HOUSE.' WHAT ELSE YOU GOT?"
I pulled out this other manga I had in my suitcase, and he took it and sat there, reading it quietly. I decided I'd read mine, too.
It was pretty pleasant after all that laughing ruckus, and even though he would kek every once in a while, it was quiet. That is, until I heard the door knocking. We didn't answer. And then it knocked again.
"Hey Viiiiiiiince," the voice said. It sounded like the hotel employee. "How long r ya takin', buddee? R ya takin' 4ever to tell dat plane joke again?" And then the door opened, and the clown dropped the manga and stood up.
"ME?" he said. "NIGGA, I AIN'T DOIN' SHIT!"
"Ah, ur reading a mango again," the employee said as he entered. "It disrupts yer werk. U kno that."
"MAN, THIS GUY HAD THE BEST SHIT, THOUGH."
"I don't care. Hey, come here," he said to me. I got up and the employee socked me in the face. Next thing I knew, the clown and the employee were gone. My nose was bleeding once again, so I decided to shower.
When I got into bed, I felt bad the clown had left. I finally found someone to relate to.
I didn't even get a chance to tip my fedora to him before he left.
When I woke up the next morning, I figured I didn't want to bump into that stupid nigger again, so I checked out of the Dakota and headed towards Grand Central Station. I felt really lonely, so I called Adam and asked if they wanted to catch a movie with me. I figured we'd see the new 'Planet of the Apes' or 'Red 2' or something, but being the glitter-covered art fag they are, they said they wanted to go see 'Nymphomaniac,' the new art film by Lars Von Trier. I wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves, but I figured why not see this weird movie? I was feeling lonely as fuck, anyway.
So we scheduled to see the movie at 2:00 on Broadway, which was way across town.
I had a few hours to spare, and while I walked to streets of Jew York, I began to think about Jesse. I missed how small he was and how soft his hair was and how tough he looked yet how sweet he acted. Then I remembered I heard this one stoner kid at Kenyan High listening to this folk punk group called "Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains" and I thought Jesse would love this shit. So I went to the closest record store I could find and, sure enough, they had a copy of one of their EPs. I had to spend $200 and a manga to get it, but it was worth it.
Then I figured I couldn't wait much longer to give it to him, so I decided to stroll Central Park and look for the Punk Rock Museum he would hang out at usually. He and his group performed there every once in a while. It was crazy how much memorabilia and sculptures they had there, but I forgot; they renovated it to a ska museum a few years back, so I turned around and walked to Broadway to meet up with Adam.
I took the Subway there, and when I got out, Adam stuck out like a sore thumb. I picked them out in the middle of the crowd because of their nice coat, bright red lipstick, wacko haircut, and wayfarer sunglasses (I was sure they were wearing eyeliner under those things). They saw me, and approached.
"Hey, Trenton," they said. "You ready for this movie?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever."
We walked into the theater and sat down. We chatted a little bit about this one time how we were at the same gaming competition before we even knew each other when the trailers began to roll.
What luck I had. The first trailer they played was for 'The Wind Rises,' the new anime film from Studio Ghibli. Why it was playing before an independent, erotic art film, I have no idea, but I could feel myself begin to sweat. It was so beautiful. I loved the colors and the fact that all the characters looked the same. I just wanted to get up and bow at the screen, but I knew Adam would call me a faggot for doing so, so I stayed in my seat.
When the credits popped up, they leaned over and whispered "I wonder how many neckbearded basement dwellers are going to wait until midnight to see the premier" and then they laughed. I laughed, too, but I really wanted to punch them in the face.
Whatever the reason was, before the movie, they decided to play a short cartoon. And of course, it had to be a 'Boku no Pico.' I was getting so hot. I could feel my pants grow tighter and tighter as each new animation cell changed. I think I was even panting like a dog. I looked over at Adam, who just looked bored, wanting to see their precious European avant-garde shit to begin already.
The hentai was getting to hot. I knew if I waited a second longer, I would've started jerking it. So instead, I grabbed Adam's arm and whispered: "Hey, I just remembered. I saw this movie already. Let's go to the mall or something."
"But I haven't seen this yet," they said.
"Catch it on Netflix. Or Pirate Bay. I don't care. I just don't want to watch this—" I struggled to find words. "Weeb shit."
"Oooohhhh, gotcha," they said, and we left the theater.
We walked around Broadway for a bit, and Adam pranced and looked in aww at all of the giant billboards and skyscrapers, while I tried to catch my breath after seeing that hot hentai.
Eventually, we found ourselves at a large shopping center, and we went in and walked around. We had a pretty good time, buying ice creams and playing Super Smash Bros. Melee: The Arcade Game, until we went up an escalator I saw an Anime Jungle store glimmering in all its beauty. I couldn't imagine the kind of treasures they had in there, but I knew I couldn't be caught dead in there with Adam around, so I had to distract them. Luckily, I saw that Hot Topic was right down the way.
"Hey Adam," I said to them. "Look, there's a Hot Topic down there. Are you low on eyeliner?"
"Not really," they said.
"Well, here's $30. Go buy something," and I have them a wad of cash. They thanked me and wandered into the store.
I ran into the Anime Jungle and frantically looked for something. I knew I had to buy something, and before that freak showed up again. I looked at the body pillows, but I couldn't hide that from them, so I went over to the headbands, and there it was, right in the middle of the shelf: A Naruto Leaf Headband. It was too good to be true, AND it was the last one. I grabbed it, paid for it, and walked out of the store. I held it in my arms and embraced it.
I stuffed it in my pocket when I saw Adam coming. Luckily, they didn't see.
"I didn't see any make-up I didn't have," they said. "But I found this awesome Depeche Mode vinyl!" and they showed me their new record. I wasn't even paying attention.
We decided to take a cab to Chinamantown, and yes, Ryan was driving. But he ignored me; I guess he figured my friend was weeaboo trash, too.
We ate at this really good restaurant called Chinese Friends. We sat eating our meals and drinking our drinks, when they looked at me and thanked me.
"Dude, this has been a kickass night," they said. "Thanks!"
"No problem!" I said. I have to admit, I was having a pretty good time. I bought a butterfly knife outside the restaurant from this woman who was harassing me to buy it. But I bet I'll look pretty kawaii with it plus my new headband.
"So how are you enjoying Jew York?" they asked me.
"It fucking sucks," I said. "I hate hiding myself from people." Then I realized what I said.
Adam looked at me confusingly. "What do you mean?"
"Well… I… I mean…" but I couldn't figure out what to say.
They nodded. "Look, you don't have to tell me. I get it. I've been hanging out in the Jew York underground for months now. And I can safely answer, yes, there are better cross-dressers than me."
They laughed, and I chuckled a nervous chuckle. I still couldn't tell their gender because they were wearing boy clothes, yet said the word "cross dressing."
"So," they continued. "If you don't like Jew York, where do you want to move to?"
"Oh, Japan," I said, and immediately slammed my hand over my mouth.
"J… Japan?" they asked.
"You know," I tried to save myself. "For the… the history and the rich culture and all that!"
"Oh, yeah!" they said. "I myself have always wanted to roam around an actual Japanese garden and visit a Buddhist temple and see some of the ancient art…" they droned on and on about this weird artsy kink they wanted to experience, and I started to feel myself get comfortable. Too comfortable.
"Let's move there!"
"What?" they asked me.
"Ya know, we'll move there! Together, be roommates! You can make your little films and I'll teach the kids English!"
"Gee, Trenton, I dunno," they said. "I mean, I grew up in the states. I can't leave now!"
"Oh, come on! We'll have a house, near the Great Wall!"
"Well, it does sound amazing, but…" then they stopped. "Wait…" they examined me. "What did you just say?"
"Ya know, we'll have a house," I repeated. "Near the Great Wall."
"You mean the Great Wall of CHINA and NOT JAPAN?" they said.
I felt nervous all of a sudden. "Oh, uhm… of course! How can I be so stupid?"
"And you just said you would teach the Japanese kids English! That would mean you would know Japanese! Do you speak Japanese?"
"Just… the stuff I learned on Rosetta Stone," I said.
I could see their eyes begin to water.
"You…" they said. "You son of a bitch! You're a fucking weeaboo!"
"What?" I said. "No I'm not!"
"You don't know SHIT about the country! You just want to go there and see the anime first hand, you fucking dweeb!" Their eyeliner began to run down their face and smear, kinda like how it looked the other night.
"That's not true!" he said. "I love Kim Jong-Un!"
"That's Korea, you moron!" they said, and slammed their face into their hands.
I couldn't let this fly. I wasn't a weeaboo. "I'm not a weeb, Adam," I said.
"I thought the neckbeard and fedora were signs," they said. "But I just didn't believe it! I thought you were better than that! Well no more!" they yelled, and stood up. "I've lost too many friends to this disease, and I'm NOT losing another!" and they stormed off.
"Wait, senpai!" I yelled for them.
"Piss off!" and they left the restaurant.
I sat there quietly, sitting at my table.
I wasn't a weeb. They're just overemotional.
I didn't even get to tip my fedora to them before they left.
After that thing left, I felt really, really lonely. I didn't have another hotel or anything, and worse yet, I spent most of my money on the vinyl and the Naruto headband, so I couldn't afford another hotel. But I wasn't ready to go back to Jesse.
I stood on the street outside of the restaurant and a white car drove up to the curb. The window rolled down, and wouldn't you know it, it was Ryan.
"Get in," he said.
"Where's your cab?" I asked.
"I'm off duty," he replied. "Get in."
I got in the car and we drove around Memehattan for a little while. We talked a little bit about music and games, and Ryan was laughing and having a pretty good time. I have to admit, it felt nice to be around somebody I can relate to and not Karl or Edwin or Adam.
Then we stopped at this bar called The British Invasion. Ryan said it was his usual hangout.
We went in and the bartender noticed him right away, and offered drinks on the house. Apparently, Ryan was the guitar player for a legendary band once, and he gets noticed all the time. He was probably a little sore at me for not recognizing him as the guitar god he is.
The drinks were okay. They didn't have a Henry Rollins-Rock, but I did get a Johnny Rotten. I don't know what he had; he just asked for "the usual."
"So Trent," he said to me while we sat enjoying our drinks and admiring the Beatles coverband performing 'Twist and Shout.' "Talk to me."
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.
"Why are you so scared of admitting you're a weeb?"
"Because I'm not a weeb," I said. "I'm not."
He chuckled. "Please. Empty your pockets."
"What?"
"NOW."
I did so, and he saw my butterfly knife and headband.
"Just what I thought," he said. "'Naruto.' Face it, Trent, you're a weeaboo just like the rest of the fedora fucks in the city."
"I'm NOT," I said. I must've sounded like a little kid.
"Trent, look," Ryan said. "It's alright! You can be whoever the fuck you want. Watch whatever the fuck you want. Listen to whatever the fuck you want. You just have to say 'fuck it," and go for it."
Ryan was really trying to help me. He was a really nice guy once you got to know him.
"You know what?" I said. "You're right. Who cares what the fuck people think about me? From this day forth, I am an open master of Otaku."
I stood up and put the headband on my fedora. Ryan started dying of laughter. I was confused. First he encouraged me, and now he's laughing at me.
"Nevermind, dude," he said. "You're a fucking fag."
He got up and left me, just like the rest of the world.
And I couldn't even tip my fedora before he left.
Well, great. It was the middle of the night and I'm stuck in the middle of Memehattan with no money, a hipster vinyl, and a fedora. Where was I supposed to go?
But then I remembered: my weeb teacher, Mr. Milasich, lived very, very close, in Queens (My Dishes, Please). I was in walking distance! I remember I used to have sushi with him and he taught me how to appreciate anime with subtitles instead of dubs.
So I called him on the phone, and luckily, he was still awake meditating, and he told me to come right over.
And when I got to his house, he answered the door.
"Why, hello, Trenton," he said to me. "Won't you come in?"
I went inside, bowed to him, and proceeded over to his living room, which had two mats facing each other on the floor. I sat on one, and he sat in the other.
"So Trenton," he said to me. "Why are you here in Jew York and not at Kenyan."
"I got kicked out," I said. "But that's not important. Mr. Milasich, I'm afraid I've become…" I couldn't say it.
"Become what, Trenton?"
"I've become a weeaboo."
"Oh… I was afraid this day would come." He stroked his beard and thought for a second. "I tried to teach you real customs, but you just do what you learn from anime, correct?"
"Yes, senpai," I said.
"And is that a 'Naruto' headband on your classy hat?"
"Yes, senpai."
"You didn't even pick a good anime." He shook his head. "Trenton," he continued. "What made you realize you were a weeaboo?"
"Well, you see," I said. "I went to the movies with my friend Adam-"
"Oh yes," he interrupted. "I remembered Adam. She was beautiful."
"I think so. Anyway," I continued. "This trailer came on for the new Miyazaki movie 'The Wind Rises.' And I felt tears running down my cheeks as it continued."
"That doesn't make you a weeaboo, Trenton," he said. "It just makes you appreciate the art of animation. You know. Studio Ghibli IS one of the only animation studios in the world that still do traditional handdrawn animation."
"Yeah, I guess," I said. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn't a weeb after all.
"What else?" he asked.
"Oh, I saw this 'Boku no Pico' short-"
"Oh, nevermind," he said. "You're a weeb. No doubt about it."
Then I started to feel ashamed. He could see it in my eyes.
"Trenton," he said. "There's no reason to feel bad. It's okay to be really obsessed with something. I mean, what if your whole life revolved around punk music? Or grunge and weed? Or rap? Or iPhones? Or cross dressing? Or 'Dog with a Blog?' Or Beatles' music?"
He was right. Everyone has a little obsession. There's no reason to be ashamed.
"You know what?" I said. "You're right. I'm a weeaboo and I shouldn't be ashamed!"
"There you go!" he said, and shook my hand. "Now, I suggest you rest. Like a noble samurai, the mighty weeb must get his beauty sleep."
I was feeling pretty good about myself, so I slept on Milasich's couch.
But while I slept, I had this weird dream that I was walking around this rye field with my fedora and everyone was pointing at me and laughing. And calling me 'weeaboo trash.'
I screamed and woke up, but Milasich was really, really close to my sleeping head. His hand was on my forehead. I saw it, slapped it, and yelled: "BOOM SHAKA LAKA, GET THAT SHIT OUTTA MY FACE." And I beat it without even looking back.
I ran out to the sidewalk and hailed a cab. It was Ryan. Of course it was. I told him to drive me to my house.
"I had this weird dream last night," I told him.
"What was it? Were you being given head by a Sailor Moon character?"
"No," I said. "I was in the middle of this rye field with my fedora and headband, and everybody was laughing at me. And they were wearing punk clothes and make-up and Beethoven shirts and whatever the fuck else. They were pointing and laughing at me. I felt like I was the cancer in the rye."
"That's a stupid story, Trent."
"It's a DREAM, you dip," I replied to him.
"Whatever," he said. He pulled up to my curb and told me to never approach him again.
I ran up to my apartment. I unlocked the door and ran across the house to Jesse's room. He was sound asleep.
"Get up," I said to him.
He woke up, and looked at me like I was crazy.
"Simon Says: Get the fuck up!"
He rubbed his eyes and looked at me.
"Jesse, look," I said. "I know I'm not supposed to be home from Kenyan yet but I got kicked out. But I went on this revolutionary journey. I went through all this shit with Adam and this cab driver named Ryan and this weird insane clown looking thing, and it all boils down to this: I'm a weeaboo."
Jesse looked at me, shocked.
"I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm 100% weeb."
He got up quick, jumped into his boots, and ran towards the door. I grabbed him.
"Dude, wait, you don't understand," I said. "I want you to accept me! Look, I bought you this vinyl and everything!"
I gave him the Johnny Hobo record, but he just looked at me and shook his head.
I sighed. "It's no use," I said. "I'm not wanted anywhere. Nobody wants a fucking weeb around. I mean, I bought this hat and this headband, and even this fucking butterfly knife."
Jesse grabbed the knife from me and looked at it. And then, he turned to me, staring directly in my eyes and said: "Cool."
I forgot how easy it is to make edgy people happy. If it's pointy, it's awesome.
Me and Jesse spent the rest of the day listening to the record, and later that night we went to the RKL Circle Jerkin' Germs of the Dead Kennedys and we moshed like there was no tomorrow.
We spent the rest of the year living in that house together until Jesse moved out to be with his band and travel the world.
And I finally decided to move to Japan, just like I wanted.
Only I confused Japan with Vietnam, and now I'm stuck here with no money.
Fuck.