I once had a friend who would say;
Luck is believable, and all I have left.
I don't know where he heard that, or even if he made it up. All I know is that he lived by those words.
"You wanna hear a real story, kid? I got a fuckin' story for ya, kiddo. I gots me a rash, let me tell ye. I gots me a fucking rash."
That's me.
Sonic. The blue hedgehog with the beard. Beer gut, worn clothes and a glass of whiskey on ice. That's what I call a mixed drink.
"Save it, old timer," the young grey fox says. Drinking shots of vodka and chasing them with a mixture of rum and coke. "I'm not in the mood for it. I've got enough bullshit of my own to deal with."
Rotten punk.
"No need to result in name calling, man. I'm just in a shitty mood."
Did I say that out loud?
"You sure did, pal. You sure did."
Eyeball my beverage and take another sip. Find myself winking irregularly, for some unknown reason.
"So, whatcha writin' there, Chuck?"
"Vernon."
"Who?"
"Me," he says, pointing to himself, like a dumbass. "Me Vernon. Not Chuck. Vernon."
"I had an uncle named Chuck. He died. I like that name. It's what I call your average Joe on the street, you know? Your average Chuck. I say, hey there, Chuck. Spare a smoke, Chuck? How much extra you lookin' to pay me to get you that bottle, Chuck?"
"That's nice," he says, knocking back another shot and draining his glass down to the ice. "Another, please."
"Shot or drink?" the bartender asks.
"Both," he says, scribbling his chicken scratch down on his ratty looking notebook.
"Studying?"
"I don't go to school."
"Well, whatcha workin' on, there, Chuck?" I ask, craning my head over his shoulder to get a good view.
He sighs and closes the notebook.
"Let's just say that it's my love letter to the entropy of Mobian kind."
"You some kind of bible thumping religious nut, or something?"
"No," he replies, laughing. "It's nothing like that."
"Good man. I used to be religious, but I was never a nut about it. I lost my faith back in the great war."
"You fought in the war?"
"Shit yeah, man. Killed Robotnik myself. Ripped his fucking heart out in the heat of the moment. Took a bite out of it. Then I threw up once the blood lust wore off."
"Hah, yeah, right."
"No bullshit, Chuck. I wouldn't lie to somebody I called Chuck. That would be like lying to my dead uncle. That's nooo good, Chuck."
"I thought Chuck was just your average Joe."
"What? No. Chuck was my uncle. Far from average. He had him some brainsmarts. Invented crazy, magical shit that made me run even faster. When I had to juice, baby, he gave me that juice. He gave me more juice than I knew what to do with, boy. Hard. Of course, he got turned into a robot, and we had to put 'er down. Poor Chuck. God rest his soul, and the many others that succumbed to the metal madness."
I take off mt hat and hold it to my heart. He stares at me blankly.
Put it back on and drink to the many fallen Mobians.
"You're telling me that you're Sonic the hedgehog?"
"Exactly right, Chuck!"
"Prove it. Show me your super speed."
"I don't... I don't do that anymore."
"Hm. I'm sure."
"I've got a long story, Chuck. A long, sad road of disappointment, robots, and juice. Hot, sticky juice, Chuck."
"Do you have any ID?"
"Yeah. Shit. After all these years, I still get carded from time to time. You think the grey beard would tip them off."
Hand him the bent up, torn ID.
His eyes widen.
"No shit," he says.
"Yepp. Maurice is my name. Most people call me Sonic. Or Sawnicks. That one always makes me chuckle."
"How did you end up like this?"
"Mmmm... lots of drinkin'."
"No shit."
"Yesssss..." I say. "No shit."
"I'm actually a journalist," he says, flipping through pages in his notebook and finally settling on one to scribble something down on. "I work for the Station Square Weekly. You heard of it?"
"Yeah, yeah. I've wiped my ass with my fair share of trashed copies."
"Ah. I see."
"Don't take any offense to that, Chuck. It was just available. Folks don't throw out unused toilet paper, man. You don't wanna use the toilet paper they throw out. There's some pretty nasty shit to be found there, Chuck. Mobians are some nasty fucking creatures."
"Um. Right. My point is, I was thinking maybe we could do an interview. For the magazine."
"I dunno, Chuck. I like to keep a low profile these days. And something just don't feel right about wipin' your ass with your own face. Someone else's face? Sure. Your own face? I dunno about that, Chuck. I just dunno."
"Convincing me that you're Sonic when I didn't believe you in the first place is not keeping a low profile."
"You got yourself a pretty sound point there, I reckon. Tell you what, Chuck. We're friends, right?"
"Um. Sure. Besties. Why not?"
"You know what friends do for each other, right?"
"Uh. Look man, if this is about sexual favors, you can forget it. I'm not into you."
"Naw, Chuck. I aint tryin' to touch your pooper. Friends do each other favors, Chuck. Help each other out. You know. Doing interviews, buying each other drinks. You got any smokes, little guy?"
"Yeah, it's what I call my friends, Chuck. Term of endearment. Little guy, big guy, little bro. It means you're my friend, Chuck."
"Uh. Right."
"So, ya got any smokes, Chuck?"
He digs out a green pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.
"Oh. You smoke menthols."
"Yeah," he says, holding one out to me.
"No thanks. I don't smoke that cheap shit."
I fumble in my pockets for an open pack and light one up with my golden zippo.
"Buy me a drink there, Chuck."
"What do you want?"
"Get me another whiskey," I say to the bartender. "Put it on Chuck's tab."
"Who?"
"Vernon," Chuck says. "Vernon Danforth."
"Thanks, Chuck," I say, picking up the full glass.
"So, tell me about the war."
Pause.
The world around me stops and the lights get dim. I can hear the gunfire in the distance. The screaming. The explosions. The foreign prostitutes grunting and moaning.
The horror. The horror..
"Uh. Sonic?"
"Yes, Check?"
"The war?"
"Oh, yes. The war. You see, Chuck, women make men do crazy things. That's just the nature of shit."
"What does this have to do with anything?"
"The war, Chuck. At the heart of any conflict, any trial, any tribulation, somebody is in it for the blowjob. You like blowjobs, Chuck?"
"Uh. Sure, I mean-"
"Of course you do, Chuck. You love blowjobs, don't you?"
"Yeah, I gue-"
"Who doesn't love blowjobs, Chuck? Anybody ever tells ya they don't love blowjobs, they're lying."
"Right, but-"
"I was in it for the blowjob, Chuck. Just like you. Just like everybody."
"What ar-"
"It's why you do what you do, Chuck. You, with the pen and the paper. What makes you do that?"
"The.. pay?"
"Right. They pay you so you can get a nice enough place and means of transportation, so you can drive bitches around and buy 'em shit, so you can get that blowjob."
"Where are you going with this?"
"I was in it for the blowjob, Chuck. And I never even got it. I didn't want to kill anybody, Chuck. But I did. I killed lots of things. I did it for the blowjob."
"The blowjob."
"You know what that bitch did, Chuck?"
"Who?"
"Princess Sally, Chuck. Pay attention. That bitch took all the glory, all the power and half of my money. Then you know what that bitch did, Chuck? Kicked me out on my ass. After all I had done to her, Chuck. After all I had done to her."
"Don't you mean 'for her'?"
"No blowjob, no nothin', Chuck."
"Uh. Right. This was after you killed Robotnik?"
"Shit yeah, Chuck," I say through crunching ice. "I killed Robotnik. Tore his heart out. It was the heat of the moment. I was angry. I didn't know what I was doing. Took a bite out of it, then threw up. Human tastes horrible."
"Then Sally tossed you out on your ass?"
"Naw, man. That's just what they want you to think. She actually died in the war."
"But you just said-"
"I heard what I said, Chuck. I'm the one who said it. Right from my throat and into my brain. Then it gets to you, Chuck. But I get it first. You get me, Chuck?"
"I don't quite-"
"Not important, Chuck. Not important. Sally died during the war. Robotnik killed her right in front of me. Why do you think I was so pissed off, Chuck? I worked hard on that blowjob, and that fat, jealous piece of shit took it all away. Epic cockblocking, Chuck. Epic."
"But Sally is the queen. How is she the queen if Robotnik killed her?"
"You see, Chuck. There is a very logical and reasonable explanation for that."
He stares at me blankly, as if he's waiting for something. He takes another shot. The bartender wiping down glasses. Eyeballing me, the fuck.
"Well..?"
"Well, what?"
"What's the logical and reasonable explanation for that?"
"Women are nothing but tits and trouble? Huhuhuhuhuh."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Of course it does. What were we talking about, again?"
"Princess Sally."
"Right. Well, you see, Chuck, I was pretty damn determined to get that blowjob. And now we had the technology that Robotnik had used against us for all that time. So, I turned her into a robot. But when she came out, she weren't right."
"Wasn't."
"What?"
"She wasn't right. That's the correct way to say it.
"What the hell are you? A goddamn English teacher?"
"That's what my ex used to say."
"I bet you put up with it, though, right? For the blowjob."
"Actually I cared a lot about her, and deeply regret the way things worked out between us."
"Bullshit. It was for the blowjob."
"Uh. No, actually, it was because I loved-"
"Yeah, 'cause you loved the blowjob. That's all that was, Chuck."
"I don't think you understand."
"I was in love once, Chuck. And I don't just mean with the blowjob. I was in love with the thing behind the blowjob. The woman. The woman who gave me the blowjobs."
"Yeah, uh, that's more along the lines of what I was getting at, I guess."
"Yeah, don't ever do that. That was the dumbest shit I ever did. Bitch threw me out on my ass. Took half my money. Took everything. Took my juice, man. My juice."
"Princess.. Sally?"
"Nah, that one was just for the blowjob. Amy. She was something else."
"So, what happened with Sally? Did she, like, lose her soul, or something?"
"Nah, dumbass. There's no such thing as a soul. When she came back to life, she had too much power and not enough Mobian desires. No interest in giving blowjobs. Kinda got pissed off at me when I brought it up. Had no use for me anymore, she said. That's when I met Amy."
"Amy?"
"Yessir. Amy Rose. Man, she had it all. Legs, lips, tits and ass, man. And she was all obsessed with me and shit. She made me feel real good."
"You mean emotionally?"
"Yeah, uh, that, too."
"What happened?"
"Well, the blowjobs dried up and I smelled something funny. So, I ask her about it. Then she was all like; let's get married. And I said yeah, okay. We could do that. Don't ever do that, Chuck. Don't get married."
"Well, I only considered it once, but I don't see it happening any time so-"
"Don't do it, Chuck. Don't do it. Don't get married."
"Uh. Right."
"I'm serious, Chuck. Don't laugh, it isn't funny. I can see it in your eyes. Those innocent, bluegreen eyes. You have eyes like a child, Chuck."
"What the hell does that mean?" He asks, laughing.
"Don't worry about it, Chuck. Just know that if you laugh like that again, I'm gonna punch you in the stomach."
"In the stomach?"
"Right in the stomach. Your laughter offends me. Stop it."
"Uh. Okay."
"Good man. Where was I? Oh, right. Tits and trouble. Don't ever get married. They just take everything from you, ruin your reputation and suck your wallet, happiness and life dry. Small claims court on basic cable. Made a fool of me!"
"Uh, Sonic?"
"Making me look like a bad father. Taking my kids away and spending all my child support money on drugs and extra food to stuff her goddamn face all the time."
"Sonic?"
"Lousy, cheating, stinking whore. Can't believe I loved your bitch ass."
"Sonic!"
"Yeah?"
"You okay, man?"
"Fuckin' A, Chuck! I'm dandy. Can I get another?"
"Sure. Two more."
"Coming right up."
"Oh, thankee, Chuck. You're good people. You remind me of.. who the hell do you remind me of? Well, shit. We used to go to the bar and get drunk all the time. Sometimes even fight a dog or two."
"Oh, uh, I don't do that."
"Don't tell me you're one of those equal rights for dogs pussies. You don't hate dogs? Not even a little?"
"Uh, not really. But I kind of hate Mobian kind in general."
"Me, too, Chuck. Me, too. That's why I hate dogs, Chuck. Part of the problem."
"There's no need for any racism, Mr. Hedgehog."
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Uh. That's your name, right?"
"Next thing I know, you'll be throwing phrases like 'your kind' my direction."
"That's not what I meant."
"Good. Racism pisses me off. I'm not racist, or nothin', you know? I just hate dogs. You know what I mean, Chuck?"
"Not sure I follow."
"Doesn't matter. Don't worry about it. You got any smokes, Chuck?"
"Menthols."
"Ew. Thanks, but no thanks. I don't smoke that crap."
"I know. You told me."
"You know, Chuck? I think I know what your problem is."
"What's that?"
"You're too stressed, Chuck. You hold that drink like you want to strangle the poor fucker. Think of it like a blowjob, Chuck. You just ease that shit in nice and slow, lay back and let it make you feel good."
"Sonic?"
"What do you need, Chuck? Tell me what you need."
"If all of these terrible things happened to you, like your loved ones dying, leaving you, taking everything, making it impossible to get back on your feet, being homeless, wiping your ass with magazines in public, spending what little money you manage to attain on booze and eating just enough to keep you alive... I mean, I'm sorry to say it this way, but there's no other way to say it. If your life sucks this badly, how the fuck are you so cheerful and optimistic?"
"That's an easy one, Chuck. Look at me. They've taken everything from me. What the fuck are they gonna do now?"
"I'm not sure I follow."
"That's your problem, Chuck. You're always trying to follow. Lead, Chuck. Lead."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't need to, Chuck. That's the beauty of it. None of it will ever make any sense. You gotta hang in there for the blowjob. That's all any of it will have been worth, in the end. A series of blowjobs, Chuck. And they're always better when they last."
"You talk a lot about blowjobs. You seem to have this odd obsession with them."
"That's because I love 'em, Chuck. I love blowjobs."
"I can see that."
"Everyone does, Chuck. That's the folly of the Mobian. We figured out blowjobs. And those are the cause and solution to all of life's problems."
"As insane as you very clearly are, you just might be onto something there."
"You're goddamn right, Chuck. You're good people. You'll get it someday. That's just the nature of shit."
I set a few coins on down on the bar and light my last cigarette.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
Nod and smile at him.
"It's time for me to go, Chuck."
"What about the interview?"
Put my hand on his shoulder and get really close to his face. My alcoholic breath bouncing off his confused expression and back to me.
"Some other time, Chuck. Somewhere out there on them streets, there's a cheap blowjob with my name on it. And I'm gonna get mine, Chuck. I'm-a gonna get mine."
He's speechless as I let him go and turn around to make my way out the door.
Cold out. The windchill stings my face as I step out the door into the snowy alleyway. The overhead light reflecting brightly off the powder. Hard white complimenting the dark surrounding shadows.
I wonder to myself what happened to my drinking buddy who used to say that luck was believable, and all he had left. Probably something unlucky and ironic. Just like the rest of us. You get used to that, and everything's O.K.
That's just the nature of shit.