Chapter 11: Down & Out
Butch's POV
It was well into the night as we cruised through the vast concrete jungle that was our hometown: Townsville. I had the privilege of driving the Beast (I named it), and was going everywhere Barb told me to go, like an obedient little puppy. Everyone's eyes enlarged as we cruised along, unable to comprehend the awesomeness of our machine.
"How does it feel to drive such a vehicle?" she asked me, her hair carelessly flowing in the wind with the elegance that only compares to that of an albatross.
"It feels like I've been over-privileged," I told her with a smooth, steady tone. "Did you customize this in your mind?"
"No, this is just the best car that the dealership had," she told me with a slightly negative voice.
"Aha," I responded, feeling rather stupid. My brothers smiled in the back seats.
"I'm just kidding, I totally thought this car up!" She sprang back to life with a crisp, hearty laugh. I blew a sigh of relief, and started to laugh alongside her, maniacally. I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of her. Good thing she has a sense of humor.
"Based on each of your behavioral patterns, I was able to pinpoint your weaknesses, and therefore discover what you individually need guidance for," Barb told us, reclined in the passenger seat.
"What's my problem?" I questioned her, "You never told me what my flaws were."
She looked at me without adjusting her recline, "You will say 'yes' to anything a woman tells you to do. You're of the submissive type, and girls don't appreciate a boy who does everything that they are told. In fact, they would much prefer a man who asserts their masculinity by saying 'no' every now and then. It proves to her that she's not dating some spineless sad sack, but a man who is indeed his own man." I was speechless.
"Now come on, I don't say yes to everything a chick tells me to do!" I heavily objected.
Barb said nothing as we rolled up to a red light. Then, she reached over to the tuning knob on the radio and turned it to Townsville's heavy hip-hop station. I absolutely hate hip-hop, and she knew I did.
"Hmm, I like this station. I like this music," she was testing my every whim. Then, she leaned over to my ear and asked, "Do you like this music, too?" and flickered her eyelashes. My brothers were on the verge of exploding with laughter. I was sweating profusely, wanting to say no, but hey, shit happens.
"Yes," I replied. Barb gave me a "you're bad at lying" stare, and after about ten seconds of pure silence (except for the radio), I added "I mean, no, I don't!" I tuned in on our favorite rock station right as the light turned green.
"You have a lot to learn, Butch," she smiled. "Now where was I? Oh yes," she pointed at Boomer, "You don't say 'yes' enough. You are simply too afraid of what others would feel about the real you. Insecurity is female repellant, as well as harmful to your mind. Although it's great to be self-conscious, there's such a thing as being overly conscious," she assured him. "You need to loosen up once in a while."
"I guess I never realized just how significant that was of me," he blankly said.
"Brick," she shifted her gaze towards him, and he looked at her, intently. "Over-celebration is nothing more than a self-indulgent, narcissistic buzz that ends in nothing more than a loss of respect, from others and from yourself. It makes you look back and wonder what has become of yourself. Pat yourself on the back and move on," she told him with a mellow overtone. How did we create a girl of such great teachings?
Brick's POV
That was one of the greatest things that I've ever heard. That was like, right up there along the lines of something I've heard during Sunday worship: powerful and short, yet meaningful and forgiving (my brothers and I decided to start attending every now and then after we turned good. We don't care what HIM thinks about it).
"It will take commitment and grit on all of your parts, but I can, and will, mentor you into the perfect gentlemen," Barb told us, "in fact, let's begin now!" We had entered the famed Tokyo-Townsville district, and she began looking up and down the street for something. "Pull up to that nightclub," she told Butch, pointing at the neon sign that read Miyako Mirai 21.
"Did you guys know that there's a district in Yokohama named Minato Mirai 21? That's probably what inspired the name of this place," Barb told us as though we were on a field trip.
"Isn't this a sushi joint?" Boomer asked. "Every time I've heard the work 'miyako,' it's been affiliated with sushi in some way."
"I've never seen a sushi joint with bouncers," I commented, noticing the gigantic men standing on both sides of the entrance, who looked as though they benched school buses in their free time (like us, except they had significantly more visible muscle definition). I looked down at my shirt and jeans and began to worry. "Aw man! They're never gonna let us in if we're dressed like this!"
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Barb assured us, once again. She snapped her fingers, and our rock shirts, denim, and patterned slip-ons instantly materialized into full-body silk suits, with a white overcoat and shirt underneath, complete with a black bow tie and leather business shoes. We looked like the Duck Commander crew in the Duck Dynasty intro. It was impossible to estimate the full extent of Barb's abilities.
As if it wasn't enough to see what we looked like, we then looked up from ourselves and got a hold of what she was wearing.
Barb wore pearl-colored high heels and a fine silk dress that matched the color of her eyes (it kind of followed the whole Powerpuff dress code idea in eye color to clothes color relativity), as well as a glistening pearl necklace. She had also magically applied the perfect amount of blush to her cheeks, which at this point was radiating with a stronger intensity than that of gamma rays. She looked absolutely incredible.
