Bent Words

Bent Words

September 26, 2011

I put a deposit down.

On a marriage.

My marriage, to be more specific.

It's kinda like watching pigs fly past the office window. Mice, with tiny cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, tapping away on personal laptops. Guinea pigs with safety goggles operating hovercrafts in the car pool lane.

Not your typical Monday (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday) morning.


And it all started with a little bet...

Doesn't chaos usually begin this way? Yes. Yes I believe it does.

I bet K-Dog $500 I would never get married. He bet me $500 I would.

Here I am, some amount of months later, asking the owner of my local haunt how much cash an ATM is capable of spitting out in one shot.

"I don't know. Depends on your account, I suppose. Do you have a withdrawal limit?"

Yes. Yes I have a limit. My limit, for better or for worse, is five Gs cash for one man, please. I'll take that one.

Sadly, all the more money I could garner in the amount of time it took me to come up with the idea and him to run upstairs to change the laundry was $100. That and the stupid ATM fee pissed me right the fuck off so I called it quits after the first five twenties.

I'm not made of cash, yo.

But it was a pretty good idea.

I had planned to withdrawal $500, shove it in an envelope, hand it over and watch his face as he read the first twenty dollar bill which would have said something to the effect of,

"Best $500 investment I've ever made," or "Take off your clothes and marry me," or "You win, buddy," or "Is this enough, Sucker?"

But, like I said, the ATM fees alone gave me pause. And I'm not paying interest on this guy. Five hundred dollars cash and not a penny more.

So instead I handed him the hundo and when he inquired as to what it was for, I simply replied,

"Think of it as a deposit."

Without an ounce of irony lost, I laid away a man.

He's mine, bitches.

As long as I can come up with the rest before the first of the year.

Written at 7:44 p.m.