You are Lavender, and right now, you’re really worried about your daddeh.
When he first came back from Amm-stew-dam, he was the same old daddeh you’d always known and loved.
But then he started changing.
Into a mean daddeh.
He started drinking more of the siwwy wawas that make him talk funny, and going on trips back to the sitty the two of you used to live in. These trips weren’t as long as his trip to Amm-stew-dam, he was always back before it got dawk. Until now.
He started scratching himself, around the spot at the top of his weggies, where the funny bump still appears whenever he sees your auntie. You’ve figured out that there’s some kind of connection between that and the trips to the sitty, but you don’t know exactly what, and still nobody will explain these kinds of things to you. It’s started to get frustrating.
You asked daddeh why he keeps scratching himself, and he said he “had probably caught something from a cheap ho”. Caught what? Daddeh wouldn’t explain, either. You know, thanks to your uncle Leslie, that a ho is a long not-sorry stick used here on the fawm, so you went and asked uncle if his hos were cheeping. He didn’t know what you were talking about. Hoomins.
Daddeh has started scaring you, almost as much as cousin James does, and you, and your auntie and uncle, are worried he might hurt you. You spend most of your time with your uncle and auntie now. You still don’t see a lot of James, or the fluffy he was holding. You wonder if that poor fluffy has gone forever sleepies yet.
Your uncle has told your daddeh that he has a “dwinkin pwobwem”, but your daddeh just says it’s only a problem when he runs out. When what runs out? Wawas? Well, yeah, that’s a problem! If you don’t have any wawas to drink, you’ll go forever sleepies! They said so, on Tee-Eff-Enn!
Right now, you’re particularly worried, because you and your auntie and uncle, and some other hoomins you recognized as friends of your daddeh from back in the sitty, are waiting for your daddeh. Apparently, there’s going to be an “inner-ven-shun”. You don’t know what that is, but your uncle said it’ll help your daddeh. He didn’t get home last dawk time. You wonder where he is.
You hope daddeh will be home soon. He needs help, even you can see that.
My name is Chris Oldman, but right now, I wish I was literally anyone else.
As I wake up in the dumpster, in an alleyway in the bad part of town, not knowing what time it is, I groan. I can hear high-pitched babbling from outside the dumpster. Oh great. Fluffies.
I’m not just groaning because my head feels like someone stuck power drills in both ears (and they were meeting in the middle!), not just at the pathetic situation I’ve found myself in lately, not just because I’m face down on a mouldy slice of pizza, but because I’ve just remembered an unpleasant detail about the previous evening’s activities, that wasn’t apparent to me then, due to my heavily inebriated state.
That hooker totally had a wang.
I didn’t want to do this kind of thing, but I can’t afford to fly out to Amsterdam every time I pop a boner around Helen. Living in the same house as a woman as hot as her, knowing I can’t have her, is driving me insane. Yesterday morning, she forgot to lock the bathroom door, and I walked in and saw everything. Heaven and Hell, in one. I have never ran that fast to my truck in my life. I was actually gulping down a couple of beers in the truck to calm my nerves, miraculously didn’t get busted, and didn’t crash, and had a few more beers in the city before setting out for the bad part of town, to find a hooker who even vaguely resembled my brother’s wife. I would have made do with a blowup doll and a black wig if I had to.
And yeah, I’ve been drinking a lot more lately. It’s the only thing keeping me from going completely insane. You wouldn’t believe how boring life on the farm is.
I make my way out of the alley, kicking a stray fluffy out of the way, who breaks his neck on impact. The wailing of his stupid mate and their stupid babies makes my migraine even worse, so I stomp on one of the babies and tell the bitch if she doesn’t shut up, I’ll stomp on all of her babies.
Groaning, aching, groaning again when I realize my wallet’s gone missing, and checking to see if my emergency supply of cash is intact, and no, I’m not saying where on my person it’s hidden, then promptly wondering if there’s a god of drunks so I can thank him for the miracle he worked, I stumble off to find a cab driver willing to drive a smelly, hungover, barefoot man out of the city. Yeah, my shoes and my socks were stolen too. And I’ve now got blood and bits of foal on my foot.
By this point, the only thing on my mind is getting a hot shower and cancelling my credit card, and I’ve completely forgotten about my truck.
By the time I finally remember, we’re already almost at the farm.
Eh, not a problem. I’ve got a GPS chip in there, and there’s plenty of strong boys here who will be happy to help me and Leslie retrieve it.
After paying the driver, pretty sure I’m being scammed but too hungover to care, I walk through the door and see my brother, sister-in-law, and some of my old work friends sitting around the table. Oh, and Lavender’s there too, but lately, I’ve found I care less and less about her.
Leslie is the first to speak.
“Chris, this is an intervention. You need help.”
Fuck.