This is How I Roll

An old story of mine.

“I fought in Nam so fuck you!” a tall lanky ginger haired boy muttered.
“And I fought the gay black communist Jews in 92. Gaynus!” a short oriental boy replied. Then the oriental lad went and quickly grabbed the other boy’s nipple and squeezed. The victim yelped in pain from the nipple genocide. A quick kick to the shins was the swift response.
“Damn it. That fucking hurt you ass hole! Anyway Sir Charlie Dimmock what’s on the menu for tonight?” the oriental boy laughed out.
“Fuck you is on the menu. I am going to make tuna and pasta. Anyway I need to ask you...” Before Charlie could finish the sentence his friend began to childishly imitate him. He jutted out his jaw and spoke with the maturity and mannerisms of an autistic five year old.
“I am Charlie, I like tuna. I have a small penis”
“God! You’re such a dick! So can you...” Again he was interrupted but this time his friend started to jump up and down whilst doing the imitations. “I am Charlie I have a big nose. Look at my big nose!” A solid punch to the spine was the just retribution. The oriental boy clutched his back in pain and manically laughed.
“Okay, okay dude. What do you want to say?” Mr Dimmock just stared at the other boy for a few seconds , thinking whether his friend would interrupt again. “We need to sort the bills out before I leave young Mr Done.” Both boys were silent, only the humming of a fridge, and the hyena like laughter of teenagers from outside were the only noise to be made. Mr Done just looked down for a brief second then fixed his gaze to an adjacent wall and muttered “Yeah. We can do that some other time.”

Then he quickly lashed out and pinched Charlie’s nipple again, only this time it was the type of nipple twist that would make a S&M fanatic wince in pain. “You fucking chimponaught!...Anyway lets watch telly, I think Southpark is on.” Both boys headed to the living room. It was Spartan and tidy in appearance but the odd eccentricity dotted it, adding life to such a dull abode. A blown up inflatable sheep stood in one corner, whilst a signed picture of Jesus was pinned up on the wall along with a drawing of 3 old men in an orgy, and scattered magazines like The Economist were left about almost bringing such a den a tiny bit of credibility. Charles Dimmocky Dimmock went to one of the ripped leather chairs and sprawled his lanky arms and legs all over and moaned in pleasure whilst Mr Done went over to the TV to switch on the infernal device. He stood next to it balancing on one foot trying to switch the power on with his toe, unable to bend over due to his severe case of apathy. The channels were flicked through, and through, each channel delivering a different response.

“Fucking hell she’s one fat bitch. Stop eating fatty fat fat!”
“How can anyone like music like that? It has no meaning! Kerrang is full of fucking commericialised emos now.”
“Man I would so rag the shit out of her. And then jizz in her hair just to piss her off.”
“Oi dick head I was watching that, I like Jonathan Ross!”
“Fuck Jonathan Ross and fuck everything you love and fuck you for liking him. Finally some Southpark!”
Mr Done went back to the sofa and jumped on to it and stretched out. The living room was filled with sporadic laughs for the next thirty minutes. As the show finished Mr Done slowly got up and let loose a belch and fart, each with their own distinctive pitch and sulphury smell.
“Well I am off to bed. I am so fucking tired. So fucking can’t be arsed with work tomorrow man. Fuck’s sake. Anyway night man,” Mr Done moaned whilst excreting even more bodily gasses. “Okay. I am going to go cook. Night” the Charlie Charles replied. The dark haired boy lethargically dragged himself up the stairs to his room whilst his big nosed friend headed to the kitchen.
Now all was quiet in the household, with the only noise being the occasional creek of door hinges and deep sighs from the young men. Suddenly a loud piercing sharp beeping from the smoke alarm was heard throughout the house and roars of cheers immediately followed after. Cheers that were akin to when yobs spotted someone dropping a pint glass in a bar. As the smoke alarm eventually switched off the shouts subsided and the house returned to its lonesome silence.