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August 21, 2008

Bottle Rocket Battles

Written by Girth McDürchstein on August 21, 2008 4:04 PM
Permalink |  Colby & Perdida  | Digg It

Last night, Margo and I watched one of her episodes of Black Belt Irish. I’m a big fan of schlocky TV, but this just seems like it’s pandering to nerds who enjoy The A Team ironically. I got bored quickly, so I was sort of happy to get a text message from Perdida halfway through. I was less happy when I read the message: Hay girth I need 2 o shit help sum1 just bust That was it—not even a period.

I rolled my eyes and ignored it until after the show, when I realized the sentence made no sense. I made several attempts at parsing it before realizing it should read as follows: “Hey, Girth, I need to—oh, shit! Help! Someone just bust—” It cut off in mid-sentence and warned that she was in danger. Even though I can’t stand her personally, the bond of sexual congress, combined with my overall desire to help mankind, made me worry about her safety. Was this another ploy, or had she really stumbled into trouble?

How could I find out? Margo had become increasingly suspicious of my behavior, and although she had reinstituted her policy of not reading the blog, she’d decided to keep tabs on me by refusing to let me out of her sight. We did everything together, and to be honest, I didn’t hate it. I’d kind of forgotten about Perdida until she texted me. How could I express these feelings to Margo and make her believe that I’m legitimately concerned and only sort of want to bang her again?

“Margo,” I said carefully, “is it cool if I go over to Riffs’ place and play some Wii?”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Margo explained. “I’ll get my tennis shoes!”

“That would be fun…” I said. “I meant more like a guys’ night out, you know?”

“I know about your guys’ nights out,” Margo snapped. “You want to play Wii, you play with me.”

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll stay home.”

After Mythbusters, I excused myself to the can. When I got out, I found Margo staring down at my cell phone, in tears.

“I didn’t ask her to text!” I said. “We’d made a clean break, but look, she’s clearly in trouble. I’m worried, is all.”

“More worried about this bitch than your marriage?”

“Obviously not, or I would have left without you an hour ago.”

Margo bristled. “Even so, she starts the text saying she ‘needs to…’ Something. She was texting you anyway, and just happen to build her urgent message into it. With that said, how do you even know this isn’t another setup? Her treatment of Colby shows that she’s full of crap.”

This flummoxed me. Her read on the situation between Perdida and Colby seemed askew.

“I agree that she’s a liar,” I said. “Or, at least, she lives in a goofy fantasy world where stupid people are smart and hamburgers eat people. But still, it couldn’t hurt to check.”

Margo hurled a digital clock I had recently spend $11 on at the wall. It smashed into a million little pieces. “Yes, it could,” she snarled.

“Fine,” I said. “Be like that. But if she dies, it won’t be on my conscience.”

“Don’t worry,” Margo said. “Another death on my hands won’t weigh me down any.”

“Another?”