BFF

It was like I was addicted to them. They were my best friends. Dale, Benny, and Earnest.

Those guys were the best.

Then I moved away. I was forced to find new friends. The friends I found were far-reaching and plentiful. I wouldn't go so far as to credit myself for being extra-charismatic. But, I did get along with people and I found a lot of them interesting. Of course none were like my previous comrades. Nobody is the same. But there was a category difference between my new friends and my old ones. It was definitely noticeable. I don't know if it was the continental divide, or a completely independent cultural schism of some kind.

We had fun. For sure. I had awesome memories of throwing stuff at people with them:

When I was eight years old, Dale and I hucked snow balls at cars every winter. One day a car stopped, backed up, the driver got out and came after us. We ran all the way back to Dale's house. When I met John, Ned and Buster we enjoyed good times too.

Instead of snow, Ned would drive as John, me, and Buster would shoot the hell out of the neighborhood houses.

We weren't crazy. We didn't want to get caught by the cops and get sent to the chair for murder in the first; our ammunition of choice were paint balls.

But, still. It pissed people off.

One time, recently, the four of us took money from a bank that wasn't ours (the money, not the bank). We actually didn't have accounts at the bank, that was part of the plan. They didn't know us, and we didn't know them. Amazingly we got away with the heist. I didn't plot it, not at all. I followed directions like I was told, but heck if I knew that the operation was being run responsibly. I just hoped, and worked hard, and trusted deeply in those guys. And it worked out. It was solid. We were all solid.

Then things got totally fucked right after that. That fucking party, man. Holy Christ on a cross. It was the most Goddamn awful, hellish experience I could have ever thought possible.

I came home from work. Granted it was Friday, but I still wouldn't have expected my buddies to have organized a surprise party for me. They did, though. We filled up on beer, pizza and smoked some kind of cakey, yellow substance through an aluminum can with holes Ned poked in the top.

I felt really funny. What was that stuff? I'd never considered that question before putting flame to breath. I laugh when I remember how I thought, at the time, that was the worst I was going to probably have to deal with at that point in the evening. It wasn't. Not even close.

John grabbed his forehead. The motion was like someone whose Halloween mask had come unhitched. He looked at me, a strange awkward fear in his eyes. Buster and Ned looked from him to I. Ned was doing a good job of lying with his eyes. Buster - on the other hand - absolutely went deep space nine. It rose up in him. Probably because he was the smart one, smart because he knew the jig was up and gone first and decided immediately to make the very most of it.

Buster laughed in my face as he grabbed into the hair on the top of his head, just above his forehead. Buster pulled his skin apart, splitting it open like a Ziploc bag.

That's when the horrorshow peaked. I've never seen anything more ghastly. Where men stood, beasts emerged. They who were my good friends bled at the seams as dark, slimy, hard-shelled carcasses emerged from the brittle, torn dermis that for all I knew was as fake as a fruit roll-up. Tentacles and lobster-like antenna arched out and tasted their good friend while I screamed and laughed maniacally, knowing I'd be going from enjoying my last simple laughs to being painfully eaten alive by my best buds in mere moments. I understood, though. Seriously, I did. You forget these guys were my best pals. Without the need for words I knew they had held back as long as they could, but in the end they did what they had to do, and I totally respect that. Buster got the first bite in. John next, and I know Ned ate me too but I lost consciousness after that, thank God.