The Other Friend

15 Days Until the Full Moon

So when you go to Jersey it usually means three things. One. You will not have a good time. Two. You will come back smelling like shit. Three. You have to call Lance Reddick. The Squad met Lance a few years back. He’s from down south. The dirty south. And he’s had more than his fair share of close calls with monsters. Got his ass kicked by his ex-girlfriend, with a shovel. Damn near almost died. He’s got a nice scar like an upside down “V” on his forehead from one of the times she hit him. He also claims to have made contact with a ghost. Some ghost of a friend he knew growing up. Everyone thinks it’s bullshit, but if it’s true then he’d be the only one they ever knew to survive an encounter with a ghost. Shit got too wet in Kentucky for him not to slip and fall. So he got the fuck out and went to the only other place on the planet where shit goes to die. Jersey. Fucking Lance Reddick. A total asshole. But totally good at kicking monster’s brains in. The Squad had called on him a few times to help out. Not as big as Justin was but damn close. It always evens the odds to have two titans on your team.

It’s 25 degrees out and Lance has his window down, “Y’all sure you don’t want me to drive?”

Diane drove while the rest of the crew squished in the back seat. Sardines in a can. They echoed a loud chorus, “NO!”

“Alright, alright. Shit. Just trying to be of some use. Mighty nice of y’all to call me. Bout time I done went and kicked some monster cock.”

You could hear Diane holding back vomit.

“Y’all ever seen, Night of the Creeps? Shit. One of the best movies I ever saw. Had my boy Tom Atkins in it. God, do I love me some Tom Atkins.”

Diane had had enough, “Shut the fuck up, Red-dick. Roll up your goddamn window and quit yapping about Tom motherfucking Atkins right now. Nobody has, or ever will, give a shit.”

Reddick rolled up his window, “Shit. I’m sorry. Don’t gotta be an ass about it. Don’t gotta call me names neither. And watch what you say about Tom Atkins. I’ve kill’t people for saying less than what is deserved of Tom Atkins.”

Justin threw a blinding punch to the side of Reddick’s forehead knocking him out cold, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Red-dick.”

Diane turned her head quickly to Justin, “Thank you.”

Justin cracked a rare smile, “Welcome.”

Dallas and Dex snickered to themselves and Justin turned to them and shot them a look that shut them the holy hell up, “What’s so funny.”

Dallas giggled and tried to cover for him and Dex, “Nothing. He just really doesn’t like being called Red-dick.”

Justin said, “Yeah ok that better be what you’re laughing about.”

They drove in silence for a while as they neared the club the Frog monster was supposed to be at. Dex couldn’t hold it in much longer and began to sing under his breathe, “Justin and Diane, sitting in a tree, F-U-C- – -

POW!

Justin punched Dex right in his nose, breaking it again. Dex cried tears of pain why Dallas cried tears of laughter. Dallas sat scrunched in the back seat and reminded himself just how lucky he was. How much he loved his friends. The suddenly gay Diane, The hot tempered Justin, The bleeding Dex, and even that asshole Lance. Things could be so much worse.

The Big Man

16 Days Until the Full Moon

There are probably some things you should know about The Big Man. He is currently the head of a rather large genetics corporation specializing in gene-splicing. So yeah, he’s smart. He’s the guy who has caused this monster outbreak. Each monster we have seen so far is a failed or escaped experiment. Squid-Man=escaped. Rat-Man=failed experiment. He has been trying to successfully mutate two different species for years. He’s also the reason for this full moon counter. On the full moon he has promised that all the experiments he has ever created will mutate by its pale light. The bitch of it is, we don’t know how many people he injected. No one does. We could have as many as a thousand monsters running loose in as little as 16 days. Luckily some of them are changing prematurely, so the New York Monster Detective Squad is cleaning up as much as possible until then. The full moon has always fucked shit up.

He wasn’t always a bastard. The Big Man actually used to roll with the squad back when they were little and it all happened. He was older by three years; it’s why he got the nickname. When you’re a 13 year old hanging with a bunch of 10 year olds, you’re gonna look like a giant. They all looked up to him, Dallas most of all. How could they not? The sun of three more summers toasting his face, how strong he was. A real leader. Could always get them out of a jam. One time, he took out Jimmy Compton’s entire gang, by himself. No one ever thought it was possible. He was faster than Dex, stronger than Justin, smarter than Diane, and a better leader than Dallas. He was the best. The Big Man. But he took everything that happened to them harder than the rest. He just couldn’t protect everyone. When he went off to college he never looked back. Leaving the squad crying in the dust.

True, The Big Man was a fucking prick but they all might have been if it hadn’t been for each other. No one can go through that kind of shit and come out kosher. But they did. They still do. Every time. The Big Man’s biggest mistake was abandoning his friends. The friends that always held the straps the tightest, because they loved each other.

Just got a call in from Jersey. Looks like some Frog has been causing some cheap thrills in a monster house down by the shore. Fucking Jersey. They’re all monsters down in Jersey.

The Second Monster

17 Days Until the Full Moon

Dex got to the monster first. It’s funny. You’d think that a guy named Poindexter, who wore glasses, recently broke his nose, and who usually ran his mouth more than his legs would be slow. Guy never worked out or played a sport a day in his life. But he was the fastest thing you ever saw. So Dex raced out of the Monster Machine, skipped the rails to the subway platform, jumped down on the tracks, and dodged the third rail all the way down after the monster. Rats chirping the whole way. Chasing after Rat-Man. Dumb ass name. That’s all he was thinking. Rat-Man. Stupid policy. Then things got strange.

When Dex came face to face with the fanged fiend its eyes gleamed yellow. Suddenly Dex was eight years old, two years before he would meet the rest of the Monster Squad. Eight years old and at a funeral. The funeral. The one that changed his life forever. He saw everything as he did then. He could feel the heat pulsing out his ears, the snot running down his face, the eyes of everyone around him. Their accusatory eyes. He remembered how he didn’t understand. How heavy his recently taped glasses felt on the bridge of his nose, how tight his shoes were. Not broken in at all. He remembered his widowed father and the bastard he became. But he still couldn’t remember her face. The casket closed. Just as it had been on that day. The funeral.

Then he was back in the screeching subway tunnel, a train’s horn blaring. He felt around for his glasses and got them on with just enough time to see Dallas holding Rat-Man’s head underneath the passing train. So much for our non-lethal policy. Dallas got up and shook some blood out of his blue hair and came over to where Dex was crying.

“Hey,” he asked, “what’s wrong? Dex. What’s wrong?”

“It. It made me. It took me back to. Fuck. Dallas. I was back there. The funeral. That fucking thing made me remember it.”

And Dex let loose the floodgates as Dallas took him in his arms. So sorry that he didn’t keep pace with Dex. So sorry they couldn’t fight the second monster together. So sorry for a lot of things. But Dallas held his friend, as the trains blew their horns and sped by, and held him. And held him. And held him. And wished he could make them all forget their past.

The Debrief

18 Days Until the Full Moon

4 a.m. and the detective squad is back at Dallas’ place icing down from their first night. Dexter is looking sharp with the bandage on his broken nose. He’d be a ringer for Nicholson in Chinatown if it weren’t for those damn tapped up glasses on the bridge of his shattered nose. Dallas is nursing his knuckles with some ice. Almost thought he broke them on that guys face. Would have been worth it. First night out and the Big Man is already fucking shit up. First night out and we only got one monster in storage. Dallas swore right then and there he’d get the Big Man back for fucking up his first bust.

Doing better tonight were Justin and Diane. Sitting high and mighty while sipping on their Miller High Life’s. After their snag they took the Monster Machine down to the storage unit and dropped squid brains off. The ride back was marked with more tension between the two as Justin tried to show how big he could make his biceps. He forgot how big he was and how small the car was. His flexed bicep broke the rearview mirror and Diane found it necessary to yell at him non-stop the rest of the way. Still didn’t stop them from rubbing it in everyone else’s face when they got back from the hospital.

Dallas stared at his messy blue hair in the mirror, way beyond repair tonight, “Everything go kosher with the drop off?”

“Yeah, boss,” replied Diane through sips of her beer.

“You document everything?”

“Yeah,” said Justin, “just the way you told us to. Squid-Man, captured February 2^nd 2010 in the East Village.”

Dex sounded like he’d been sucking on helium, “That’s what I don’t get. Why are we naming these fucks something so mundane? Squid-Man? Sounds like the lame-ass names they gave the villains in Mega-Man. Literally zero effort put into the bad guys names in Mega-Man. We honestly can’t come up with better shit?”

Dallas threw his bag of ice at Dex, cracking him right in the nose, “Hey. Fuck-o. It’s simple this way. We have the type of abnormality they embody and their original gender. It’s a lot easier than sitting down and having to rack our concussed brains for ‘cool’ names. Now we’re all going to get some sleep. Big night tomorrow.”

Diane and Justin downed their beers and left, saying various goodnights while getting into a dead arm contest with each other. Dex got up and went to the room Dallas was renting out to him for the month. You’ve got to remember one thing about the New York Monster Detective Squad, they are the best of friends. Always will be. Friendships formed they way theirs were? You’d be surprised what they would do for each other. Dead surprised.

The First Monster

19 Days Until the Full Moon

–Meanwhile, while Dallas and Dexter were getting their asses kicked–

Justin barely fit in the car he was driving, but he somehow took his eyes off the road and turned to Diane, “I just don’t get it, did you met a lame-ass dude once who turned you off to guys forever?”

“Eyes. Road.” Diane straightened her hair in the rearview mirror and continued, “I’m not expecting you to get it. I don’t like guys. I don’t want to or need to explain it. Especially to you. You’re just going to have to deal with the fact that you’re never going to get to touch me.”

He muttered under his breath, “Wanna bet?”

“What was that, Justin?”

“Said we’re here.”

Justin killed the engine and stepped out of the Monster Machine and into the street. It was raining and they didn’t have an umbrella. Diane went in the back of the Monster Machine and pulled out their tools. They entered the building and started up the stairs, cursing the fact that apartment buildings in the Village think it’s cool to not fix their elevators. By the time they reached the ninth floor even Justin broke a sweat.

“Which room?” asked Diane, between deep breaths.

He looked around and pointed to the door down the hall, “That one.”

They got on their gear and holstered their tools, their heartbeats picking up their pace. The first monster, first night on the job. Excited was an understatement for these two, who were just dying to skin their knuckles on some motherfucking monsters teeth. Justin thought about knocking but his adrenaline thought better and he stuck his size fifteen boot the door and kicked it down. The smell hit them instantly.

Diane coughed, “That’s fucking foul. Holy shit.”

“Masks. Now.”

The two put on their masks to help filter the smell. Like burnt hair and nine day old dead deer. The two looked around the room. Shit tossed everywhere. You wouldn’t have been able to tell this person wasn’t a monster even before it turned. A loud and deep moaning sound came from somewhere within the apartment.

“That’s original,” laughed Justin, “we’re coming to get you, you little shit.”

The followed the moaning sound until they came to the bedroom, Diane led the way and opened the door. Inside was something that used to be a man. It had the legs of a man and the torso of a man but instead of the arms of a man it had long and slimy tentacles. Its head was replaced with that of a squid’s, oozing puss from its pores. There was also another body lying on the bed, well, at least half of a body. The other half seemed to be sticking out of the mouth of the monster. It didn’t seem to notice the two detectives.

Justin’s voice was as loud and strong as his vocal chords could be, “Scott Smith. You are under arrest for the murder of Sara Smith by the New York Monster Detective Squad. Put your wife’s body down and come with us now or we will have to use lethal force.”

The monster noticed them now. It threw the rest of the body down to the ground, bouncing like a strange rubber ball, and locked eyes with Justin. Its eyes got two sizes bigger and it shot its tentacles out and began snarling. The monster, after realizing it wasn’t intimidating Justin got even angrier and began to charge. It didn’t get three steps before Diane took out one of her tools and shot a weighted net from her Net-Gun. It wrapped around the beast twice and brought it down to the ground just in front of Justin’s feet. Justin stomped down on its face, knocking it out cold.

“Thanks for that.”

“Now do you see why I don’t like men? They eat women.”

“No argument there.”

“Fucking first night on the job.”

A silent nod from Justin. Yeah, fucking first night on the job.

The Fight

19 Days Until the Full Moon

Dallas got up and wiped some blood from his eyes. He could make out the shape of Dex in the corner of the room, glasses smashed in and nose broken. In a daze he reached up to check and make sure that his liquid blue hair was still looking good. It wasn’t. That was about the time when another punch connected with the side of his jaw, sending him sprawling back to the ground.

“Fuck,” he spat, “can’t you just give me a second to fight back?”

Another kick to the stomach while he was down. Fighting dirty. Dallas thought it made sense, first night out on the job, you’re gonna run into some competition. It’s the price you pay for going up against the Big Man. Still, he thought that maybe they would have gotten at least one day to get their feet wet. Dallas thought wrong.

“You better stay out of this neighborhood. No one fucking invited you.”

Dallas got back to his feet and finally got a head count as to who was busting up his virgin night battling monsters. Three guys, each bigger than the last. Shoulda brought Justin instead of Dex, he thought. Splitting into groups was a dumb idea. Too late to cry over spilt blood now. Might as well be the time to show these guys that the New York Monster Detective Squad wasn’t made up of a bunch of assholes who didn’t know how to defend themselves. Funny thing about a fight, it really lets the world know the type of person you are. It’s the one chance to prove what you’ve got inside of you. Dallas Portnoy wasn’t a pushover. He wasn’t the leader of this Squad for nothing. Dallas had more fight in him than anyone knew what to do with. One great fight could change the world. This was not that fight.

“Hold this,” said Dallas as he removed his shirt and handed it to one of the enforcers, “thanks.”

He started in with a sweeping roundhouse kick to the biggest guys face. He then punched his way down the next guy until bashing his elbows on the last guys kidneys. The only sound was of bones snapping.

Dallas got up and pushed his blue hair out of his eyes, “Not much of a fight after all, huh?”

He walked over to Dex and slapped him until he came around, “Wha? What happened?”

Dallas smiled, “You lost another fight there, Poindexter.”

Dex coughed, “Well that sounds about right. You think they saw the commercial?”

“Must have.” Laughed Dallas.

Dex coughed some more, “Fucking first night on the job.”

A silent nod from Dallas. Yeah, fucking first night on the job.

The Commercial

20 Days Until the Full Moon

In the largest room of a small apartment in the East Village sit a group of friends trying to record their first big commercial for their new business. These four have been friends since childhood; bonds formed out of necessity and desperation, strengthened over time by their uncanny ability to function as a unit. These are Dallas Portnoy (named after the show, not the city), Poindexter Jones (a name his parents and an endless stream of bullies found hysterical), Justin Davies (who could punch a whole through a steel door), and Diane Apfelbaum (a Jewish girl who was easily the toughest guy in the room). They are the New York Monster Detective Squad.

A man so large and muscular he dwarfs the room he’s in speaks through strained vocal chords, “And we’re rolling in 3…2… Dammit, Dex, get out of the shot!”

Dex quits air humping the couch and gets out of the shot, “My bad.”

“Jesus… ok, and we’re rolling 3…2…1 speed, check, sound, check-“

Dallas speaks through grinding teeth, “Justin, just let me talk. It’s a camcorder; this isn’t a real film set. It’s my goddamn living room.”

“Just trying to keep it legit.”

Diane calls out from the bathroom, where she has holed up for the past 20 minutes, “Press the fucking record button and get it over with. Christ, you all are children.”

“Screw you, Diane, the fuck kind of crap you taking in there anyway?” Justin braces for the door to open and for Diane to try and clobber the hell out of him but nothing happens.

“Stop it, all of you! I’m going to start talking so get the cue cards ready and let’s do this.”

“3…2…”

Dallas interrupts him, “Are you afraid of what goes bump in the night? Worried that something might be lurking in the dark? Neighbor acting more strange than usual? You might be in need of some special services that only we can provide….hahahahaha”

“What? The fuck are you laughing for?” Diane leaves the bathroom, spraying a can of Lysol.

“Haha, just look.” Dallas grabs the cue card Dex is holding and shows Diane a crude and rather grotesquely veiny drawing of a penis.

“And you wonder why I hate men.”

The group laughs the way friends who have shared the same joke dozens of times do and Dallas sets himself back up in front of the camera.

“Ok, I’m going again, I don’t need to cue cards. Let’s do this.”
“3…”

“Stop counting! Ok… Are you afraid of what goes bump in the night? Worried that something might be lurking in the dark? Neighbor acting more strange than usual? You might be in need of some special services that only we can provide. I’m Dallas Portnoy and I’m here to help you solve your monstrous problems. When something goes bump in the dark, we’ll be there to bump it back with buckshot. When you see something lurking in the dark, we’ll be there to send it back to whatever hell-hole it got out of. When your neighbor is acting strange, we can’t promise we’ll get them to move but I guarantee we’ll get them to never want to screw with you again. It’s only 20 days until the next full moon so call us before it’s too late. No, we’re not the Ghostbusters. We’re the New York Monster Detective Squad. With a combined 100 years of experience, we’ll be servicing the tri-state area for all your monster related needs.”

“And…CUT!”

Dallas throws up his arms, “Jesus Christ, you are thick man.”

Justin starts the burn to disc process on the camera and cocks an eyebrow, “You better believe it.”

Sounds of disgust from Diane as she puts on the TV and starts watching Everybody Loves Raymond, “Gonna be a long month.”

“Yeah,” says Dex as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger, “long month, lotta work. You say servicing too many times in that commercial by the way, sounds weird. When and where did Bob say this was gonna air?”

Dallas looks down and away, “Um, Bob said CBS, Monday through Friday sometime between 11 and 12 am.”

The group snorts in a kind of harmony that makes them uncomfortable about how comfortable they all are which each other, how they all even do the same thing when they are pissed.

Dex speaks, “You fucking kidding me? That’s the balls man, the Price is Right time slot? Come on, if the 80 year olds can stay awake past the Hoveround commercials they aren’t going to call for monster protection. The fuck kind of business strategy is that? Gonna have someone’s grandma calling to ask if we cant stop the tooth fairy from taking all her teeth. Gonna have to tell her there isn’t a tooth fairy, which I’m sure is gonna break her little heart, and that it’s the whole not brushing your teeth your whole life thing that’s making you lose your teeth.”

Dallas throws a well-aimed book right at Dex’s head, “Can it, Poindexter, we’re lucky to even get our commercial out there. We want to be a word of mouth type organization anyway, it’s about the quality of our service, not the quantity of it.”

The disc pops out of the camera and Justin grabs it, “I’m going to run this down to Bob now, we’ll get to watch it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tell Drew Carrey he sucks.” Dex gets up to grab a drink from the fridge.

“On a serious note,” and suddenly Dallas has everyone’s attention, “we all need to get some rest, it’s going to be a long month of hard work. We need to get as much shit off the streets before the full moon as possible or else we’re not going to make it past the night, the big man says he’s going to throw everything out at us that night, and he never lies.”

Justin is at the door and heading out, “20 days. Fuck.”

Everyone in the room sits in silent agreement. 20 days until the full moon. 20 days until the big man makes his play. 20 days might be all they have. Shit.

On Being 19, And Other Things.

19 gets a really bad rap. Everyone complains that when you turn 19 nothing happens. Usually I’d say I agree, because why wouldn’t I agree with whatever society tells me? This time I have to humbly say, “fuck you” to society. Being 19 is boss.

I was excited to turn 19 the day I turned 13. Around that time was when I started read Stephen King’s DARK TOWER series. The books were and are some of the most influential material I have ever come across. The story of Roland is something I hold dear to my heart, even though he jumped the shark (I’ve been using that phrase a lot lately) right around the time of the 4th book. Nevertheless the books are fantastic and are his true magnum opus.

Before each of the reprinted editions I had was a short writing titled “19.” It was all about the age when King first knew he wanted to be a writer. The revelation came as a result of his first read of the Hobbit books. In King’s 19th year he read all of Tolkien’s books and they changed his life forever. He knew what he wanted to do, he wanted to tell stories. And he’s told some stories.

So little 13 year old, snot nosed, Tyler was like, “yeah, I can’t wait until I turn 19 and I become awesome.” Well 19 came and I made it a goal to read the Hobbit books, just like my hero, King.. For some it would be a re-read but I had not read most of them. So I have been 19 for a little over 8 months now and I am on book…zero. I didn’t read the Hobbit books.

This upset me for some time but I realized that forcing myself to do something like that was stupid. I’ll read them in my own time if I want to. Then something happened…

A few months back I happened upon Charlie Huston (at King’s request) and my teeth were kicked back high into my skull. A self-proclaimed writer of “pulp” I quickly found my literary soul mate. It was his characters that drew me in. Henry Thompson, Joe Pitt, Web Goodhue, and George, Hector, Paul, and Andy. My new best friends. In 8 months I’ve read 10 of his books and all his comic books. I’ve got one more book to go. So far, it’s wonderful. Without looking, I had found my Tolkien. Without realizing, I started to write and write and write, and I haven’t stopped yet. Without knowing it, I fulfilled the prophecy I created for my 13 year old self. At 19, my life changed forever.

I’ve read more books in my 19th year than ever before. It feels great. My next goal? 26. I have to do something great by the time I’m 26. I have to make my masterpiece. Springsteen did it by the time he was 26. No point in not setting the bar high. I don’t make it? No big deal. I can always find some other number to latch on to.

I leave you with a Charlie Huston quote, from his dedication page on the first of his books that I read, The Shotgun Rule. Without quotation marks of course. He would appreciate that.

-To the kids who don’t know any better. The ones with the attitude problems. What the hell are they thinking? Man, believe me, they aren’t. That’s the point. We never do.

P.S. you best get excited for February’s project. 28 days of sheer madness.

You’re The Wanker, If Anyone Is

I’m starting a new blog project in February, so don’t worry, these personal reflection blog entries shall stop soon. I can write a story about a squid man attacking a building with a rocket ship on top of it but I’m lousy at talking about my feelings.

That being said… this is a new feeling so maybe I’ll be able to articulate this one.

It is very hard for me to get angry. Unlike Bruce Banner, I don’t fly off the handle too easily. I really, honestly, can’t remember if I’ve ever been angry. But lately? I’ve been angry. Pissed. Mad (not the magazine). I kind of like it. feels hot on the spine. It’s a lot of things fueling the fire. I’m angry about being unsure as to what I’m going to do with my life. I’m angry about phone calls. I’m angry about the way adults deal with situations. I’m angry that what I write doesn’t sound quite right these days. I’m angry.

But I have outlets. I’m finding that these outlets are how I can deal with this new emotion. I’m not angry about my classes this semester (especially my fantastic science class). I’m not angry about my kick-mother-fucking-ass friends. I swear you take 10 of your best friends and put them up against 10 of mine and yours go down, every time, blood sprayed across the alleyway. I’m not angry about the reading I do. I’m not angry about the show I’m in. I’m not angry that music has never sounded better to me.

Maybe I’m turning a corner. This anger was probably just brief. Brief, but powerful enough to make me start remembering my dreams. Insomnia, I have insomnia, I don’t sleep. It’s cool. Feels good. It was my chance to be metal. Metal now, but I’ve always been.

So many good songs, so little time

I’ve only been back in New York for two weeks. Feels like forever. I love it.

“You’re like Bjork with better fashion sense.”

P.S.

Coming in February:

Who ya gonna call?

Fuck the Ghostbusters.

You’re gonna call: The New York Monster Detective Squad.

The King

I love my Elvis sunglasses. They were cheap, and I mean cheap. They are not well made, they don’t glass the sun too well, and they don’t fit my face properly. But I love them.

I’ve always been someone who responds well to the ritualistic part of putting on something. In Pippin, I could not get into character unless I had my sword. In The Giver, I channeled everything through my vest. Woyzeck, I had to roll up my sleeves at a certain moment to get through a scene.

It’s strange, and probably a tell-tale sign of shitty acting, but I’m just a guy who knows what works and doesn’t work. Channeling works.

So I have a collection of ironic t-shirts, they let me tap into some of my favorite bands or movies and take what I love with me. It’s silly, but why wouldn’t I take Die Hard 2 with me where I go? Why wouldn’t I wear a shirt with Kurt Russel as Snake Plisken on it? How the FUCK could I go without my Say Anything shirt?

But my Elvis sunglasses. Those I love. I wear them even when it isn’t sunny out. They are just me. When I put them on, I calm down. It’s so nice. They are how I want to look at the world. Through the tinted lenses of the King.