polar fear club

Yes, I’m Rodney. Oh, is today the day the camera crew was supposed to follow me around?, I’ll say casually when they arrive, acting like I just walk around the house wearing a shirt with a collar all the time like some kind of big shot. I was just settling down to read a few chapters of Ulysses. Would you care for a gingerbread cookie once they cool off? Gone will be the following items: the Iron Maiden posters in my living room, the stack of Club Internationals and Schlitz empties in my bedroom, and the pizza-stained mountain of paper plates on the card table in my dining area. As Fonzie proved, garage apartments need not be the seedy havens of nefarious activity which are so frequently documented by the very same local news channel whose van will soon be at my door. I’ll need to make a good impression, and shoring up my admittedly lax personal hygiene and housekeeping habits is just as important as making sure I’ve given myself time plenty of time to finish masturbating before they arrive.
They said they’d be here at 7 a.m. sharp Wednesday morning, so I’ve got 36 hours to get this place tidied up. It’s not going to be easy, but investigative reporter Cynthia Sujira Senghor and her crew deserve nothing but the best. After all, they’re the ones who are gonna blow the lid off this international matchmaking scam that’s been taking advantage of successful bachelors who are too busy with their professional lives to seek out a mate through conventional means. Although it’s been a while since I entertained company, I do remember that a good host shouldn’t have a kitchen counter full of newspapers open to the bra ads, or an unflushed toilet whose contents look like egg drop soup. And my mother taught me that closed-toed shoes are a must, as a true gentleman never reveals how many toenails he’s lost to fungus. While I’m thinking about it, I must call the city to come pick up this raccoon trap, though the next season of Boardwalk Empire won’t be the same without my little watching buddy.
The only thing I’m worried about is that they said they wanted to get a few shots of me at work, and there’s a lot that could go wrong there. I’m probably just gonna have to send a hooker to Myron’s house Wednesday morning to keep him away from the office. Seems easier than trying to convince him to take down that “Fuck Rodney” banner above his cubicle that I had to pay to have professionally done at FedEx Kinko’s after losing a bet that our boss was gay. Plus, since word of our wager got out, my desk is really maybe even uncomfortably close to a forklift loading zone, which may pose a challenge to Channel 11’s sound engineers. The stakes are high, but if this all goes well, it could be a big turning point for me; maybe even increase my chances with that cute new temp in payroll. Just let her try and come up with a reason not to go to the movies with me after finally seeing me as the center of attention for a positive reason. I’m not usually romantically compatible with American girls, but it would be a real waste of all this housework not to try and get some dirty leg while the place is clean.


1 Response to “polar fear club”

  1. January 25, 2012 at 11:40 pm

    you really, really hate shirts with collars, don’t you?

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January 2012
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