I was driving with my BFF, Angie, to dedicate a memorial to my dearly departed friend Pygar, sure he died over a year ago, but his memorial had to be perfect. He left such a legacy, I didn’t want it to be something lame, you know, like a park bench or sidewalk stone. It finally hit me last week, and once it popped into my head I knew it was perfect.
We pulled in and Angie wanted me to wait out front with her while she had a cigarette, really I think it was because she saw a little Vietnamese baby in a stroller across the street and she was thinking about nicking it, but then we saw something crawling out of the manhole in the middle of the street.
“Oh my god, it’s a C.H.U.D.!” She screamed.
“Calm down, its just Ryan Seacrest,” I assured her.
“Well, if it isn’t my nemesis, Frau Bella,” he scowled as he shuffled over.
“If I had a nickel every time I heard that, I’d be dead.” I scoffed. “Look, I don’t have time for this isn’t there a bridge you need to be under or something?”
“Funny lady, well you won’t be laughing in court!” he said pushing an envelope into my hands. “You’ve just been served!”
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“For when you took out my eye with the rice crispy treat!”
“Oh yeah, that was good times,” I laughed. “Besides you’ve got both of your eyes still, sure you’ve got no dignity, but I don’t think you ever did.”
“This ones glass,” he said, tapping his right eye. And now you can consider yourself served, see you in court.”
“You know you can’t serve me if you're the plaintiff, dumb ass.”
“Oh really?” he said, snatching the envelope back. “You, give this to her.” He said to Angie, only she had wandered off like he wasn’t even there.
“Guess you're used to that,” I smiled.
"I'll get you, Frau Bella, mark my words! Seacrest, out!" he said, crawling back into the sewer.
"Out indeed, that'll be the day."
“Excuse me, miss, how does this look?” the attendant interrupted, holding up a sheet with cut out white vinyl lettering. It was cut in a classy Engravers Old English font and read “In Memory of Pygar from the beginning of time to May 13, 2008.”
“Oh that looks perfect!” I squealed. I was glad that I decided against the Comic Sans. It was really a tough call, and I spent many a sleepless night debating on it. How many times did I wake up next to an empty bottle of scotch and a hot nameless naked man laying the floor and not have been any closer to making a decision, too many I tell you.
“Where do you want me to stick it?”
“On the rearview window, right next to the one for ‘Shy Girl,’” I sighed. Oh Pygar, how you will be missed, but you’re with Shy Girl now. Angie had wandered back just has they finished applying the letters.
“Where did you get that?” I asked, indicating toward the Vietnamese baby.
“Found her.”
“Do you think maybe you should call the police or something, you know, turn her in.”
“Nah. By the way, the window looks nice.”
“I know Pygar would love it! It’s really classy.”
“Totally!” she said, then to the baby, “So what am I going to call you?”
