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No Pants Gang!
06.17.2005 For the past 5 years, I have maintained a highly unusual internet relationship with a young man I shall affectionately refer to as "Seething Wang Hose". The strange thing about this bizarre platonic bond is that we don't actually talk to each other, per se. At least not in full sentences. There are the occasional pensive philosophical discussions and poetic musings, but by and large, our interaction with each other consists almost entirely of Muppet noises.
"Meep!"
"Bean!"
"Punkin!"
*lunge*
"AGH!"
*boingboingboing*
"Wooooooooooooooooooooo!" *runs around in circles making train noises*
"Bork bork bork!"
"Raaar!"
"Shmeep!"
"Mars licks the blue fruity. Pass it on."
"Fish fish potato bucket!"
"I suppose I should don pants and get outside into the real world."
"No pants!"
"No pants!"
*clings*
*hides under bed*
And so on.
The other day, we both decided to download and install the relatively new, compact ICQ5 (an instant messaging program, for those people living under a rock). This funky little program displays any picture you upload right beside the message window, with the picture of your chattee displayed right above yours. I had just had my passport photo taken, and decided that I looked pissed off and crack-addled enough for this to be the perfect chat pic.
"I look like a criminal."
"I think you look cute."
"Sure. Cute. And covered in blood from my most recent axe murder."
"That's what I like about you most."
"I should paste in a height measurement chart behind my head and a magnetic letter board in my hands with my name and prison number."
"It's really not that bad."
"It's a passport photo. Of course it's really that bad."
"Picture Guy: 'Right, now stand there and look like you feel no remorse for that family of four and you are *SO* going to make your cellmate your bitch. Goood.'"
"Picture guy: 'OK, now, I'm going to count to three, and then I want you to crap your pants.'"
It really is that bad. Really.
Like I said. I mean, what the hell is that shit on my chin? Suddenly my skin colour changes to this crusty yellow around my lower jaw. I look like I've been drooling, or didn't bother to wipe the semen off of my face from my last john before nipping into the photo store for a quick pic.
Silence descended on the other side of the internet ether, when all of a sudden, beside Seething Wang Hose's message box, this appeared:
"Oh, you so look like an Italian mobster."
"Aaaaaayyyyy."
"Frankly, I think we'd make a great mobster couple based on our photos. Too bad about no sex during conjugal visits on deathrow. We need to come up with a good mobster couple name."
"No pants gang!"
"Close. We shall be called Ruzio and Francesca Senzi Pantaloni, the band without trousers!"
"We will be feared by all!"
"Yes!"
"Except when we stop for ice cream!"
"Killing Spree Brought to a Halt by 'impromptu ice cream break'"
"Ruzio and Francesca Senzi Pantaloni Brought Down by Rainbow Sherbet. Details at 11."
"Passing Carnival Disrupts Year-Long Bank Robbery Plan of Ruzio and Francesca: 'It was cotton candy, after all,' Francesca reports."
"So, wanna start our own crime family?"
"Crime Wave Instigated by Pantless Italian-Looking Toddler. Details at 11."
"I'd have to work on my New Yawk Italian, though. Aaaaayyyyy."
"And you'd need to get more gold chains to wear. And start unbuttoning your shirt a little lower."
"A dramatic police chase ended after half a block. 'We were tired,' reported captives."
"The fugitives were finally cornered outside Mrs. Field's Cookies. Police say they have ample forensic evidence, as the stolen jewellery was covered in melted chocolate chips."
"Heeee."
"Hold-Up Ends in Disaster When Bank Manager Puts Hands Up While Holding Chocolate Bar."
"HA!"
"We'd be like the Simpsons of street crime."
"Doh!"
"That picture of you is kind of small. Could you send me the full version so I can see it better?"
Then this arrived:
"Who the hell's that?" I asked.
"That's my friend Eric. We were at a wedding, and his wife told us to look as mean as possible for the shot."
"Eric could be our goon. He wouldn't have to say anything, just hang around in the back looking full of great rage."
"Heee."
"While eating a burger."
"Cop: Hey what are you...
Eric: *glare*
Cop: Nevermind."
"We should ask him. Hey Eric, wanna be a goon? What? The pay is good. And you get to break as many kneecaps as you want."
"He has a quiet rage."
"OK - he can break the kneecaps with a silencer."
"And watch them quietly bleed."
"We'll call Eric 'Mr. Burger'."
"Mr. Burger?"
"It has a certain Germanic-sounding evil undertone, don't you think?"
"Darn Germans."
"They make great goons, though. Just ask Mr. Burger."
And so the great Senzi Pantaloni Family was born. With Mr. Burger quietly raging in the background, of course.
This, my friends, is what friendship is all about: muppet noises, ice cream, burgers, and broken kneecaps.
Oh, and balloons. You can never have enough balloons. In fact, I intend to say my marriage vows after inhaling a balloon-full of helium.
And I think Francesca will commit all her felonies while high on helium. It has a certain je ne sais quoi about it, does that high, squeaky voice, a sort of evil cheeriness that chills a person to the bone.
Besides, I have to have a thing. If I'm going to jail for ice cream robbery, I need to make sure my court appearances are truly memorable.
Just ask Mr. Burger.
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