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Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Return of Friendly Tony, Part 2: What’s Yours Is Mine


Hi There! This is the second chapter to my world-shattering blog crossover, "The Return of Friendly Tony." The first chapter is on my Myspace blog (myspace.com/joeymarsilio). Go ahead and check it out to catch up...and if you're not my friend on Myspace, feel free to add me. This is a good opportunity for me to explain how this is going to work...the blogs are going to alternate chapters. So chapter 1 was on Myspace, chapter 2 is on Blogspot, Chapter 3 is on Myspace, etc. Anyway, enough chit-chat. Here's chapter 2.



“What are you talking about?” I hissed. I stifled a dry heave, then continued, “Have you lost your mind?”
“No,” said Friendly Tony, gesturing at my vomitous sheets, “but it appears you have lost your lunch.” He chuckled, a tittering laugh like raindrops bouncing off a sparrow’s head.
“God, that was so lame,” I said. “I think I might barf again just because of that joke.”
“Barf away,” said Friendly Tony. “Do whatever you like. As I said, the burden of being you is now being shouldered by yours truly, so you are free to pursue whatever your heart desires, whether it be climbing Mount Ararat, taking up basket weaving, or vomiting all over yourself.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I’m me. I’m Joey. You’re not. It seems pretty simple to me.”
“For the time being, that’s very true,” said Friendly Tony. He adjusted his right sleeve and peered at me. “But it won’t last long. Trust me, it’s all for the best.”
“OK, look,” I said. “I really don’t feel well right now. I had a rough night, or I guess maybe I’m just having a rough morning. I can’t really evaluate last night because I don’t remember it. But, um, my point is…oh yeah, my point is that I don’t feel like dealing with your bullshit right now. And could you please just get me some Gatorade, if you‘re going to insist on hanging around?”
Ignoring me, Friendly Tony rubbed his chin and gazed longingly at a stain on my roof that sort of resembled a cirrus cloud. “You’ve just made such a mess of everything, haven’t you. You had talent. You even had a television show. You went to college, got a degree. All very admirable things. And you’ve just squandered it all away. Well, no longer.”
“My vocabulary is not extensive enough for me to properly convey to you how annoying I find you,” I said, feeling my mouth begin to water. That was ominous. “So how about this: get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
“Leave you alone?” said Friendly Tony. “Why, you’ve left yourself alone, Joseph! Your vices, your peculiar appetites and your poor decision making, that what’s left you alone. My, I feel sorry for you, lacking comprehension of these truths as you do.”
I threw up on the floor. “See, now look what you made me do!” I screeched.
Sighing, Friendly Tony reached into his back pocket and pulled out a faded piece of paper. He unfolded it neatly and held it up in front of my eyes, now watering to match my mouth. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s my birth certificate. Why do you have that?”
“And do you know what this is?” said Friendly Tony, producing what appeared to be some sort of writing implement from up his left sleeve.
“Um, I don’t know. A pen. Why do you have my birth certificate?”
“This isn’t just any pen. It’s magic. Like a velvet Christmas stocking full of elf puppies. Magic.”
“Will you please give me my birth certificate back and leave me alone?”
Friendly Tony held the pen right in front of my face, balancing it on his index finger. “This pen is one of a kind. It’s ink is made up of a mixture of gypsy blood and the semen of dead Native American mystics.”
“How do you get semen from dead Native American mystics?”
“You don’t,” said Friendly Tony, exasperated. “You get it from living Native American mystics, then you kill them. Such a shame. But you can imagine all the trouble I went through to acquire this, just so I could help you out. No action was too drastic, you see. I simply had to come to your aid.”
“I really have to pee,” I said.
“Do you have any idea the magic this pen possesses?” said Friendly Tony with a flourish. He swung the pen like a composer’s baton, and it produced a sound like birds chirping. Dead birds. “It possesses the power of…Magic White Out.”
I made a dismissive wanking motion with my right hand (always a classic) and rolled my eyes. “This is what you’re bothering me about? White out? I’ll do you one better…I have a thing of that white out tape. It just rolls right on and-”
“You misunderstand,” said Friendly Tony. “I grasp the concept of your pedestrian white out, but this pen isn’t merely for covering up spelling errors, or the wee-wees someone drew with a Sharpie on your yearbook photos.”
“Sorry about that,” I said sheepishly.
“This pen actually whites out reality, you see. Observe,” he said, whisking the pen over my birth certificate.
“Hey, asshole! What the hell do you think you’re-”
Friendly Tony flipped the pen, and scribbled something with the other end, which apparently had a ballpoint pen built in. Quite functional, I had to admit. “And there we go,” said Friendly Tony. “You are Joseph Marsilio no longer. From this day forward, you are…Friendly Tony! I’ve already taken the liberty of changing my birth certificate to reflect the fact that I am you now.”
“What? But I don’t want to be Friendly Tony!” I gasped. “Everyone hates Friendly Tony!”
“And with that, please leave my house,” said Friendly Tony (Joey?), grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and hauling me out the door and onto the street before I knew what was happening. “My apologies, but I have so very much to do. See you later, Friendly Tony.”
“But…but…” I stammered, shivering on the ice cold curb. If I had known I was going to be braving the elements, I would have worn something warmer than flannel Wolverine pajamas.
“Oh my,” said Friendly Tony. “I almost forgot. How cruel of me. I don’t want you to catch your death of cold. Here.” He tossed me my filthy bedclothes. A particularly moist portion splatted against my forehead, filling my nostrils with nauseating funk. Despite the hideous filth, I wrapped the comforter around me for warmth. I looked up at Friendly Tony with a baleful stare as he stood in my (former) doorway, his arms crossed in silent triumph.
My teeth chattering, I said, “Is this because of the time I cracked your skull open with a bat?”
He slammed the door.

Head back to Myspace in a few days for Chapter 3! I'll add the link once it's up. I know you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck raising.

2 comments:

Garrett Steel said...

This truly is a massive epic that I look forward to contributing to once you really get things rolling. I'll be like the Robin portion of R.I.P., an inferior spinoff. I had to look up the term cirrus clouds. I admit it.

JiMu said...

It's Wednesday, Thursday afternoon actually where I live so where's part four? Sitting next to a stack of Steel and Marsilio DVD's I suppose