They're The Worst

“I’m…aware of them.” He deadpans. “Love everything they have to say, especially the stuff about how gay people come from another dimension. Real hard-hitting stuff.”

Parker nods and lets them talk, but as they do, his eyes start to cross and whatever atrophied, rotten drain clog of a soul he has left starts to glug out of his ears.  

 “Listen- did it ever occur to you that the good people of thetruthisoutthere could maybe, potentially, be lying? I mean, what if the site is a front for the deep state? The only way you can know if pigeons are safe to eat or not is to prove first hand, for yourself, that they are cameras. Right?”

     “Look, it’s not all gold, but the general tenor of exposing the truth is key. They broke the story about the snow made from plastic microfibers, and the tree in Oregon that was actually just a big gun. Isn’t it better to sometimes get the facts wrong than just let the government get away with their bullshit?”

  “Do I….” Murray scratches the back of his neck. He looks around, kind of expecting a spider to be behind him. He squints, then turns and looks back at Tabby.

“Depends which spider?”

Well, might as well be honest with the kid. 

     “How about this one?”

The funny thing about Olaf is he has almost no self awareness, but despite this, he can smell feral and hot mess on other men at 20 paces. This is absolutely because on some subconscious level, he sees himself reflected in these other men, but if you were to so much as insinuate that to him he would stab you in the eye.  So he knows, for a fact, that Glenn does not have a hot date, and he strongly suspects that he does not actually have a gun.

“Oh, well. Of course, my sincerest apologies. By all means, sir.”

Shit-eating grin plastered on his face, he takes a step to the side and motions with his arms for Glenn to pass him.

When he does, Olaf casually and inconspicuously extends a leg in Glenn’s direction, right in his way.

Is it childish to trip people? Yes. But Glenn started it.

Finally, some fucking respect. Just goes to show, Glenn, that when you threaten, harass, and intimidate people, they end up doing exactly what you want them to. It’s one of those things about life that’s just always, always true.

   “Great. Be seeing you, dickhead.”

One confident, swaggering step forward and--

            Fuck! Suddenly, I’m on the fucking ground and my nose is bleeding with this fucker standing right behind me with his leg sticking out.

   “Uhhhh- I don’t really…I think I have a begrudging respect for them? But generally I wouldn’t say I’m a fan. Why?”

Not a fan. That’s not exactly what she wanted to hear.

 Parker sighs.

  “Well-” He mutters “if you actually did anything other than sit at a desk all day in your basement and you ate food other than cheese fries maybe you’d be able to keep up with the birds.”

He clears his throat and shrugs, giving Riley a look that says you know I’m right.

When they make the pigeon comment, Parker grits his teeth so hard the force practically causes them to crowd even closer together. He knows that there is no convincing Riley. They are on another plane of reality, and there is no earthly way to get through to them. He knows this.

And yet.

   “So if pigeons are really surveillance devices-” He pauses. He was about to say ‘why don’t they come inside more often’ but then he realised that, following Riley’s insane logic, they wouldn’t need to, because indoors can just be bugged with normal surveillance devices. He opens his mouth to say something else, but then stops- of course there’d be no physical cameras inside the pigeons, they’re bio-organic. Parker grimaces. He’s too good at reading other people, he can predict every counter-argument Riley could ever come up with, and it’s already driving him up the wall. He grunts in frustration, then takes a breath.

“First of all.” He puts up a finger. “First of all. How do you know that?”

This poor fool. This poor, misguided fool. He’d broken the one main rule about interfacing with Riley Alana Almanzor while they’re in conspiracy mode: Never ask a follow up question. It was like inviting a vampire inside, but worse, because at least with the vampire finding a release in death was a possibility.

   “Well, well, well, now you’re speaking my language, Matthews. I need to give you a little bit of context first - so there are no authentic, verifiable records of pigeons before 1961. Anything before that was fabricated by the government with the help of George Lucas. They got their name from the inventor of the technology, Arthur Q. Pigeon, who was also the first French man in Space - he went up there on one of Stanley Kubrick’s space missions to help him authentically fake the moon landing.”

   They realise they’re rambling, and course-correct.

   Olaf does a turn on his heels to face Glenn. His face betrays no specific emotion but his eyes are burning concentrated, blue-hot hatred. Anyone who knows Olaf well knows that look and knows to run for cover when he shoots it in their direction.

   “My hairline?” He blinks.  “My fucking hairline? That is…frankly, the most hilarious thing you could’ve chosen to insult me on, given your circumstances.” Olaf’s mouth opens and his lips curl upwards but it’s less like a smile and more like his face just splitting open. “Tell me what I’m keeping you from, please, by all means. What are you in the middle of doing that is so goddamn important. I’d love to know. Really, I would!”

     “I’ve got a hot date with a real smoking chick, and just looking at you is enough to make my dick recede into my body. She’s a nice gal, and if I can’t perform, I’d hate to have to shoot her out of social embarrassment.”

Good one, Glenn. He doesn’t need to know you’re planning on rewatching Rocky III again and eating Spaghetti-Os straight out of the can. It’s not relevant to the conversation.

  “Wh-” Parker pauses for a long time, taking off his glasses and exhaling through his nose. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Riley. There are birds outside. There are so many free birds that don’t belong to anyone and you can just grab them and eat them whenever you want, so why would you-”

He stops short of full on screaming at them, taking another pause and a deep breath. Parker smiles tensely and gives a hollow laugh.

“You know what? Who cares. Who gives a fuck. It’s …I don’t know. I guess that falls under destruction of property and maybe assault? But I keep telling you- my degree is Arts Law.”

     “Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch a bird in real life, Matthews? Okay so, for a start, the most common kinds of birds - which is to say, pigeons - aren’t even birds. They’re bio-organic surveillance machines. Budgies taste great and don’t occur as commonly in the wild - and in the cage, Parker, especially when there’s a bunch of them, they’re easier to catch.”

They listen to his ranting with their default sense of resigned semi-contempt.