Guy Who Calls Other Guys ‘Guy’ Not Good Guy

By David Colton

TENANTS OF THE TREES — Knocking back the second of two White Claws once stacked in his left hand, local associate analyst Mikey “Coors Heavy” Furlough took a step back and let the sounds of the cacophonous bar surrounding him take over.

By his side were the boys, each sporting their signature “going out” vest. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something.

He saw a young man wearing a light blue button-down and khakis. For Mikey, that only meant one thing — it was either Matt, Jack, Nick, Matt or Trevor.

“What’s up, guy?” shouted Mikey, desperately aching to assert himself over someone in any and every setting because his father will never love him.

Per usual, every straight man in the room’s head eagerly turned for the familiar call, but Coors Heavy was already locked in a warm embrace with Corey. Or was it Tristan? Maybe Jason?

“Oh, when Heavy said what’s good to that youth I knew he had finally found his apprentice,” said Chris Orwell, who also peaked in high school.

As soon as the duo broke their tender embrace, it became clear that Orwell was right, as the poor boy now had a massive, visibly heavy gold chain adorning his neck embossed with blue mountains.

Then, the ceremonial proceedings began.

Mikey pushed and shoved his way to the bar, hurling insults at every inferior man and encouraging his new pupil to do the same. When he finally got to the bar, Coors Heavy and the kid had left a wake of spilled long island iced teas and vodka cranberries.

The sweet, horrible smell hung in the air and just for a moment the room seemed to fall completely silent. The world vanished around the guy and his apprentice at the bar, a moment of pure and serene intimacy between two toxic straight man.  

Then, the bartender shattered that silence, and a new era was begun.

“Okay, I’ve got a Coors and a Coors Light”

Cross Necklace Draped Over Rearview Mirror Somehow Expected to Save Tyler

By David Colton

TEMPE, AZ — It was like trying to stop a forest fire with a single travel-sized bottle of lotion.

As the 26-year-old barreled down side streets and through alleys, he engaged in a 4-hour marathon round of the popular collegiate inebriation game “Edward Fortyhands.”

No seatbelt, no hands holding the steering wheel and no fucks given — Tyler’s three signature rules, which he has tattooed across his back, ended up being his downfall.

Notoriously a man of Christ, Tyler was always one to push divine limits. The necklace around his rearview mirror was tasked with a tall order that fateful day as soon as he left the house at 7 a.m. that morning. The first thing Tyler did was buy a six-pack of NOS energy fluid and shotgunned them in between cigarettes.

“That boy liked to test God,” said Divinity Faith Johnson, who watched Tyler as he attempted to make a left turn at 97 mph, “It was clear he was trying to do a U-turn for the Subway along the highway. That’s the one that doesn’t even have the Italian Herbs & Cheese bread. It’s just sad.”

From the very beginning, it was a daunting task for the 2007 Ford Fiesta.

A gift from mom’s old boyfriend, Tyler’s little car (which he named “Heavenleigh”) was taken for granted the second the boy received the keys.

“My Tyler has never been one to learn new things,” said Bernard Baubleman, Tyler’s 89-year-old father, “Except, of course, when I taught him how to cry.”

Tyler unequivocally denies learning this lesson from his aging father. At least, he did. When he tried to make that fateful 97 mph turn, he was ejected immediately and crashed through the front window of that Subway, where he would eventually ask to be taken off of life support.