Grand Larseny

Eustace, looking at a creature of natural dimensions and means, demanded “what THE squirrel fancy?”

From Hank came the tired reply, “again your assault has failed, my friend. And by the way, it’s just a crossing guard. Do you really have such a problem with authority that you don’t even want to avoid hitting innocent children going to school because someone with a fancy hat told you so?”

“You know, I can’t quite remember the last time someone hit you with a loaded metaphor for the first time, eh Hank.”

“Well perhaps that has something to do with ‘being hit by a metaphor’ making no sense at all. Anyway, thank you for not beginning this morning with a mass murder. Such a successful morning merits a drink, wouldn’t you say”

“Hell no.”

Now I must point out that Hank, like Eustace, dislikes the English language. Not in an irrational, I-want-to-boil-your-hand-in-a-vat-of-acid type of way like Eustace, but more of an I’m-not-going-to-invite-you-to-my-yacht-party type of way. His way of expressing his dislike of the language was by removing all capabilities to speak it through drink.

And if there was one thing Eustace hated more than the English language it was Hank’s drinking. Hank’s drinking had once, quite literally, killed Eustace’s dog. It’s a long story. (Hank had recently been corrected on his use of a double negative when describing a recent setback in his personal life. “She never did anything that no-one appreciated” turned into a five-minute diatribe about the decline of proper grammar from his mother, which turned into a five-hour drinking session where he declared “she doesn’t floob this harlder hammer into a globble anymore! POTATOES!” After his fifth grasshopper, Hank was completely smashed. He slurred another round of drinks for everyone, including Eustace who had just walked by with his dog Korrok. Hank demanded, with utmost haziness, that Korrok be allotted his full share. It was during Hank’s speech on the utility of time-shares in Florida that everyone discovered poor Korrok had succumbed to mint poisoning. Eustace always blamed Hank, saying that if he hadn’t been so boring Eustace could have saved his dog.)

Even though the first volley had missed its mark, Hank was determined. “Whatever you say. All I know is a drink in the hand is better than words on the tongue.”

“Words’ make I tear. Let go of me, badger.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I’ve got a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade for both of us just waiting at the office once you’re ready for it, nancy boy.”

Their office was 2101 Wallshore Way, where they work as professional internet forum posters. Hank was assigned to post on all young and hip forums, and Eustace was assigned to post at political sites, primarily DemocraticUnderground. He was the hero of the forum, hands-down the most eloquent member.

Although normalcy continued to elude them in real life, every day reassured their internet fame. They walked among internet giants like Leroy Jenkins, the Numa guy, and the Star Wars Kid. They blew their nose on memes like memepool. They ate rational dialog like beef jerky and drew crowds like a hairdresser at an Elvis convention. In short, Eustace and Hank were the bees knees.

This is their story.