The Creep and The Grandpa

Little Billy was twenty-four years old. Practically a man, according to his mum and pop.

He loved comics; especially Archie and Friends. One day, he told himself, he would have a girlfriend just like Betty—if she would have him.

Betty was blond. Mmmm, blond! He thought, sniffing the page. So nice! So easygoing, submissive and polite. Not like Veronica, that slut. She’s pretty too, but her attitude sucks: arrogant, manipulative, flirtatious, capricious and stuff. Not at all like sweet Betty, the innocent cupcake of lust. Looking for that cream fillin.

These thoughts tickled Billy—especially the hateful ones.

Billy read Archie because his parents didn’t allow video games or Internet at home. They believed that children should be taught to read books, build character, travel, and appreciate art. They also made him write short stories, paint, play the drums and go to the gym. Even more annoying, so annoying, he had to run a small blog that sold hemp products, “to understand Entrepreneurial Spirit!” Blah, yada, bleep. He complained about this but, “If you want to live in Sparta, you have to understand suffering Billy!” He also wasn’t allowed to eat anything out of a can. Not even tuna.

Boooooring!

Billy couldn’t wait until he was eighteen to land an easy job at Amazon, Zara, or Seaworld, so he could afford the New Xboxox, Ps5, Iclone, Mepad, Kindlecock, MacMc lair, and all the games he wanted. He could also jerk to Russian porn and consume things. His imagination was so tired from creating and thinking.

Billy used his comic books as a medium between books and cartoons. He didn’t have to think too hard, which was good. Thoughts always made him emotional. He preferred to be stimulated by outside forces. But for some reason, he needed more and more stimulation for the same effect. Books just made him tired.

One cool night, Billy was reading his comics by the illegal fire place (due to smog). Grandpa slouched into the room, put aside his easy-walker and eased into his favourite rocking chair to gaze into the flames and reflect on life. They reminded him of the beaches of Spain where he experienced his first loves.

“Hi Grandpaps,” Billy said.

“Oh, well hello there little feller, whatcha readin there Billy?”

“Oh, just Archie comics.”

“I always had the hots for Betty and Veronica.”

“You mean Betty, or Veronica?” Billy asked, confused.

“I mean Betty and Veronica Billy.”

Billy laid on his belly, scratched his head, and kicked his soft, white feet in the air.

“You can’t have them both!” Billy said. “And besides, Veronica is a bitch.”

“Sure you can Billy. You can have whatever you want. It’s 2013 son.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want them both. I like Betty Better.”

Grandpa stretched his legs and let out a warm fart slide out. It smelled of organic olives and yesterdays free range egg salad sandwhich.

“Son,” he said. “I know you have been told you’re only supposed to date one girl. But if you read enough Archie, you will notice that everybody in the comic is dating everyone else. Betty is with Reggie and Archie. Archie and Reggie are both dating Veronica. Sometimes Veronica is mad at Reggie or Archie and goes with Big Moose. Sometimes Archie sneaks kisses on that blond bombshell Melody.”

Billy thought about this. “But Grandpapa, that’s a bunch of shit. You’re a liar. Liar! Liar!”

Grandpa took a long haul from his bong, coughed out a cloud and said, “Billy. Archie gots ninety-nine problems…but a bitch ain’t one.”

The fire sputtered and Billy threw another log on. San Diego was cold this time of year.

“So Grandpa, do you have Internet at your house?”

“Hell yes. How else would I get laid? I’m ninety-six.”

“Ewww. Can I use it tomorrow? There’s a streaming Street Fighter 12 tournament, followed by Dota.”

Grandpa sat lightly rocking, piously smelling the smoke coming off the illegal wood burning fireplace and said, “Son. Do what the fuck you want.” Then Grandpappy closed his eyes, grunted…and died. If you astral projected yourself to his moment of death, you could hear in his final puff, “Finally…fuck.”

Billy stood up, poked his Grandpa in the arm, shrugged, reached into his pocket, stole his keys, tossed his comics in the fire place, told his parents he was going to bed, slipped out the window and rode his bike to Grandpapas.

They never found Billy. But every year at Christmas the mum and pop received an anonymous social media #mention that links to a high res pic of Archie, Betty and Veronica.

***Weird ass post I know. Big launch of a special product in a few days. Hint. My novel.***