This is a short one-shot thing I wrote a while back. It's about Keith from Tedium's cousin (he mentioned him very briefly one chapter)... It's weird and it's mostly dialogue. I got good reviews on Aarinfantasy... for some reason... so I decided to post it here.

“To be perfectly honest, Caden,” Joey said with perfect honesty, “You’re just too crazy for me.”

Breakfast at 10 PM didn’t seem so exciting now.

Me and my boyfriend of six months were sitting at a booth in Denny’s. I was overly thrilled when I saw a commercial on TV advertising breakfast all day at Denny’s restaurant. I called Joey and had him pick me up for a spontaneous date. The car ride had been more quiet than usual with a silently somber Joey.

“Don’t give me that face, Caden,” Joey interrupted my wandering thoughts. “You’re only twenty; you have a long life ahead of you. Pretty soon, I’ll just be that old guy you dated. I’m almost thirty. I want to settle down with someone. I just feel like I’m wasting time with you. You understand, right?”

I didn’t know how to respond. This wasn’t my first break-up. I had had three boyfriends since I was 16. Every single one of them had broken off the relationship with the same excuse: I was looney.

“You can walk home from here, right?” Joey asked as he stood up. I nodded my head slowly. Joey took out his wallet and laid a few bills on the table. “I’ll pay for dinner. Bye, Caden.”

“It’s breakfast…” I whispered softly as Joey left.

“He made me walk home. Can you believe that, Fluffy Poof Bear?” I asked my dog the next morning.

I was lounging in the backyard on my patio furniture. My burly brown dog lay next to me, chewing apart her third ball that week.

“Fluffy Poof, you’ve been tearing up the backyard again, haven’t you?” I asked as I surveyed my grassless backyard. Fluffy Poof Bear tended to run around in circles, eat grass, dig holes, and roll around in dirt. She also enjoyed tearing balls apart, tearing shoes apart, tearing homes apart, tearing backyards apart, and eating shit.

I lived in my parents’ home. My parents were no longer around. They had gone to Europe. Or maybe South America. I wasn’t sure where they had gone, but they hadn’t been back in two years. I woke up one morning and found a note that said, “Happy 18th birthday. We’re leaving the country. We’ll call you.” They had never called me. It didn’t hurt my feelings much. They left me with a house that had already been paid off.

It was just me and a dog. I had found Fluffy Poof outside work, chewing on a telephone pole. I enjoyed the moments the two of us spent together. Occasionally, I’d burrow out of my solitary-except-a-dog existence to seek out human contact. Every relationship had ended quite badly, however.

“Maybe I should give up,” I said as I laid an arm across my eyes. Fluffy Poof growled her reply. “You might be the only one for me, Fluffy Poof. Bestiality might not be so bad. We’ll have to be celibate, of course.”

Before Fluffy Poof could respond, I heard a commotion from the house next door. It was strange, actually. Usually any sort of commotion came from the other neighbor, the bitchy old woman who complained that I was destroying my parents’ home. This particular commotion came from the other neighbor. A new neighbor who was moving in.

I was curious. I got up and went around the porch to the front of the house. There I saw a guy my own age glaring at a cat. A dented cardboard box lay at his feet. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was not a cat; it was a raccoon.

“Hi, are you the new neighbor?” I asked cheerfully as I waved my hand and stepped closer.

Gray eyes looked up at me with malice. “Please refrain from speaking to me at the moment. I am currently reprimanding Steve.”

“Who’s Steve?” I asked, ignoring the man’s instructions.

The gray-eyed man pointed at the raccoon. “That’s Steve. He tripped me and I dropped the box I was carrying. Those were my dishes. The only way I can reprimand him thoroughly is by staring at him directly into his eyes and mentally communicating my anger.”

“I thought raccoons had rabies,” I said as I scratched my head in confusion. Was this raccoon his pet?

“Obviously, this one doesn’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t invite him into my home,” the man replied icily.

“Do you need any help?” I asked looking at the U-Haul still cluttered with boxes.

The man’s eyebrow shot up. He made a funny face. Was it weird to offer help? “Why would I want help from a stranger?”

“Because I don’t want to make another enemy,” I replied truthfully. I turned around knowing that the old lady was peering across my front lawn at the new neighbor. I pointed at her. “That woman over there hates me. Hi, Mrs. Butterworth!”

Her entire body tensed with animosity. “Screw you, Jackass!”

Oh, she was being nice today.

“Is her name really Mrs. Butterworth?” my new neighbor asked with interest.

“I don’t know. So how about I help you?” I tried again.

The man looked at the box-filled van. “Sure, I guess it could get the job done faster.”

“No one else is helping you?” I asked looking around. Usually family and friends helped people move into new homes.

“Apparently not,” the man replied dryly.

“It’s not that apparent,” I defended myself. Just then, Fluffy Poof came to the front and started ass sniffing the raccoon. “Oh, that’s Fluffy Poof Bear, my dog.”

“What kind of name is that?” the man asked incredulously as he put his hands on his hips.

“It’s better than Steve,” I muttered with a pout. Steve was a one-syllable name. All one-syllable names were boring.

“Steve is a good name for a raccoon,” the man crossed his arms and gave me a look that dared me to argue with him.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” I asked, daring to argue.

“I do not wish to reveal my personal history with a stranger. Please refrain from speaking to me further.”

I looked back and forth between the van and his house. “If I can’t speak to you then how do I know which room these boxes go?”

The man rubbed his chin in thought. “Good point. I give you permission to ask me questions regarding the room placement of these boxes.”

“Okay,” I replied happily.

He made a noise of discontent. “You’ve just broken my only rule. You spoke to me and it was not a question regarding the room placement of these boxes.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” I quickly apologized. “Oops, sorry. Damn it. Shit, does that count?”

“Just get a box,” the man sighed.

“Oh, by the way, what’s your name?” I asked as I moved towards the van.

“Ian.”

“I’m Caden Diggle.”

I heard a choking sound behind me. I looked back to find my new neighbor holding his hand to his mouth.

He cleared his throat and said, “I’m very sorry. ‘Diggle’ is an, uh, interesting name.”

I've never understood why people thought 'Diggle' was so funny.

Once we had emptied the van of all its contents, Ian asked if I wanted a glass of water from the tap. I thought this was extremely generous of him.

“I only have these small plastic cups,” Ian said as he handed me a cup the size of my pinky finger.

“That’s alright,” I said smiling.

“Of course, it’s alright,” Ian replied with confusion.

I decided to change the subject. “So where are you from?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Ian stated as he crossed his arms.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t think that matters.”

“Do you go to college?” I tried again.

“Why should that be relevant?”

“I was just asking a few questions,” I whined.

“Why?” he asked pursing his lips in irritation.

I shrugged. “Because it’s polite.”

“It’s certainly not polite to intrude on other people’s privacy. How exactly did your parents raise you?”

Oh, family was a good subject! “Do you have any family around here?”

“I asked you a question.”

He asked me how my parents raised me. “I’m ignoring it.”

“Why?” He sounded curious.

“Why ask?” This was almost like a game.

“Why are you changing the subject?” he questioned as anger entered his tone.

“Why are you changing the subject?” I smiled playfully.

“I’m not,” Ian replied vehemently.

“You just did.”

“You started it.”

“I don’t think so. But since you’re new to the neighborhood, I’ll have to agree with you. You’re gay, aren’t you?” I asked, deciding to go in a new direction.

“What!?” Ian’s bewildered expression made me burst into a fit of laughter.

“I found gay porn in one of your boxes,” I admitted. “You had three phones in there, too. Why would you need three phones?”

“You looked through my boxes?” he seethed quietly.

“Just one,” I said looking at my feet.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“You have no right-”

“Is Steve allowed on your counter?” I interrupted.

The raccoon was trying to open Ian’s cabinets with his paws. Ian turned around quickly and waved his hands frantically. “Steve! Bad raccoon! Off the kitchen counters! You know your paws are filthy!”

Two weeks flew by quickly. My relationship with Ian didn’t improve. He often glared at me whenever I came home from work or sat outside on my patio. Fluffy Poof and Steve got along great, though. Too well, in fact. My plans of bestiality were completely foiled when I saw the two of them cuddling up together in the sun.

“You’re lazy, aren’t you?” Ian asked me one day as I was laying on my porch sofa.

I looked at him quizzically. “What gave you that idea?”

“Your front lawn is yellow. Your backyard is a mess. Your house is falling apart. Every time I see you, you’re just laying around like a bum. I don’t even want to think about the inside of your home.”

“You’re welcome to come over anytime you like,” I offered.

“I don’t want to step foot on your property unless it’s to get Steve away from your animal.”

“Fluffy Poof is more than an animal,” I said with a frown. “You should come over, though. I could make you coffee!”

“Why would you want me over there?”

“I like you!” I exclaimed.

“Refrain from doing so. It’s rather annoying,” he said with a look of disgust.

I thought of an idea. “If I clean up my house, would you like to come over for coffee?”

He mulled it over before responding. “Fine. Clean it and I’ll come over for coffee.”

I ran into a lot of trouble the next few weeks. I wanted to make my house look spectacular! I decided to start with the grass. I tried everything to get grass to grow but nothing seemed to work. I tried seed, but Fluffy Poof would eat it. I tried hay, but Fluffy Poof would eat it. I tried mulch, but Fluffy Poo would eat it.

“Aunt Jemima, why do you hate my front lawn?” I asked my next-door neighbor one day.

“You fucking asshole. It’s yellow. A lawn should be green. Fucking asshole.”

That gave me an idea.

“What the hell is that?” Ian asked after coming home from work.

“Cement,” I replied joyfully.

“You cemented your front lawn?” Ian asked slowly.

“Yes. The problem with my lawn was that it wasn’t green. I couldn’t grow grass so I had to find another way to make it green,” I said. I picked up the paint bucket on my front stoop. “Tomorrow, when this is all dry, I’m going to paint it green!”

Ian was so overwhelmed by my brilliant idea that he couldn’t respond.

The next project I had to tackle was the landscaping in the backyard. There was no way I could afford cement for the entire yard and Fluffy Poof was bound to eat any grass growing projects I started. I decided to rake the leaves and trim the bushes. I was sure Ian wouldn’t mind that I didn’t have grass in the backyard; only the front yard and curb appeal were really important.

I wanted dig up the old rose bush that hadn’t bloomed in years. It was taking over the left side of my house. It was also poking poor Fluffy Poof in the nose.

I took an axe out of my shed and began my work. I started chopping at the rose bush’s roots.

“What the hell are you doing, now?” asked an annoyed voice from over the fence.

I put down my axe and wiped sweat off my face before turning to Ian. “I’m taking out the rose bush.”

“That’s not how you do it, moron,” Ian said angrily. “I’ll come over and show you the proper way of digging up a rose bush.”

Ian was by my side in minutes with a small shovel. He plowed into the dirt at the base of the rose bush.

“You see? You dig up the dirt and uncover the roots. Then you take it out. You might want to get weed killer because it might grow back,” Ian explained.

I was only paying half a mind to what he was saying. I was transfixed on how wonderfully attractive he looked as his muscles bulged from the digging. Perspiration dotted his forehead. Uh oh.

“I-I… thank you,” I said as I squatted down next to the rose bush and pretended to examine the roots, hoping my problem was well hidden. I pulled at a root and cut my finger on a thorn. “Ow.”

I started sucking on my bleeding finger as I looked up at Ian. He was watching me intensely.

“Your face is red,” I commented. “Do you need something to drink?”

He cleared his throat and looked away. “No, I’m fine.”

Once I had completely removed the rose bush, I decided to start planting flowers around my back porch. I wasn’t familiar with the flower planting process, but I figured it couldn’t be too hard.

I dug holes. I placed flowers in the holes. Then, the flowers disappeared.

“I think there’s a sinkhole in my backyard,” I was telling Ian one afternoon.

“You moron. There is no sinkhole in your backyard,” Ian replied sourly. “It’s obviously Fluffy Poof Bear. She eats everything because she’s an untrained beast.”

I looked down at Fluffy Poof who was sitting by my legs. She looked up at me and cocked her head to the side with a soft whimper. “Oh my God, Fluffy Poof, that’s so cute! Her head is tilted to the side!”

As I was cooing at my adorable pet, Ian grunted and walked back towards his house.

“Hey! Do you mind if I come over?” I asked hopefully

Ian stopped walking and slowly turned around to stare at me with a look of mistrust.

“I suppose I can allow you to come to my house for a brief visit. However, you can only stay on the premises for a period of fifteen minutes. Then, you must leave,” he said reluctantly.

I was so excited that I could have peed myself. I didn’t, though, because I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to visit him in that sort of condition.

As I reached his front porch, he opened the door and stepped aside so I could enter. I walked into the living room and stopped. I looked around the house in bafflement.

Telephones. Everywhere.

“What’s with the phones…?” I asked hesitantly.

Ian huffed behind me and pushed me out of his way to inspect his house with a satisfied expression. “I collect telephones. Do you have a problem with this?”

I did have a problem with it. Phones were everywhere! There were two phones next to his couch, a red phone booth in the corner, an old dial phone on the wall. As I looked more closely, I saw that there were even more phones blending into the colors of his home!

“Are… are they all plugged into a phone line? Do they… ring… at once?” I asked slowly.

“Most of them are plugged in, yes,” Ian explained. “I enjoy it immensely when I hear them all ring at once.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want something to drink? You’ve just wasted five minutes gawking at my home décor,” Ian commented acidly.

My face broke into a smile. “I’d love some coffee!”

“That will take too long to make. By the time it finishes brewing, it’ll be time for you to vacate the premises,” Ian scowled at me as he sat on oversized leather couch.

I sat down next to him and continued smiling brightly. “We can just talk, then.”

Ian’s face contorted into a slight grimace. He remained silent as he crossed his arms and looked away from me. I clasped my hands together and crushed them between my knees. We sat that way without a word.

Finally, I broke the silence. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“What?!” Ian exclaimed, his face flushing. “Why the hell would you go on a date with me?”

I was confused. “Because I like you,” I answered. Hadn’t I already mentioned that?

Ian’s eyes popped out of his head. “What? You l-l-l-l-like me?! Do you know what you are saying? Aren’t you straight?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Ian calmed down a bit. “The answer is still a resounding ‘negative.’ You’re not my type. I like manlier men with muscle. You’re skinnier than me.”

I frowned and looked down at my body. I was skinny. I wasn’t manly enough for him! My heart shattered into small little pieces. The world broke in two. The seas dried up. Society collapsed. The president was assassinated. Volcanoes erupted. Puppies died!

“Then again, you’ve been working hard... and it’s all to get me to come over to your house… so maybe,” Ian glowered at the floor, “I can take you somewhere.”

“Could we go to this café that’s open 24 hours a day? I’ve always wanted to go to a café at 3 A.M. just to see if it’s true!” I suggested as I bounced on the couch in excitement.

“Absolutely not!” Ian yelled.

Before I could defend my proposition, there was a knock on the door. We whipped our heads towards the sound and it intensified. Ian stood up and stomped to the door angrily. Outside was my bitchy neighbor. She looked rather bitchy that evening.

She pointed at me with a finger trembling in rage and fury. “Get out here now, you asshole.”

The three of us stood in front of my house staring at a pile of dog shit. My bitchy neighbor blew smoke into my face.

“You have shit on your lawn,” my neighbor said around her cigarette for the second time as she nodded at the pile of poo.

“Yes, I do, Betty Crocker." There was no denying it.

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Clean it up.”

I shook my head and pouted. “I don’t want to touch shit.”

“It’s bothering me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Shit bothers lots of people. What makes you so special?” I demanded as I put my hands on my hips and took a step towards the woman threateningly.

She took a step forward, too. We were inches a part, staring each other down. This showdown was inevitable. It had been in the making ever since my parents decided to go to Guatemala. Or wherever they decided to go. “You know what, you little asshole…”

She took the cigarette out of her mouth and aimed the ash at my chest.

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, now, Mrs. Butterworth,” Ian interrupted.

Her head snapped in his direction with absolute ferocity. “My name isn’t fucking Mrs. Butterworth.”

Ian waved his hand. “Your name is not important. What’s important is that this is his lawn and he can be as… disgusting as he wants. So. There.”

“You little bastard…” The old hag began a tirade that lasted for the next twenty minutes.

I didn’t hear a word she said. Ian had defended me! Children laughed. Old people didn't die. The sun came out. Flowers bloomed. Telephones rang in unison!

It had been almost two months since I had sat in the same booth with Joey at Denny’s. I was eating pancakes and bacon with hot chocolate. Breakfast for dinner never ceased to amaze me.

I looked up at Ian with a grin. Our first date! It was turning out to be a rather good one, too. Ian rolled his eyes and resumed eating his dinner. He refused to eat breakfast for dinner because he felt that it would ruin his digestive system.

“So, anything exciting happen today?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

Ian stopped chewing. “I dislike conversation during mealtime. But, yes, something odd did happen to me today at the grocery store.”

He took another bite of his dinner and remained quiet. I was getting anxious. I wanted to know what happened!

He looked up and noticed I had stopped eating and was restlessly awaiting the continuation of his story. “Fine, I’ll tell you. I went grocery shopping. I paid for my items and put them in the backseat of my car. That’s when I remembered that I forgot to buy milk. Therefore, I rushed back inside for the milk. I came back out only moments later to find that the car was locked and, miraculously, it was not my car. It was the same model, yes. However, there was an air freshener on the rearview mirror that was definitely not mine; it was hideous. But my groceries were in the backseat. I tried the key on the door and it worked. I found my car only moments later and put my groceries inside and left.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said seriously.

“It happened. My key worked on someone else’s car. Why would I lie?”

“Maybe you’re a compulsive liar,” I ventured.

“I am not a compulsive liar,” Ian argued.

“I believe you,” I said nodding my head.

“You’re a moron,” he said shaking his head.

We returned home a half an hour later. I drove up to his house and shifted into park before turning my head in his direction. I looked at him and he looked ahead. Again, we found ourselves in silence.

I decided to ask him the Big Question. “Do you want to come over? My house is so much cleaner now!”

Ian turned his head towards my house and then at me. His face showed no emotion. My heart sank before he tonelessly said, “Fine.”

Butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach as my excitement grew. I shifted into reverse and pulled out of his driveway. I shifted into drive and pulled up five feet to park into mine.

We got out of the car and walked to my front door. As soon as we walked inside, I flipped on the light switch and turned around to smile at Ian.

Ian had stopped in the doorway. His widened eyes surveyed the inside of my house with utter puzzlement. It was a look I knew all too well. It was the look that preceded every one of my breakups. It was the look that ended with the line, “You’re just too crazy for me.”

“You have linoleum floors. I don’t even want to know how the hell you got that furniture,” Ian commented as he continued glancing around my house. “There are drains on the floor. Why are there drains on the floor?”

“I don’t like cleaning,” I said quietly as I looked at my feet.

“There’s a garden hose on the wall. You use a garden hose to clean your house,” I heard Ian say with that same toneless voice he had used earlier.

Here it comes, I thought. You’re just too crazy for me.

“Whatever,” Ian sighed.

I looked up hopefully. “Whatever?”

“You invited me over for sex, didn’t you?” he demanded to know. “I’ll oblige as long as your bed has a mattress. Your living room furniture has no cushions. I assume that is because they would get… soggy.”

“I didn’t invite you over for sex,” I lied as I looked away. “But it does have a mattress.”

“Do you have a whip?” Ian asked with interest.

More excitement grew inside me, but of a different kind than earlier. “No, but there’s sticks in the backyard.”

Ian grimaced. “I dislike nature. Do you have a wooden spoon?”

“Yes. But what if I get hungry while using it?”

Ian crossed his arms in vexation. “Am I not appetizing?”

“No, no, no. You’re plenty appetizing!” I corrected myself. “You’re so appetizing, I could whip you with a wooden spoon!”

“Then whip me, boy!”

“Yes, sir!” I ran into the kitchen and retrieved a wooden spoon from the drawer with the cooking utensils. “Here’s the wooden spoon, sir!”

“You took too long,” Ian remarked.

“I’m sorry,” I whined.

“You need disciplined.”

“I do. I’m a bad boy,” I pouted.

“A naughty boy,” Ian smiled. Oh, the beauty!

“A very naughty boy. I should be whipped with a wooden spoon.” I shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I’m getting horny, can we hurry this up?”

“Get in that bedroom, boy!” Ian commanded.

“Yes, sir!”