max yorke just wants to go home (capgrased) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-08-09 00:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | max worke, noah locke |
log;
WHO: Max Yorke and Noah Locke.
WHAT: The two get high and eat a loaf of bread. Based on a true story.
WHERE: Max's place in District 2.
WHEN: Sunday, August 8th in the afternoon.
MAX: Around seven o’clock in the evening, Max and Noah found themselves sitting at the small card table that the Englishman had designated his kitchen table. The toaster had been moved from its place on the counter and situated at the end of the table. There were plates, a butter knife, real butter, and an entire loaf of white bread, plus a few bottles of some local micro-brew beer. As silence passed over the kitchen, Max leaned over and stared intently at the toaster, watching it like a cat would watch its prey Suddenly, the toast sprang up and he yelped in surprise as he almost fell off the chair. “Noah! The toast is done!” When you were high, even the simple foods could taste divine. NOAH: They had, as it should have been explained to the neighbors who hear their constant shouts of joy and groans of fullness, gotten a hold of some contraband that Noah had saved up for. And promptly inhaled it away. As his limbs tingled and his stomach growled, the taste of real butter on his tongue was savory and he wanted to enjoy it so. Hands on his belly and jean band popped open, Noah rolled in his chair and groaned. “Oh god, no more,” he whinged, eyes rolling back into his head and a slight shine of salivation escaping his mouth. “No more food... no more...” MAX: Oh, this loaf of plain white bread and real butter was completely worth the price they paid for it. Say what you will about the various soy and what not products that where on the market to replace these products, they still couldn’t hold a flame to the real thing. Perhaps it was just the munchies talking, but this loaf of bread tasted like absolute heaven to Max at the moment. “Wuss,” he answered as he reached for both pieces of bread, carefully setting them on his plate as he reached for the bread. “There is always room for more bread. Always. You know what we should have gotten? Some marmalade. I love marmalade.” NOAH: “Noo,” Noah persisted to whine, watching Max out the corner of his eye. Moving that direction was difficult. His limbs felt like lead and were slowly getting heavier and heavier, while his belly tingled and was sure to pop soon. This, he reckoned quietly, was what birth must feel like. He was feeling the sensation of giving birth. Slow, agonizing birth. “I can’t eat any more, especially not marma... marme... marmalade. Lady Marmalade!” A heavy hand was lifted and pointed at Max while Noah cracked a smile and chuckled at his own joke. “I think I’m going to give birth, Max... birth to a giant bread baby. What should we name it?” Lovingly---and also disgustedly---Noah rubbed his little belly, lifting up his plaid shirt to expose a mostly flat abdomen, slightly bloated from the bread but nothing close to a pregnant belly like he imagined it was. MAX: While Noah may not have had room for more slices of bread, his friend certainly had enough room from the way he was all but shoving the pieces of toast into his mouth. Max was devouring it like the bread was the world’s greatest tasting piece of food ever. “Marmalade would make this perfect. Perfect.” One piece down and one more to go. Except he stopped mid bite when Noah started to rub his stomach. “Oh God,” he started was the piece of bread hovered just above his lips. “That is disgusting. Stop that.” NOAH: “No, our child is kicking,” he rumbled, eyes half closed and mouth in a grimace. Something inside kicked all right but it was his gut telling him he was full and had too much to eat. Noah’s mouth was deceiving him though and the sound of Max eating, nay, the smell of the bread and the salivating thought of sweet marmalade drove his mind crazy. Sitting up, he stopped rubbing his belly and huffed, reaching for a piece of bread and popped it into the toaster for a moment to warm it. He liked his bread white and slightly toasted, not brown like some, unless it was a sourdough loaf. “We should write a song about giving birth, yeah? Maybe turn it into a Ke$ha parody, as horrible of a popstar as she was.” MAX: “I will never have a child with you, Noah.” Max wasn’t even sure where he stood on the idea of children, but putting Noah in charge of one probably counted as child endangerment in the state of New York. But that was not his concern at the moment as there was more bread to be had, though he was going to have to wait until Noah was done since apparently, he didn’t even like his toast toasted. “I have no idea what birth is like. Though one time I thought Kate was pregnant, but she just had a spastic gallbladder.” Cool story, bro. “Oh! I saw her on some Where Are They Now show. Who the hell ever gave her a recording career?” he asked with a slight look of horror on his face. NOAH: “Never?” Noah looked crestfallen, but the truth was was that Max was right. They should never have kids. Or, really, he should never have a kid but it was times like these with a bloated belly that he could pretend he was a male pregnant with a baby, like that old classic comedy JUNIOR with the former Governor of California and Danny DeVito. That was SciFi horror at it’s best: men, giving birth, and having to endure cramps. Oh, the horror. The injustice. Patiently nibbling at the crust, he listened and twitched his eye. “That’s weird. Who gave us singing careers? I got one by blowing the rep from Saddle Creek, but I’m really just kidding we all know Connor Oberst does the blowing hey we should record some Lady Gaga,” Noah rambled, then shot Max a thumbs up and cheesy grin. MAX: At this point in time, Max would probably get lost in his own little world and forget about the child, so it was definitely better he just didn’t have one. Though he would probably be more reliable about a child than Noah. Also, never mention JUNIOR to him as that concept was just plain wrong on so many levels. So many. “I have a degree in music. I am legally allowed to have a career in music,” he stated with a nod. Note: that was not a legally binding comment. “That reminds me I need to record my classical Gaga! I knew I forgot to do something. I’m too busy lately.” NOAH: Laughing, Noah reached over and clapped Max on the shoulder. “We both know that’s bull. I have a degree in Hipsterdom, therefore I am legally allowed to be a hipster.” This is, in reality, a binding comment. Noah reeked hipster like none other. “I want to sing ‘Poker Face’ with you. Because I’ll... poke... your... face!” and like that, Noah poked Max’s cheek and giggled. “There’s butter on my finger.” And now it is on your face. Like that. MAX: “Eww hipsers. Glad I’m not one.” Actually, you were a bit of a hipster, Max, but whatever you have to tell yourself to let you sleep at night. You did have ironic glasses going on here. “Don’t poke me!” Putting his last bit of toast down, he picked up a napkin and wiped his cheek with a frown. “I want... something.” NOAH: Pressing a finger to his lips, Noah hushed his friend and sat forward in his chair, magically not losing balance. He was not going to poke Max. Instead, he grabbed the napkin from Max and wiping his finger clean then made a swipe at his mouth to make sure no crumbs remained behind. “I want to get some smoothies. We should get some soy-moothies. I made that word up, you know. Soy-moothies.” MAX: At the suggestion, Max just stared at his friend, not saying a thing for a good ten seconds because that was exactly how long it took for everything to register in his brain. “That is the most brilliant idea I have ever heard, Noah. Brilliant. Brilliant.” Paying no more attention to the bread, he stood up and started to walk through the bedroom and into the living. “And nachos! We can get nachos too. Maybe some Thai. Oh, I haven’t had Thai in a while.” |