Grapefruit Boulevard Chapter 1.1

Grapefruit Boulevard Chapter 1.1

Now, let's zoom in just a little bit... Aha! Yes, that's it. 41 Grapefruit Boulevard. This is where the story begins. ...Well, technically it doesn't actually //start// there. I'm just arbitrarily choosing it as a vantage point. But since that's less significant than your chances of getting killed by a terrorist on a Sunday, we'll just keep going.

In House 41 there lived a pair of goofballs by the names of Sergio and Bernard. The latter will be referred to as simply Bern due to my spontaneous will and whim. One ordinary afternoon, Sergio and Bern were sitting across the kitchen table from each other, enjoying a light snack and talking with each other-- much like we are, coincidentally enough.

Sergio took a sip of vitamin water out of his crystalline glass, then spoke. "Yeah," he said in his distinctive accent, "I could totally see that being a groovy TV show. But wouldn't someone, like... cancel it? I mean, those TV guys have a real uncool vibe when it comes to new ideas."

"But, dude. I've been paying a lot of attention to television these days," replied Bern. "It ought to work." He bit the end of a pretzel stick off, reveling in its salty magnificence. "People watch the Food Channel. People watch poker games on ESPN. Food Poker is //gold//, I tell you. Plus, if we determined the worth of wagering materials by how strong the temptation to eat it was... Gold! Pure gold!"

'Scuse me for a second. I need to tell you what these guys look like. I know how you might feel about this. I'm sure you've heard those terribly boring stories where someone goes on for hours about some character's attire, garments, paraphernalia, accessories... and also what they're wearing. The sort of thing you'd hear at a family reunion, you know? I want to avoid that, but don't want to just drop those details entirely. That's no better-- it would force you to use your imagination. What a horribly inconsiderate gesture //that// would be!

So, I propose a compromise. I'll be sure to indicate when I'm describing someone the first sentence of the paragraph. After that, I'll promise not to include anything vital to your understanding of the story. I mean... Yes, I'd like you to know a few important details like their names, their species... But, honestly, I doubt anybody's shirt color is going to affect much.

Now, then. Shall we begin with the hideous, revolting goat man? Er-- I mean Sergio, the nice, charming goat boy?

As I just mentioned, Sergio was an averagely built, averagely tall goat. Not the sort of goat who enjoys ramming unwary hikers off mountaintops, mind you-- the ordinary, less belligerent kind. His short hairstyle bore all the formality of a dandelion rotting to the tune of a Rolling Stones album playing on vinyl. It was spectrographically harmonious with his white wool, and it was also the same color. The outfit, from the unnecessary tinted spectacles, the tye-dyed shirt, the tye-denied undershirt, and the generic trendy shoes were all decorated with various shades of violet, excluding the baggy khaki pants. Sergio understood that pants, especially baggy ones, should never be tye-dyed. It's just not cool, man.

Bern was a bit less mammalian, a bit less slim, and a good bit less of a hippie. A few inches taller than Sergio, this brivoldian toad had his head, back, and limbs covered with clay red skin, and caramel brown flesh on his chin and rotund chest. The reddish portions were further decorated by calligraphic black strokes. Indeed, Bern looked like a figurine crafted by a find Japanese artisan-- albeit one with a bit extra in the way of materials. His outfit chose to blatantly disregard any Eastern motif, however: a red aloha shirt, blue trunks, and a pair of souvenir sandals, all from his most recent trip to Hawaii.

Alright. I'm done now. By the way, brivoldian is not a word. It still stands as an apt description for Bern, however. (Ha! Now you people who skipped it are curious! My plan is working perfectly.)

"But..." said Sergio in response to Bern's comment about food poker which you may or may not remember by this point, "What do you do when the food starts to... like... rot?"

Bern stared unblinkingly at Sergio, pondering. "...It's an automatically rebalancing playing field! You're brilliant, Sergio. I never thought of that."

"No, I meant it would be totally hard to keep breathing. The stench, man. You dig?"

"...Oh." Awkward silence for a moment, then Bern cleared his throat. "Sergio, would you fix me another glass of lemonade?"

"Sure thing, dude." This is an important less, you know: save yourself from embarrassment by changing the subject, just like Bern does!