The common characteristics of a sidekick are not too appealing. The sidekick is far inferior then his predecessor. He lacks intellect, personality, and the natural animal instinct that every hero requires. The sidekick, more often than not, has homosexual tendencies. Seriously, look at Robin. Hassan does not shy away from the sidekick role at all. Instead he has fully embraced it. At times, he even wears his underwear outside his clothes. Due to his extensive diet on protein bars, he tends to give gas. Gas is merely an understatement. His expelling intestinal gas through the anus can employ nuclear energy, which both the Ayatollah and Kim Jong desire to possess this powerful technique of dispensing natural fatal gas for an experimental use of biological warfare. Deadly.
Ever since we were kids Hassan and I have always gotten along. Even though he is my cousin; he is also a good friend and even a better sidekick. All the mistakes he makes and all the homosexual inclinations actually help fulfill the role of him being my valuable yet destructive sidekick. Never have we gotten in a fight. Never have we argued over trivial and minute matters. Okay, alright, there was this one time…
Que flashback music, fade 2 black.
Tha making of a sidekick.
Working at a bank is more tiresome than tiresome. Counting hundreds of thousands of dollars, that is not mine, a day can cause fatigue. Especially, if the hours are counted down by second by the contemplation of an Ocean’s 11-esque heist. I am not ashamed of my once so not so prominent career path. Indeed I was a mild mannered banker fully equipped with a tie and wing tipped shoes but by night I am a vigilante superhero to save the day. Every superhero has a secret alter ego not known by the rest of society. I chose to become a banker; the irony is that I have no money. I may have been the poorest super hero of all time, but at least I have my looks.
After a hard day of work, I decided to retreat to my Cousin Hassan’s house and unwind. I would occasionally make random visits at my sidekick’s place for numerous reasons, one of which was to kill time. It was an excellent location to relax, primarily after a strenuous day at work. Plus, I saved a lot of money by raiding his fridge.
Winter nights always start early; the darkness crept up like a bad wedgie. I parked my car on his small driveway. After slamming my car door shut, I approached Hassan’s house. Goosebumps and the hairs on my neck stood up, I had an eerie feeling when walking towards his house. Something was not right. (Foreshadowing.) But I ignored this feeling, mainly because I was hungry. Food for thought is not thought without food; think about it, that’s deep.
I rang his doorbell and to my surprise there was no answer, only an unnatural silent. The awkward silent had begun to worry me, and negative thoughts immediately flooded my sexy little head. I rang his doorbell again, hearing it echo through the walls of his house yet again I there was no answer. My worriedness begun to grow, not wanting to imagine what could have befallen my trusty sidekick. Peering through his window, I struggled to see behind the curtains. Then I knocked on the door.
The door flung open. All I saw was dark shadowy figure, which immediately grabbed my petite body, and threw it to the floor. I slammed violently against the cold hard linoleum floor. All I felt was pain. Oh, how I loathe pain. My cartilages or my bones or my skin tissue or whatever keeps my ankle connected to whatever it is connected no longer felt connected as if it were disconnected. Pain, I hate pain as much as I hate writing.
The figure had not loosened his grip; no instead his grip grew stronger. Like the boas constrictor of the Amazon, tightening its grip and releasing life from its victim, I felt hopelessly weak. My lungs were stiffening, I could barely breathe. It was a downhill struggle to loosen my right arm. But through the agonizing ordeal I had freed my arm using all my energy. In
Screams loud enough to wake the dead were echoing through his house. He quickly loosened his grip; at that same moment, I jumped out and without delay grabbed my precious ankle I hobbled towards the light switch t unveil my attacker, who was masked by the darkness. The hallway light provided me with enough illumination to answer my question. But, that answer came with more questions that I bargained for. To my surprise my attacker was none other then my idiot cousin, Hassan. Meow.
How could he? What have I done to receive his wrath? Is he retarded? Where in the heck is that cat?
I stared hard at him with a look of disbelief and disgust on my face. He gazed back at my eyes and smiled his gay Mr. Ed smile. At that time I was speechless, and only one word came to my mind. “Why?”
“I don’t know?” he answered pathetically. Was he serious?
Why I am always surrounded by idiots? Every step I take I cannot avoid someone who is intellectually inclined. It is as if I am stuck on the short yellow school bus on the path to who knows where. To make matters worse behind the wheel is a chimpanzee diagnosed with Down syndrome. Idiots to the right of me. Idiots to the left of me. I am in desperate need of valium.
This next statement maybe totally irrelevant and most likely one hundred percent pointless, but I would like to share it with my readers. At this moment I am not wearing any pants.
Back to the lecture at hand….
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” my retard cousin apologizing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I did not respond to this primitive animal nor did I accept his existence. I was in too much pain. I quote Shakespeare in one his boring books, “et tu, Brute.” Betrayal is the ultimate form of humiliation. But my pain was not revolved around his honor and duty; instead the anguish I felt was directed at my illustrious and promising basketball career, which was no longer a foreseeable dream. I squeezed my ankle, ignoring all the agony.
In desperation Hassan, my bastard cousin, runs and get bandages and a bag of ice, apologizing at every moment of every second. I stood strong, in my stance, refusing his apologies. He was groveling, literally on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness. I was stubborn with my ways. No matter what he did, nor the amount of his sincere apologies I was never going to forgive him.
“I am no longer your friend, nor do I want 2 b associated wit u.” I expressed my thoughts to the monkey. “I am going home.”
“I’ll make you brownies!” He exclaimed.
Every man has a weakness, the breaking point in which they fall prey unto their desires. My kryptonite is brownies, for all super heroes have flaws. Yes, even I am not perfect, close, but not perfect. Later that night Hassan baked brownies and mended our once tattered relationship. On that note, I’m hungry.
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