Kinkier Yowl

"Sometimes I just need to be alone". This is the single most important thought one person can ever have; for is there anything more wondrous than solitude? Quiet, delicious solitude; being alone with the only person you'll ever love enough to truly hate.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times to seek out strength in numbers. That number, sadly, was two: me and Yarmulke Jones. She and I were both looking for our missing body parts; her, a absconded Afro, me...a faraway foot. The conclusion we reached? A vicious body-part snatcher who was only interested in our little bits and pieces, but didn't think we were good enough to take the whole kit and kaboodle.

A solution? Well, there was none, except to ask questions which could only be answered with more questions. Such is life and life is such.

Yarmulke had a hunch that most answers lay at the bottom of a bottle of beer. We went to a bar to see if any conclusions could be found amongst all the hops and barleys.

"Yarmulke; why are we here?"
"Literally or metaphysically?"
"Give me some choices, I'll decide which one I like better".
"The answer to both is because we walked in the door".
"What about philosophically?"
"Empirically speaking; drinking might help me remember where my afro went. Rationally speaking; I'm pretty sure drinking might help you remember where your foot went".
"What makes you think that?"
"Idealism".

Having enough of our didactic, frankly uninformed conversation about philosophy, I began to have a much more interesting discussion with contents of a high ball glass.

By the time I finished, things became more clear...maybe Yarmulke was right; philosophically, my drinking problem could be classified as "rationalism" because you don't have to see me drink to know that I'm going to become a fucking genius after a few tall ones (not to mention my ability to create a uniquely amazing Jukebox playlist; holla!).

A few shots and rapid blinks later- the bottom of the glass said four words to me; "look to your left". That's when I saw her:

Kinkier Yowl, a mischievous ne'er-do-well from down the block, who had been around it no less than 24 times. To say she was a beauty was a disservice; she made beauties look runners up in the "I'm Not a Beauty At All" contest.

Needless to say; she was attractive.

Drunk and probably very charming, I hopped over to her.

"Kinkier", I spoketh. "There's nowhere else in the entire world I'd rather be, except maybe in New York discussing something other than insecurities of people in the film industry".
"I understand; I've heard '100,000 Butterflies' by the Magnetic Fields"
She looked at my foot, which wasn't there.
"I see you're missing an appendage"
"You're quite an observer; much like the weekly periodical from Dallas of the same name".
"Are you missing a foot because it's not there or because you don't see it?"
"Well, it's not there, right?"
"Close your eyes. The glass is half full; bad things are always going to happen to you; it's just a matter of realizing that they're only as bad as you want them to be".
"Fatalist?"
"It's not fatalist to say life sucks, right? That's just being a realist. It's what you do with the sucky parts of that make you strong. You don't have a foot, right? I guess that's bad, but maybe it's good. Think of the sympathy pussy. There's going to be sympathy pussy."
"I hadn't thought of that".
"And the handicapped spaces. I mean, you could fucking park anywhere, as long as you have that little blue guy in a wheel chair."
"Sex and good parking? Sounds too good to be true".
"It also sounds like a mediocre HBO show that appeals to middle aged housewives."
"So; if things that suck don't actually suck so much...maybe that means fate is tangible? Maybe there is some sort of outside force making sure that good or bad; our choices are always right".
"That's a wonderful thought and I'm glad you shared your uninformed, borderline retarded insight. There's only one real way to look at this: however you can deal with what you've been given, however you can get through the day...that's what works. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing mystical, no absolute judgments; just...whatever works for you, is what works".
I looked at Kinkier Yowl and realized I was connecting with her on a level which I had never connected to another being. Then I looked at her toes.
They had big, curly toe hairs.
"Your toes...they look like mine".
She got nervous and turned around. Poised to run away, Yarmulke Jones got in her way.

Yamulke looked at her:
"My afro is pinned to your ass, girl. What's up with that?"
"Uhm...it's like tattoos of pixies or elbow stars; totally 21st century".
"Afro ass hair is the new thing?"
"You betcha".

Three hours and two brutal beatings later, I got my foot back and Yarmulke was proudly sporting an afro.

Sure, my foot was stuck-on via Superglue and Yarmulke's hair was about as convincing as John Travolta's wig, but nonetheless important things were returned.

Yarmulke looked at me with a mournful, almost dour expression.

"Things seem to work themselves out, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so".
"But it really isn't as simple as that".
"Nope".
"I wish it were".
"A million different things happened a million different ways to make sure that you and I are having this conversation; isn't that enough?"
"Maybe the simplicity is in our unimaginable complexity?"
"I'd rather not think about it".
"Sounds good to me".

I walked away with a limp, but it was better than not walking away at all.