Our Mutual Friend
‘Twas the fourteenth of July, a beautiful day with the sky blue as a robin’s egg and nary a cloud to be seen for miles in any direction. My dearest friend Randy—O, what larks we shared in our more youthful years!—informed me he was hosting a little soiree and that his cousin, whom he believed I would find most agreeable, would be present. Naturally, Randy being the bosom friend he was, I promptly replied: “You know The Chet is there, bruh.”
A Pair of Blue Eyes
Upon entering the room, my gaze settled upon a lady of incomparable beauty, with long tresses of golden hair that cascaded down her back as gently as waterfall in the first thaw of spring and piercing blue eyes that stared straight into the depths of my very soul. O! Pygmalion himself could not have sculpted a more perfect specimen! I was drawn to her as involuntarily a moth to lamp light, and though my mouth was as parched as the sun-scorched deserts of Arabia, I manage to rasp, so quietly as to be barely audible, “Bae.”
Persuasion
Much as dear Randy suspected, I indeed found her disposition most agreeable and we made each other’s acquaintance the whole evening through, both at the banquet table over a magnificent feast and later on the davenport in the sitting room as Randy, a marvelous musician in his own right, entertained his guests on the pianoforte. Whether it was the intoxication of the music or the wine we had enjoyed at dinner, I know not, but that evening, I was possessed by the spirit of courage, and leaned over and whispered ever so gently in her ear, “How would you like a piece of The Chet tonight?”
Great Expectations
No sooner had those fateful words escaped mine lips than she rose as gracefully as a butterfly leaving its flower, and I, entirely too assured that she intended to leave, hung my head low in despair. But what was this? She grasped my hand in her own—and led me towards the front door, scarcely taking but a second to bid our kind host “Adieu.” As my carriage whisked us swiftly away into the warm summer’s eve toward Slaterton Manor, her hands—O! the hands of a goddess they were, soft as down, delicate and as light of touch as a hummingbird!—gently caressing my inner thigh, a lone thought gripped my mind: “Aw hell yeah! The Chet is getting laid tonight!”
Female Difficulties
Alas, that would prove to be the apogee of that midsummer’s eve. In what seemed to be no more than a single moment, we had retired to my bedroom and our garments lay strewn haphazardly about on the floor. Yet despite my overwhelming eagerness to copulate, I was stricken with the most malicious of afflictions. Where there should have been a rigidness of sorts, there was nothing but flaccidity! Despite both of our greatest efforts, the accursed limpness could not be cured. For the second time that evening, my heart weighed heavy with shame, and as she stood and dressed, I croaked meekly, choking back tears: “Dude, I swear to God that’s never happened to The Chet before. It’s just that you’re so freaking hot and, well, I don’t know . . . shit, man.”
Desperate Remedies
After she had departed, leaving me quite the quivering mess, I slept hardly a wink, tossing and turning the bleak night through, pressing my mental faculties for a solution to my misfortunes. In the wee hours of the morn, when the sun was just begin- ning its ascent in the Orient and the cock had not yet crowed, an idea struck me at last! Without delay, I rose from my sheets, as salty with tears as the sea walls along the Sussex Coast, and with all due haste made my way towards the apothecary, arriving just as he was removing the shutters from his windows. After hearing of my most dire predicament, he retreated into the rear of the shop to craft an elixir that might remedy my ills. Though it produced an odor so foul that it may well have been drawn straight from the sulfurous depths of hell, I swallowed it down in one tremendous gulp and departed immediately for the estate of my beloved, singing merrily to myself all the way: “Now that The Chet has found his cure, he’s gonna tap that ass, for sure!”
Heart of Darkness
After several minutes of tearful entreaty, she finally granted my heart’s deepest desire and permitted me one more pass at her beckoning loins. Fully confident that the apothecary’s drug had once and for all rid me of my affliction, I raced after her to the bedroom as a hunting dog after a hare, eager to display what I could only assume was my considerable skill. But alas! try as I might, I remained as lifeless and drooping as a rose, wilted in the sweltering heat of summer. Rather than the feelings of dejection to which I had been accustomed, however, a deep, fervent anger grew deep within my chest and I bolted from the room, back towards town, ready to avenge myself upon the apothecary who had deceived me so. Surely, the blame for my poor performance rested with him, not with my- self! When I arrived, pistol loaded, however, I discovered to my most unpleasant surprise that the building which I had believed to be the apothecary was in fact a decrepit shack, its shutters as broken and loose- hanging as my manhood, and that the man who had produced for me my remedy was himself nothing more than a common vagabond. In all my haste, I must have ignored these mi- nor details! (What I swallowed, then, to this very day, I know not.) As I trudged homeward, utterly defeated, I cursed the universe, shouting skywards: “This is literally the least chill thing that has ever happened to anybody ever. Don’t you know who I am?! I’m The Chet! Like actually, what the fuck, bruh?
The Invisible Man
In my seething anger, I grew careless with my step, and that is how I tumbled down the Elliots’ dried-up well on the outskirts of their property, where I remain to this very day. I am certain the townsfolk can hear my cries—in fact, several have gazed down upon me—but for a reason that eludes my grasp, known only to the gods, I suppose, nary an attempt on my rescue has been made. But I remain confident that the day of my salvation is nigh. Un- til that time, here I sit, occupying my idle time—O! were it not so endless!—recording my story, which undoubtedly shall rank among the finest of our age. There is, I happened to discover, yet another means of whiling away the hours. It would appear that the extent of my malady does not cover certain, dare I say, self-indulgences. O, fate! Most cruel mistress! Alas, I must bid thee farewell, for I feel the strength leaving my body, so woefully depleted of fluids. As my dying request, I beseech thee, whoever shall happen upon this tome, that you seek out Randy and let him know of my fate: “Dude, I heard he died nailing your cousin. What a freaking legend!”
– ARG ’18. Illustrated by AZ ’16.