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Gabe loves fan fiction. You Can Make It Up features his own personal alternate adventures starring some of our favorite characters.
Sad Keanu parked his car in front of the small house with the bundle of balloons tied to the mailbox and walked up the three cement steps to the screen door. The interior was dark and cool in that particularly comforting way that houses can have on a bright warm day when they take on a ghostly air of calm, and as Sad Keanu stepped across the threshold into the foyer, he paused for a moment. Down the hallway and through the kitchen, he could hear the shrieks of children laughing, elicited no doubt by the sprinkler he could hear chugging in the background. Out in the backyard, where cake still waited, and colorful elastic-banded party hats to be worn, Sad Keanu knew that the tiny bliss and untarnished excitement of a life entirely waiting and ready to be unfurled and discovered would wash over him like a warm wave of pure human joy. That was precisely why Sad Keanu had brought an extra sandwich with him.
Gary, the birthday girl’s father, let the barbecue tongs go limp in his hand as the backdoor creaked open. He turned to Stanley, his next door neighbor, who had brought his sons Ryan and Philip. “Oh, fuck me,” Gary said, “Sad Keanu is here.”
Without saying a word to anyone, Sad Keanu picked up a Thomas the Tank Engine party hat from the table and stared at it a moment before pulling the elastic under his chin and placing the cone atop his unwashed hair. He carried a present under his arm, which he added to the tall, bright pile of ribbon-tied boxes. At least, everyone assumed it was a gift. It was shapeless and wrapped in newspaper and appeared to be covered in grease stains. Sad Keanu walked slowly, hands in his pockets, to the swingset that Gary had purchased from Sears and installed himself. Sad Keanu sat on one of the swings, the plastic bowing deeply beneath his weight, and pulled out his sandwich.
“Get him out of here,” Barb hissed. “Gary, you get him out of here.”
“What do you want me to do?” Gary asked. “I didn’t invite him. God, look at him. It’s like the sadness is seeping through his skin.”
Sad Keanu took a bite of his sandwich and looked at his feet. Next to him, a group of children played some kind of complicated game that involved cowboys and indians, but also a princess, and there was lava? They wore swimsuits and carried squirtguns. They glowed. Their laughter was music. Mustard dripped from Sad Keanu’s sandwich and hit the dirt right next to his shoe. He looked at the mustard and drew the back of his wrist across his mouth. He looked at his wrist.
“How them dogs comin’?” a voice boomed from the back of the house. A thick-set man in a polo shirt tucked into madras shorts with a braided leather belt and Tevas sucking on a cigarillo pushed his way into the backyard, trailed by his beaming, pert wife in a pink sun dress and floppy straw hat. They each carried overstuffed bags spilling over with gifts, white wine, and the accoutrements of middle-class parenthood. Their faces were tanned and creased and satisfied. The children who followed after them a moment later were already shouting. They were rambunctious and selfish and arrogant, but they were children. Gary’s brother slapped him on the back and pulled another cigarillo from his breast pocket and handed it to Gary. Then he stuck his face way too close to the grill. “Looks good,” he said. He smelled like leather, and money. “These are done,” he motioned to some hot dogs that had withered and turned black. When he straightened up he realized that Gary had barely heard a word he’d said. And then he saw Sad Keanu.
“Oh,” Frank said. He turned to his wife, and tried to force happiness into his voice. “Look, Sandy, it’s Sad Keanu.” Sandy replied with a sharp intake of breath and gripped his hand tightly. “Ow,” Frank said, shaking free. “Your rings hurt when you squeeze that tight.” Sandy glared at him. Frank never liked what Sad Keanu brought out in her.
They served cake and opened presents. The children loved every second of it, obviously, but by now the parents were uneasy. The white wine was disappearing rather quickly, and the cooler full of Heineken and Amstel Light had very few Heineken and Amstel Lights left in it. Sad Keanu never moved from his seat on the swings. Was it possible, Peter Halloran, Melissa’s father, asked in a hushed voice, for someone’s face to actually slide off of their head?
When the wrapping paper had been cleared and the toys quickly discarded into the grass after two minutes of perfunctory play, the adults stood in a cluster near the grill as the food burned, watching Sad Keanu sit motionlessly, his hand wrapped around his second sandwich now, and his eyes completely fixed on the ground. A smell had begun to emanate from the present he had brought with him. Meanwhile, the children, beacons of unfettered, uninhibited, perfect human happiness ran in circles around Sad Keanu now. Just round and round, with no visible purpose, their faces illuminated with pleasure. It would have been a delight to see.
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Last reminder (from me, at any rate) because I’ll be on the road tomorrow:
Chicago Videogum Pizza Party
This Sunday, June 13, 7 p.m. -11:30 p.m.
Pequod’s Pizza (Lincoln Park location), 2207 N Clybourn avenue.
“You like this.”–Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=119136924795449
I’m not sure how we’ll recognize each other (I think if you just talk about Topher Grace in a loud voice and then look for people cheering and giving you repeated high fives, that’ll do), but there’ll be 10-15 of us or so. I’ll be wearing a special custom-made Videogum T-shirt I’ve had made just for the occasion (I’m not joking) so be on the lookout for that too.
I love how you’re still waiting for an RSVP from Tommy Wiseau.
Me n T Dubbz are close personal Facebook Friends
Tommy Wiseau told me if he lived in my town he would take me home. It made me feel good about myself and disgusted at the same time. This has nothing to do with anything, I just wanted to share my recent triumph/trauma.
Of course we have a pizza party in Chicago when I’m not in Chicago. Awesome life, thanks world.
We need to do a New England one of these, but there aren’t really any monsters here (I only know 3).
Alternately, I need to move somewhere with a higher concentration of commenters. Because that’s a completely valid and normal reason to move, right?
I would totes organize a New England Pizza Party! (Actually, I totes wouldn’t -I can’t even organizemy organizer -but I would defintely GO. If it was in Providence.)
I’m moving to Boston this fall, so wait until I get there. I enjoy pizza parties and moderate social activity.
Boston monster here! We should def have a welcome to New England Pizza Party for Mans! Then he/she (sorry I have no idea – I feel like Mans is some sort of intentional name misdirection) will feel like we’re really super warm and welcoming around here – even though we totes don’t know how to do that because Puritans! (And this is coming from someone who LOVES Boston.)
Thanks. That is very kind. I love Puritans.
That’s how I dress.
i’m in new england! i love pizza! (day old and moldy only pleaze)
Yay! I will wander aimlessly trying to listen in on every table’s conversation till I find you.
You can RSVP, or just look for the table with 15 people loudly discussing Gif Theory.
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=119136924795449&index=1
There will be an Oskar party too, don’t worry. Just tell me when and we’ll send a Welcome Wagon and a newsletter.
We should pretend it’s an AVClub party, start talking about The Hater and MYOF and COTD, and then as soon as the pizza’s ready just start grinding their faces in it.
Can’t make it to Chicago this weekend. Damn. Any Minneapolis monsters out there? MPLS Pizza Party!
Werrtrew’s all like, “FIRST!!!!!!!!” and the rest of us just roll our eyes and sit back with a smirk and our arms crossed shaking our heads. When will these trolls learn the rules and get some netiquette?
I sure hope the bald kid with the spoon wasn’t there.
Sandy: Sad Keanu would you like some cake
Keanu: Woah someone is talking to me, yes I would like a slice but I can not eat it with my fingers
Sandy: Why don’t you use a spoon
Keanu: There is no spoon :cries:
I logged in just to upvote this. It’s not enough but it’s something.
Adults can be so cruel.
CHEER UP, KEANU, THE HAWKS WON THE CUP!!!!!!
Hell Yeah!
In other news, are you coming on Sunday? PIZZA! WERTTREW! Also, Commenter, PIZZA!
I really want to come! I live downstate, so it’s more of a trip for me, but my roommate and I have been wanting to attend one of these. Chicago is much, much closer than New York.
No worries, there will be others. Maybe a CHAMELEON STREET SHINDIG
Poor Keanu.
I wish I could upvote this forever.
Achewood makes my soul tingle.
This reads like something that is really good to read.
This reads like a fucking John Cheever story.
Not to be Debbie Downer but does anyone else feel bad that some people don’t get to enjoy any privacy? I feel like if someone took a random picture of me and a bunch of complete strangers on the internet made fun of it I’d be pretty bummed.
I’d feel bad if Keanu Reeves wasn’t really Charlemagne and Paul Mounet and immortal.
what’s weird is…that’s why I was so sad, because I knew people would make fun of me…then someone took a picture of me being sad about being made fun of then made fun of it…it’s a lot like the Lost finale.
“They were rambunctious and selfish and arrogant, but they were children.”
-my favorite line, and ain’t it the truth.
My least favorite line: “Tevas sucking on a cigarillo” because that might be a displaced verb, but I’m not claiming to be professor english over here. King Kong ain’t got nothin’ on me
I can’t believe Gabe passed up a chance to appropriate the classic Francoism, “sucked off a cigarillo.”
You Can Make It Ups are currently THE highlight of my life. Really, thank you.
I’m going to assume mustard is the only ingredient in Keanu’s sandwich.
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Cheer up Keanu! as The Latest Dancer I’m here for you!
Sad Keanu had better not show up to the Banana Mango High School pool party next Saturday, I swear. to . God.
Sad Keanu waves his hand limply, batting away the buzzing things he’s hearing. Loud then soft. Then loud.
“Are these things in my head?” he asks the universe, because he can’t see them, these things.
“Yes and no,” says the universe. “Hmm,” says the universe, giving it some thought. “It’s debatable.”
“Are they bugs?” asks Sad Keanu.
“Yes and no.”
“A manifestation of the bugginess of the universe then.”
“Possibly. Getting warmer.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, but let me give you a tummy rub.”
The universe gives Sad Keanu a tummy rub and makes helicopter sounds with its mouth on his belly button.
“All better?”
“Yes.”
And then they fucked, Keanu and the universe, happily.
The end.
Glad you’re back!