You Suck: A Love Story

then, after P.J. did a Google search for gang colors, they settled on orange do-rags, since no gang seemed to claim that one.
    “Highway Safety Posse, yo,” Monet had said.
    “Yo, Stone Tangerine Thugs, yo,” suggested Fly.
    “Yo, yo, yo, check it out,” said P.J., with enough hand gestures that any deaf person watching would have thought he had ASL Tourette’s syndrome. “Cheesy Goldfish Crew.”
    “Yo, dog, that’s so stupid it’s not stupid,” Monet said.
    “Is that good?” asked Fly.
    “Yo, dog, get in character.” Fly was a bad actor. They were all in the same acting class.
    He should have just hired real gangsters to do this. P.J. was probably going to trip over the legs of his
    track pants and completely ruin their intimidation.
    “This is it,” Fly said, pulling off the street, right up onto the sidewalk of the Embarcadero by the Ferry Building. “That him?”
    “That’s him,” Monet said. There was no one around but the occasional passing car, but the new statue guy still stood there.
    “Remember,” Fly said. “Walk. Don’t run up. Just walk, like you got all the time in the world. Use your sense memories.”
    “Right, right, right,” Monet said. He and P.J. got out of the car and quickstepped across the bricks to where the statue guy was running his game. Damn, he was good, didn’t even flinch.
    As he reached the statue guy, Monet raised the Glock and the barrel connected with the statue’s forehead. “Bi yatch!” There was a dull clank.
    “Whoa,” P.J. said. “Nigga really is a statue.”
    Monet tapped the statue, three dull clanks. “Yep.”
    “But he got all that money in his shoes,” P.J. said.
    “Well, take it, stupid,” Monet said.
    “Yo, step off, Monet. I’m not the one that got upstaged by a statue.”
    “Shut up,” Monet said.
    P.J. was grabbing handfuls of bills out of the Big Gulp cups at the statue’s feet and shoving them into his pockets. “Must be a G here, G.”
    “Yo,” Monet said. “Help me get the statue into the car.”
    P.J. stood and got one shoulder under the statue and tried to lift it, while Monet tucked the gun in his pants and got under the other. They dragged the statue only a couple of feet before they had to set it down and catch their breath.
    “Motherfucker heavy,” P.J. said.
    “Would you guys come on!” Fly screamed from the car, totally out of character now.
    “Fuck this,” Monet said. This whole thing was just too embarrassing. He’d paid rent on the gun, hadn’t he? He drew the Glock from his waistband and squeezed one off at the statue.
    “Shit,” P.J. said, ducking. “Are you crazy?”
    “Bi-atch need to learn a-” Monet’s comment was choked off.
    P.J. stood up and looked back. There was smoke streaming out of the bullet hole in the statue, and in the second he watched, it had formed into a hand and grabbed Monet by the throat. P.J. turned to run, but something caught the hood of his tracksuit and yanked him back off his feet. He could hear Monet gagging and choking. Then he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck and he felt suddenly light-headed.
    The last thing he saw was Fly peeling away in the Honda.

17 – Being the Chronicles of
    AbbyNormal:
    Newly Baptized Minion of the Children
    of the Night
    Bow before me, skeezy mortals, for now I see you for the pathetic little rodents that you are. Scurry before my dazzling darkness, daysters, for I am your mistress, your queen, your goddess-I have been brought into the fold-I am Abigail Von Normal, NOSFERATU, bitches!
    Sort of.
    OMG. It was so fucking cool-like coming twice with Skittles and a Coke. I was in the loft, spacing into my jams on my MP3 player. I had downloaded the latest Dead Can Dub CD (Death Boots Badonka Mix) at the Starbucks and it was totally transcendent. I was transported to an ancient Romanian castle, where everyone had done X and was dancing totally chill and sensuous (with perfect hair). I was grinding a free-form booty dance on the armchair-perfecting my dance gestalt-when I saw some smoke coming in under the door. (I can’t wait to dance with Jared to this new CD. He’s so going to love this move I do. That’s what I love about dancing with gay guys. If they get wood during a booty dance, you can just take it as a compliment, not an agenda. Jared said that if I was a guy, he would totally suck my dick. He can be so sweet.) So I pulled out one of my headphones and I was like, “Whoa, fire in the staircase-sucks to be