You Suck: A Love Story

them into the minivan, these two cops come by.
    And they’re all, “So, what are you doing with your piercings and your magenta-on-black hair, and what can we do to further repress your creativity? Bluster-blah-blah.”
    And Jared was all, “Nothing.” All wussy and guilty-sounding. He had the front end of the Countess at the time and he totally just dropped her headfirst on the floorboard of the van.
    So I was like, “Fucktard! The Countess is going to rip your nads off when she awakens!” (And she might, too, although when we unwrapped her she seemed unbruised.) And the cop was all, “Hold it right there, kid.” With his hand on his gun like I was going to go all Columbine on his ass or something. So I knew it was time for some strategy.
    So I stepped over to the cop, and I started whispering like I didn’t want Jared to hear. And I’m all, “Officer, I’m really embarrassed to even be seen like this. I’m a Kappa Delta pledge and we’re doing this hazing thing. I wouldn’t be caught dead dressed like this, but it’s like the most popular and powerful sorority on campus.”
    And the cop is all, “What about the guy? He’s not in your sorority.”
    And I was all, “Shhhhhhh. God, you want to hurt her feelings? They made her shave her head like that and she’s having a hard enough time with that and being totally flat chested. Frankly, I don’t think she’s going to make it. Everyone knows that KKDs are pretty. Hello.” I batted my eyelashes and sort of pushed my basically invisible boobs together with my arms, as I have often seen done in music videos.
    And the cop was all, “Can I see your student ID?”
    And I was like, FUCK, because I didn’t know which college would be most likely to have a sorority, so I went with myBerkeley student ID, becauseBerkeley is a well-known bastion of hippie behavior and higher learning in which a sorority girl would probably have to blow like a hundred football players just to keep her GPA up. And cops like football.
    So he was all, “Okay, but make sure there’s plenty of airholes so your friends can breathe.”
    And I was all, “Sure thing. See ya later, cop.”
    So when we got the masters to Jared’s house, his stepmom was all, “So, I see you have your little friend with you.”
    And Jared had to play chilly, so he was like, yeah, we have a school project. And stepmonster was so proto orgasmic that Jared was with a girl that she didn’t even say much when we dragged the bodies through the den. Jared was all, “They’re for social studies. We’re doing replicas of Egyptian mummies.”
    Despite the complete embarrassment for me as a fellow woman, I’m grateful that when fathers pick their trophy wives, they don’t check resumes or SAT scores, because you couldn’t get away with that shit with a woman of normal intelligence. But Jared’s stepmonster was all, “Oh, how nice for you. Would you like some juice?” Fortunately she wasn’t around in sixth grade when Jared and I actually did our mummy project. We got in trouble for charging three hundred dollars’ worth of Ace bandages on my mom’s Visa, and my sister Ronnie has never fully recovered the feeling in her feet (and has an anxiety attack whenever she’s in an enclosed space). But there was no gangrene or amputations like the doctors threatened, and we got a B, so I don’t see what all the noise and counseling was about.
    Anyway, after we unwrapped the Countess, I knew I had to go back and feed Chet, like I promised the disgusting huge cat guy, and since we had now shared a moment of intimacy, I felt obligated. So we shoved the vampyre Flood under Jared’s bed, because Jared wanted to sit on the bed and play Xbox and it’s a single bed. So, anyway, I caught the bus onTwenty-fourth Street, and got back to the SOMA with just enough time to feed Chet before the old naked vampyre awakened from his undead slumber.
    And I took Jared’s dagger with me in my biohazard messenger bag, because I thought I would dispatch Elijah by decapitation as, like, an extra-credit thing for the Countess.
    Shut up. It wasn’t like I went down in the basement in my nightgown to check on a blown fuse when the radio clearly had stated that there was a psycho killer on the loose and he was probably in the basement.
    I’m not stupid. I put on Jared’s motocross boots and his leather jacket and spiked dog collar, and tied my hair back, so I was totally Thunderdome-ready. How hard could it be to feed the cat