Today, I had just met Teddy Baker for brunch when we got attacked with a knife.
It was Bob. He didn’t announce himself like that. IIIIIIIT’S BOOOOOB (that looks like someone is saying Boob not Bob but whatevs). He jumped out from a stairwell and jabbed a knife in the air between Teddy Baker and me.
We were both tired but we felt we owed it to the internet to meet up and record a viddy-cast about our meeting, try and sum up the evening we’d had, try and sum up the feeling of making that connection.
We had been talking about the weather and then rehashing the events of last night and suddenly, we were being jabbed at by Bob.
‘Teddy,’ he shouted. ‘Get away from the sand nigger.’
‘Bob, what the fuck are you doing?’
‘Teddy Baker, get away from the sand nigger.’
I obviously took offence to this. Who did this cracker redneck city motherfucker think he was? So I grabbed the wrist of his hand with the knife and pulled it down to the pavement and stomped on his fist with my boot (thank you, Ted Baker) and he let go. But this cracker redneck motherfucker wasn’t going quietly. He uppercut me. On the chin. And I stumbled backwards.
Sand nigger? It wasn’t even factually accurate. It’s double-racism against anyone from the Middle East and black people and I am neither of those things. Fucking idiot. Got me using words I’m not comfortable with on my own blog. Don’t flame me, bros.
He fell over, clutching his hand, but kicked out at my legs and caught me on my bad knee, from an old bike accident. I fell over, but on top of him, so I attempted an elbow drop, but he punched upwards and caught me in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe. Teddy Baker just stood back and watched. Was this who he was? A coward? I leaned into Bob and tried some close punches. He tried the same. We were rolling around and throwing in as many small punches as we could.
Bob smacked me around the temple and pushed me off him. He stood up and looked at me, on the floor, winded and bleeding, my hair a mess.
‘Teddy, come on, buddy, let’s go.’
‘Sure, Bob … I …’
I tried to get my breath back. I spluttered like I was trying to talk, and they were very gentlemanly in waiting for me to spit out what I wanted to say. ‘I … Te …. Ted … … ….. Tedd … … … … TED … … … … … … … … …. TED. TED … TED. TED. Teddy Baker, you are nothing like me,’ I said. ‘You were supposed to save me. You were supposed to be my doppelganger. I even got a tattoo to cement the deal. A copycat doppelganger tattoo. You were supposed to change my life. You’re an idiot. You know that. I realised something, just now while your mate was racially abusing me and punching me in various marine pressure points, like he’s been training to take down darkies professionally for a while now. I don’t understand how you could possibly have that cool-ass tattoo and be the most boring anti-awesome person I have ever met. Matter has anti-matter. I am Aziz. You are anti-Aziz.’
‘That detective told you I got arrested for making home-made explosives didn’t he?’
‘No. What the hell?’
‘I was young. I was an asshole.’
‘Still … what were you planning to blow up?’
Bob threw his whatever hands at me. I pulled myself up onto a stoop. He tugged at the skin around his tattoo, straightening his skin bow tie.
‘It was a drunken bet,’ he said, playing scuffed toes with his trainers. ‘I was out with Bob and some girls that we were into and they all kept calling me straight-laced. They all dared me to get a tattoo that would get me fired. So I got this because … I don’t know, I can’t remember the exact reason. I was drunk. But yeah, I got it. And I got fired for having it. And ever since, I’ve been trying to take control of it. Ever since I got this tattoo, everything’s been going to shit for me. I got fired, I had to move back in with my mum, I lost 100 followers on Twitter … lots of shit stuff, man. I hate it. When you showed up, I thought my luck would change. But you’re rocking that tattoo. I’m going to get mine removed. It’s brought me nothing but trouble. You have swagger. I have a tattoo I hate. You see, this tattoo changed my life. It became a curse for me. For you, it seems to be your life-blood. I hate it.’
‘You can’t actually get it removed just yet. Not for 3 more years,’ Bob said. ‘Remember?’
‘The contract. But isn’t the contract void? We didn’t sleep together in the end.’
‘But … come on.’
‘COME ON … Bob. No one cares what you think,’ I said.
‘Don’t talk to Bob like that,’ Teddy Baker said, indignant.
‘Oh my god, you’re not the guy I want you to be, Teddy Baker,’ I said. Bob ran towards me screaming but I was ready and I held out the heel of my palm at the optimum time and caught Bob on his chin. He dropped to the floor. ‘What’s his fucking deal?’ I asked.
‘Bob’s mum … her cleaner died on 9/11.’
‘Right, okay … shit. Wait, what? What’s this got to do with me? And his racism?’
‘Oh, he’s just a racist. A really nasty racist.’
‘His mum’s cleaner. Fuck me, that’s tenuous. North tower?’
‘No, heart attack. On 9/11. A couple of years ago.’
‘So, what’s his problem?’
Teddy Baker shrugged.
‘You’re a dullard,’ I said to Teddy Baker. ‘But it was nice meeting you. I believe the rest of New York has a lot of swag to offer me so I’m going to leave you be now.’
I shook Teddy Baker’s hand.
‘Stay in touch, homeboy,’ he said.
‘Whatever, homeboy,’ I said.
But Bob was not done. He stood up and socked me in the mouth with a knuckle duster on his fist. I fell back to the ground and cracked the back of my head on a stoop.
Bob laughed and they both walked off together in the direction Teddy Baker and I had been headed. I lay there for a few minutes and wondered exactly what had happened. Maybe meeting people off the internet isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. But then, while I was lying there recuperating, I checked my Blendr and realised I was on the stoop of a girl looking for ‘whatever’. I messaged her. She messaged me. I messaged her that I needed some medical attention urgently. She came down and helped me up to her apartment. There she fixed me up. She put cold compresses on the back of my head and cleaned up my cut lip. She gave me a happy ending while I told her my story and this girl, this Della, well, she ruined my only pair of jeans with my own spuzz because I was so tense and came so hard, it went everywhere. Girl can tug, ya get me. So that’s a win for meeting strangers off the internet.
There are 17 comments for this blog:
GustaveGrimes: I’m going to meet you at the airport tomorrow with a screwdriver and rape your arsehole with it.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: You’re taking all the romance out of it.
GustaveGrimes: You should have killed yourself out there.
Teddy Baker: Hey Aziz, So much for state secrets, eh? Anyways, I was just letting you know I’m getting my tattoo removed. I’ve got job interviews in the next few weeks and I think it’s time to be more professional. Anyways, thanks for documenting the good times. Boring though?
GustaveGrimes: Teddy Baker, fuck off.
df232: Hey Aziz, I’m in London. Call me. I’m at the Old Street Travelodge. Room 323.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Teddy Baker, my friend, it’s been a journey. If there’s one thing I ask, keep the tattoo. To remember me by. And boring? Come on. Have a long hard look at yourself. @GustaveGrimes – go fuck yourself.
Teddy Baker: Fuck you Gustave. At least I use my real name.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Keyboard warriors, mate. It takes all sorts.
Teddy Baker: I got the job by the way. And the guy didn’t mind the tattoo. I work in web development now. Need a website? I’m not cheap but I can sort you out.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: We’ll talk. ps give Bob a kiss from me.
Teddy Baker: Bob says you have unfinished business.
df232: Fuck you Aziz.
GustaveGrimes: Jeez-us Aziz, you really do write shit, don’t you? That’s why we’re not in a band. But every fucking day I have to hear about your bullshit from people. You will not leave my life and I’m fucking sick of it. Look, just take this paltry time you’ve been given and fuck off okay?
df232: I hate you, Aziz.
AZIZWILLKILLYOU: Not as much as I hate myself, darling.
Jimmy329: Hi, I’m a literary agent and just wondered if you’d ever thought of turning these blogposts into a book. I think there’s something here. Would love to talk some more about it. How do I get in contact?