MEET KYLE PART 2

Kyle called me back. He needs to explain. After all, he threatened the testicles of a guy in Florida. (see below Meet Kyle I)

"Kyle..."

"Sorry 'bout the other day, man. The whole freak out. It was like I mixed brown acid with battery acid and chased it with the diarrhea from the E-Trade baby."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

"Really?!"

"No..."

"Oh...so, what got me all Hulk-like the other day was a thing I read on the web. An 83 year old semi-retired doctor in Florida claims he discovered the G spot from rooting around in a cadaver in Poland."

"Did he first have to buy the cadaver dinner?"

"This is serious, man. My reputation is at stake here."

"Your reputation... you mean for training dogs to bark the alphabet? For emptying grocery stores by yelling "Rat!"? Which reputation exactly?"

"What's my nickname?"

"G."

"Where do you think that came from?"

"Your last name...Gee. Kyle Gee."

"Think again."

"I've thought enough already."

"I got the nickname because I'm the first to find the G-Spot."

"You and every other guy on the planet except for maybe Rick Santorum."

"No really. But not only the G-Spot. If Magellan and Vasco Di Gama combined their sperm with Sir Edmund Hillary and Waldo and that cocktail was in vitro-fertilized with Amelia Earheart,- she's alive, man everybody knows that... she's in Australia chillin' with that tall bald headed dude from Midnight Oil. A fact's a fact - nine months later she'd give birth to me. I am the original sexplorer. I have mapped the female sexual landscape and can give tours just not in any vehicle that has air-conditioning because it messes with my sinuses. So, you ready to hear how it all started?"

Kyle's on a roll. You probably have things to do. He doesn't which is why he'll go on for another hour. I'm putting the phone down. I have to pick up groceries, do laundry, figure out if the Higgs Boson particle exists. He'll still be talking. But then he wouldn't be Kyle if he stopped.

MEET KYLE PART 1

I received a call from my friend Kyle and he wasn't happy. In fact, he was incensed and very close to being inflamed. You don't want to be around Kyle when he's inflamed - you can get burnt. He carries matches for such occasions and will take one out, strike it up and find a patch of skin on your body. Kyle believes in sharing his inflammation. It explains why his friends wear long sleeves in his presence...long sleeves covered in fire retardant. Kyle's not invited to many formal occasions.

"Kyle, can this wait? I'm packing a lunch. It's gonna be a long therapy session."

But it couldn't wait. Nothing can ever wait with Kyle. The man goes through life like a snowplow without brakes. Not with broken brakes. Without brakes. It's like Kyle came from a factory that produced snowplows without brakes. We can only hope Kyle was the last one on the line. 

"What's going on?"

"The G spot," he says.

"Sure," I say.

"Dude in Florida lies, man. He lies through his balls which, if I ever meet him, I will cut off and make into a puppet...a Fidel Castro puppet...so that every Cuban in Miami can whack them with their shoes."

Kyle was more incoherent than normal. Whatever had him by the short hairs...was pulling.

"A plane ticket to Florida...what'll that set me back? Forget it. Flying crushes my self-esteem. Just a sec. I have to go masturbate."

"Thank you for that, Kyle." And he hung up. But I knew he'd be back. Like teal.