Eight Days a Week Page #3

My parents think I'm going

to college in the fall.

I'm not going to college so I can be

a jerk with a degree...

...who assistant-manages

a Burger King.

"Would you like fries with that, please?"

No way.

- So you're just gonna give up?

- Yep.

- And I suppose you want me to give up too?

- Exactly.

You gotta become comfortably numb.

You can't let anyone

or anything disappoint you.

You gotta be self-sufficient.

I mean, look at me.

Do I need a girl like Erica? No.

Since you're gonna be here all summer,

mind if I use your mailing address?

- What for?

- I sent away for something...

...and I don't want my mom

to accidentally open it.

So I figured you'll be out here,

you can intercept it before anyone gets it.

- okay, I guess.

- Yes.

Hey. But admit it...

...sometimes you wish

you had a girlfriend.

No way.

Blockbuster, Domino's Pizza...

...Rosy Palm and her five friends...

...are all I need

for a great Saturday night.

Maybe if you're 14.

okay, you do have a point.

Sometimes I do need to spice up

my love life a little bit.

I'd like you to meet

my date for the evening, Peter.

You know, I read in Barely Legal

magazine about this guy...

...he got off humping fruit.

You're a sick puppy.

The sun is gonna make it

nice and warm.

Just like the real thing.

Well, what about the seeds?

Come on. I'm not gonna go down on it.

I amused myself

by watching the neighborhood.

Life is my TV.

And it was a little more interesting

than network television.

There was Mr. Mays.

My parents think he works

for the CIA or the FBI.

It's because every time

he comes home...

...he drives around the block

again and again...

...to make sure he's not being followed.

There's a kid on the street

that's a pyromaniac.

Matt made sure his parents

had left him alone in the house.

Bye, guys.

He then went to the upstairs bathroom

to make amore with his watermelon.

And the guy across the street.

I forget his name.

But he seems so sad.

His wife has cancer.

He dutifully takes her out

for a breath of fresh air every day.

It's a good thing Erica isn't around.

I got a woody watching Ms. Lewis

work out to Buns of Steel.

And pull. And pull. And pull.

Mr. Mays put in a second lap.

The crazy lady next door

eats her dinner in the car.

I was dismayed to see history

repeating itself.

Maybe Matt is right.

Some people are born

with the a**hole gene...

...and some of us aren't.

There was nothing much happening

to keep me amused at night.

At about 10, I saw Matt go out

to the upstairs balcony.

If he had been in there all that time...

...that watermelon now had

more holes in it than a Wiffle ball.

Only the crazy lady was out.

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