Status: This story follows Pogo from his first show with Manson in 1990 to the day he left in 2006. For the record, I don't hate Manson, but he's going to be a big douche in this story. Also, as I said there will be some Pogo/Zim Zum, but mostly romantic stuff, probably no graphic sex or anything. When it c
Pogo's Playhouse
chapter 2
For the last five minutes, I’ve refused to break my gaze on him.
Gidget is sitting at his kitchen table, looking very uncomfortable and tugging on his green and purple dreads. He won’t look me in the eye, instead preferring to concentrate on the floorboards.
“Can you stop staring at me, please? It’s creeping me out.”
I shook my head. “No. I won’t leave or stop being a creep until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Absolute horseshit. I know when I’m being lied to, and you’re lying right now. Something’s bothering you, and you can tell me. I’ll keep it between us. You can trust me not to tell anyone else.” I ask in my best reassuring voice. While I’m fairly certain I knew what was wrong, I wanted him to admit it. I need to hear him say it.
Still staring at the floor, Gidget sighed. After a minute or so, in a barely audible voice, he finally said, “I’ve been doing heroin.”
My fear had been confirmed. I had seen the signs, he was always tired, overly fidgety, never had energy, and could become paranoid at the drop of a hat. Despite this, I wanted to pretend that he hadn’t fallen into the world of hard drugs. It really was a moronic mindset to have, as I couldn’t help him if I was in denial about his drug use.
Finally, he looked up at me with pleading eyes. “I need help, Pogo. I’ve tried to quit several times now, but I just can’t. Every time I tell myself, just one more fix and that’s it, then I’ll quit. But I never do, because I’m a piece of shit.”
“Don’t say that!” I snap, making him flinch. “Go pack your things.”
“Why?” he asked in a confused tone.
“I’m bringing you to my house. Call me crazy, but I think I have an idea that might help. Hear me out. You want to quit heroin cold turkey, right? My dad is a carpenter, so we’re going to stop at my parent’s house and pick up somethings. A thick chain, a steel plate, some bolts and a padlock. When we get to my house, I’m going to bolt the plate to the wall, fix the chain to the plate, put a collar on the chain, put it around your neck and keep it shut with the padlock. I’ll keep the keys on my person at all times, and I won’t take your collar off unless we have to go to band practice.” I explained, trying not to sound psychopathic as I do so.
Gidget stared at me quizzically and blinked a few times. “You’re going to keep me chained up in your house to prevent me from doing drugs?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Damn, really? I didn’t think you’d actually agree to that.” I said, feeling surprised.
“It’ll be cheaper than rehab. Plus, I trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me.... would you?”
I sat down right in front of him and look directly into his eyes. “No, of course not, why would you even ask that?” I inquire. Though I didn’t say it, it kind of stung to hear him say that. “As lame as it sounds, I’m always going to be here for you. Now get your stuff together, you’re going to be staying at my house for a while.”
He gets up to gather things like clothes and accessories, and I carefully follow and observe to make sure he doesn’t bring any drugs. I feel a bit bad about having to supervise him as if he’s a child, but it was for the best. When he had all of his stuff together, we left.
........................................................................................
“How does it fit?” I asked after closing the lock on Gidget’s collar.
He tugged on it a few times and yanked the chain before answering. “Its a little tight, but not too bad.”
“Good, I can’t have you suffocating. Now, this isn’t going to be a pleasant experience for you, as I imagine the withdrawals will start soon. However, I’ll try to make it less agonizing on your end. Since you’re a guest in my house, I’ll get you anything you want, except drugs.” I explained. “Also, your chain is thirty feet long, so you have access to this room, the bathroom and the kitchen.”
“What if I want to go upstairs and play your SNES?” he inquired. He’s been over to my house many times before, and thus knows its layout very well.
“I’ll bring it down here. To switch subjects, it’s past five, and I’m really hungry. If I make a pizza, will you have some?” I asked.
“Yeah, I could go for some pizza. Just nothing with sardines or some other weird shit on it.” Gidget replied.
I figure he was saying that because he knew that I had a hoard of canned sardines in one of my kitchen cabinets. They were in the highest cabinet, the one I never used, and they had been there when my rich grandparents bought me this house in 1989. I like to give them to random people just to see what their reaction will be. In fact, I had given one to Manson when he and I went on our first bro date.
I strode into the kitchen and preheated the oven. Immediately after that, I took the only two pizzas I currently have out of the freezer, one cheese, and one pepperoni, and spent a good five minutes contemplating which one I’d rather have.
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. I figured that it was probably Manson, as he came over all the time, and I had told him less than an hour ago that I was keeping Gidget chained up in my house.
I was disappointed to see a smiley, cheerful looking couple standing on my doorstep. Both of them oozed a nauseating level of up beat happiness. They were both brunettes, and were dressed in pastel colors, like they had just come from church.
“Good afternoon, sir! I’m Mark, and this is my wife Lydia. We’re from the brand new St. Elizabeth’s Christian church down the street.” the man explained.
“We were wondering if you’d be interested in joining us.” Lydia said, handing me a pamphlet.
“Do I look like a church going guy to you? I haven’t set foot in a church since I was eight.” I said. I’m currently wearing a pentagram necklace and a black T shirt that simply says ‘shit’ on it, and if that’s not a dead give away that I’m not a churchgoer, I don’t know what is.
“It’s never too late to let Jesus Christ into your life.” Lydia chirped.
“Let me think about it. In the mean time, would you like to come inside and read the Satanic Verses with me?” I invited.
Before either one of them could respond, I heard chains clattering behind me, and terror flashed across the bible hugger’s faces.
“SIN!” Lydia gasped, pointing a finger at me.
“Dear God, we’ve stumbled upon a homosexual torture lair!” Mark exclaimed with horror.
I turned around and saw Gidget standing in the doorway, looking very perplexed.
Deciding to further rustle the Jesus fanatic’s feathers, I proclaim, “Oh, that’s just Gidget, he’s my live in slave. He’s been naughty, so I have him confined.” in the most serious voice I could manage. As hard as it was not to giggle while saying it, I must have sold it well enough.
“It may be too late for this one, Lydia. Satan has a firm grasp on him. Let us pray.” Mark said.
“Yes. Repent, and let Jesus guide you.” Lydia instructed.
I slammed the door on them and made my way back to the kitchen.
“Who were they?” Gidget asked.
“A couple of bible humping Jesus freaks who probably think that sex for any purpose besides reproduction is a sin.” I say as I slid the pepperoni pizza in the oven and set the timer.
Since it’ll take fifteen minutes or so for the pizza to cook, I gathered my SNES from my bedroom and bring it downstairs along with a plethora of games.
I watched as Gidget failed to make it to the end of one of the mine cart levels in Donkey Kong Country. We take a break to eat the pizza, then go back to playing.
Several more attempts were made on Gidget’s part, each one resulting in the Kongs plummeting into the abyss.
“Give me the controller, I know a cheat.” I demanded.
Instead of suffering the loss of many lives, I used the secret warp barrel right away, which transported me to the end of the level.
Gidget gave me an accusing look. “Why didn’t you tell me that was there? It would have saved me ten lives!”
Instead of answering, I laughed in a half good natured, half sadistic fashion. In response, he picked up one of the pillows from the sofa and chucked it at my head. The pillow bounced off my forehead and landed directly in my hands. I had shaved my blood red chin length hair off a few days ago in favor of a Goth skinhead look, and I wasn’t quite used to it yet. The sensation of the pillow grinding into my head had definitely been a strange one.
“Now you’re asking for it, you bastard! Pillow fight!” I lunge across the sofa and smack him upside the head with the pillow.
Since he wasn’t the submissive type, he picked up a different pillow and proceeded to nail me in the face as I repeatedly whacked him with mine. It was nice and aggressive, the way a pillow fight should be.
Gidget suddenly dropped his weapon, looking defeated.
I raise a drawn on brow at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Here come the withdrawals. I haven’t done heroin in over twenty four hours, so my head hurts like a bitch.” he explained while massaging his temples.
“I’m afraid all I have is some Asperin.” I offered.
“I don’t want it. If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it the hard way and get it over with.” he said.
Even though it was only about seven o’ clock, he turned away from me and curled up on the far side of the sofa. “This is really going to suck.”
“Yes it will, which is why I’ll stay down here with you. Unless you don’t want me to.” I said.
“No, stay. Please.” he begged.
“Sure.” I sat down next to him on the couch. I picked up the tv remote and surfed through the channels for a while, but there was naught but crap on. Eventually I settled on some atrocious, low budget sci fi movie about a giant spider that terrorizes a small suburban town.
Eventually, I look to the side and see that Gidget had fallen asleep. It was a bit of an odd sight. While it wasn’t the first time he’d crashed on my sofa, I never thought I’d be keeping anyone chained up in my living room.
Night had fallen, but it wasn’t that late yet. Boredom overtook me, and the horrible movie I was watching began to lull me asleep. Normally I would have laughed at how incredibly pathetic the script and special effects were, but I didn’t want to awaken my guest. Since I didn’t have anything else to do, I laid back, shut my eyes, and fell asleep in no time.
...........................................................................
The ringing of the telephone jarred me from my slumber, startling me awake. I was far from pleased. Looking out the window, I saw that the sun was just barely beginning to rise. Who would call me at this ungodly hour?
I stumbled into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Hello? Who is this and why are you calling so early?” I asked.
“Pogo, you’re the world’s worst security guard.” Manson’s voice scolded over the line. “You must have fallen asleep, because Gidget got out.”
“What are you talking about? He’s right here in my....” I trail off as I peered into the living room only to find it deserted. The collar was open and laying in the middle of the floor. A quick search of my pockets proved them to be empty.
“Uh...shit.” was all I could think to say.
“I got a call from the hospital. Apparently he overdosed on heroin.” Manson continued.
“What?! He’s okay, right?” I asked in a panic, now wide awake.
“Yeah, he’ll live. But I’m sick of this, so I’m kicking him out of the band.” he said coldly. “I need you to come down to the studio, because I wrote up his termination contract, and the rest of us have all signed it. We just need your signature.”
I sighed. “Alright...I’ll be right there.” I said and hung up the phone.
.........................................................................................
Later that afternoon, I found myself in the cheaply decorated waiting room of a nearby hospital, holding the envelope in my hands.
I really, really regretted signing it, but I didn’t have much choice. Overall, I knew it was for the best. Still, I wished that I could dispose of it into the trash, but if I did that, Manson would probably have one waiting for me. He was my friend now, but he was the type of person who could suddenly turn against you with little to no warning. It was a risk I couldn’t take.
I approached the front desk, where a bored looking nurse sat, painting her nails. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotonous tone. The way she asked the question was a clear indicator that she hated her job with a passion.
“Yes, I need Brad Stewart’s room number. I have something I need to give him.” I state.
“Are you a family member?” the nurse questioned.
“Yeah, I’m his older brother.” I lie, hoping the nurse will buy it.
She typed something into her computer and it beeped. “Fifth floor, room 117. He’s not awake yet, so he won’t be able to hear anything you say.”
“That’s okay.” I said and began walking away.
I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and roamed the halls until I found his room. Instead of entering, I paced back and forth near the doorway for about ten minutes, most likely unnerving other patients as I did so.
I hate hospitals, I always have, and while I’m not an emotional guy, I hate seeing people I care about in such vulnerable positions. It makes me very uncomfortable.
After pacing for several more minutes, I collected my thoughts and was set on doing what I came here for.
I looked over the envelope one final time. Reading it was going to hurt, no doubt about it, and he would likely feel rather betrayed by us. To lessen the blow just a tad, I had snuck in a picture before sealing the envelope shut. It was one of the polaroids we had taken at Disney World earlier this year. Specifically, the one where we all posed with a guy in a Mickey Mouse outfit. I had written, “Please don’t hate me, Manson forced me to sign this thing” on the bottom of it.
I walked into the room, quickly dropped the envelope on the bedside table, and walked back out.
Gidget is sitting at his kitchen table, looking very uncomfortable and tugging on his green and purple dreads. He won’t look me in the eye, instead preferring to concentrate on the floorboards.
“Can you stop staring at me, please? It’s creeping me out.”
I shook my head. “No. I won’t leave or stop being a creep until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Absolute horseshit. I know when I’m being lied to, and you’re lying right now. Something’s bothering you, and you can tell me. I’ll keep it between us. You can trust me not to tell anyone else.” I ask in my best reassuring voice. While I’m fairly certain I knew what was wrong, I wanted him to admit it. I need to hear him say it.
Still staring at the floor, Gidget sighed. After a minute or so, in a barely audible voice, he finally said, “I’ve been doing heroin.”
My fear had been confirmed. I had seen the signs, he was always tired, overly fidgety, never had energy, and could become paranoid at the drop of a hat. Despite this, I wanted to pretend that he hadn’t fallen into the world of hard drugs. It really was a moronic mindset to have, as I couldn’t help him if I was in denial about his drug use.
Finally, he looked up at me with pleading eyes. “I need help, Pogo. I’ve tried to quit several times now, but I just can’t. Every time I tell myself, just one more fix and that’s it, then I’ll quit. But I never do, because I’m a piece of shit.”
“Don’t say that!” I snap, making him flinch. “Go pack your things.”
“Why?” he asked in a confused tone.
“I’m bringing you to my house. Call me crazy, but I think I have an idea that might help. Hear me out. You want to quit heroin cold turkey, right? My dad is a carpenter, so we’re going to stop at my parent’s house and pick up somethings. A thick chain, a steel plate, some bolts and a padlock. When we get to my house, I’m going to bolt the plate to the wall, fix the chain to the plate, put a collar on the chain, put it around your neck and keep it shut with the padlock. I’ll keep the keys on my person at all times, and I won’t take your collar off unless we have to go to band practice.” I explained, trying not to sound psychopathic as I do so.
Gidget stared at me quizzically and blinked a few times. “You’re going to keep me chained up in your house to prevent me from doing drugs?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Damn, really? I didn’t think you’d actually agree to that.” I said, feeling surprised.
“It’ll be cheaper than rehab. Plus, I trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me.... would you?”
I sat down right in front of him and look directly into his eyes. “No, of course not, why would you even ask that?” I inquire. Though I didn’t say it, it kind of stung to hear him say that. “As lame as it sounds, I’m always going to be here for you. Now get your stuff together, you’re going to be staying at my house for a while.”
He gets up to gather things like clothes and accessories, and I carefully follow and observe to make sure he doesn’t bring any drugs. I feel a bit bad about having to supervise him as if he’s a child, but it was for the best. When he had all of his stuff together, we left.
........................................................................................
“How does it fit?” I asked after closing the lock on Gidget’s collar.
He tugged on it a few times and yanked the chain before answering. “Its a little tight, but not too bad.”
“Good, I can’t have you suffocating. Now, this isn’t going to be a pleasant experience for you, as I imagine the withdrawals will start soon. However, I’ll try to make it less agonizing on your end. Since you’re a guest in my house, I’ll get you anything you want, except drugs.” I explained. “Also, your chain is thirty feet long, so you have access to this room, the bathroom and the kitchen.”
“What if I want to go upstairs and play your SNES?” he inquired. He’s been over to my house many times before, and thus knows its layout very well.
“I’ll bring it down here. To switch subjects, it’s past five, and I’m really hungry. If I make a pizza, will you have some?” I asked.
“Yeah, I could go for some pizza. Just nothing with sardines or some other weird shit on it.” Gidget replied.
I figure he was saying that because he knew that I had a hoard of canned sardines in one of my kitchen cabinets. They were in the highest cabinet, the one I never used, and they had been there when my rich grandparents bought me this house in 1989. I like to give them to random people just to see what their reaction will be. In fact, I had given one to Manson when he and I went on our first bro date.
I strode into the kitchen and preheated the oven. Immediately after that, I took the only two pizzas I currently have out of the freezer, one cheese, and one pepperoni, and spent a good five minutes contemplating which one I’d rather have.
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. I figured that it was probably Manson, as he came over all the time, and I had told him less than an hour ago that I was keeping Gidget chained up in my house.
I was disappointed to see a smiley, cheerful looking couple standing on my doorstep. Both of them oozed a nauseating level of up beat happiness. They were both brunettes, and were dressed in pastel colors, like they had just come from church.
“Good afternoon, sir! I’m Mark, and this is my wife Lydia. We’re from the brand new St. Elizabeth’s Christian church down the street.” the man explained.
“We were wondering if you’d be interested in joining us.” Lydia said, handing me a pamphlet.
“Do I look like a church going guy to you? I haven’t set foot in a church since I was eight.” I said. I’m currently wearing a pentagram necklace and a black T shirt that simply says ‘shit’ on it, and if that’s not a dead give away that I’m not a churchgoer, I don’t know what is.
“It’s never too late to let Jesus Christ into your life.” Lydia chirped.
“Let me think about it. In the mean time, would you like to come inside and read the Satanic Verses with me?” I invited.
Before either one of them could respond, I heard chains clattering behind me, and terror flashed across the bible hugger’s faces.
“SIN!” Lydia gasped, pointing a finger at me.
“Dear God, we’ve stumbled upon a homosexual torture lair!” Mark exclaimed with horror.
I turned around and saw Gidget standing in the doorway, looking very perplexed.
Deciding to further rustle the Jesus fanatic’s feathers, I proclaim, “Oh, that’s just Gidget, he’s my live in slave. He’s been naughty, so I have him confined.” in the most serious voice I could manage. As hard as it was not to giggle while saying it, I must have sold it well enough.
“It may be too late for this one, Lydia. Satan has a firm grasp on him. Let us pray.” Mark said.
“Yes. Repent, and let Jesus guide you.” Lydia instructed.
I slammed the door on them and made my way back to the kitchen.
“Who were they?” Gidget asked.
“A couple of bible humping Jesus freaks who probably think that sex for any purpose besides reproduction is a sin.” I say as I slid the pepperoni pizza in the oven and set the timer.
Since it’ll take fifteen minutes or so for the pizza to cook, I gathered my SNES from my bedroom and bring it downstairs along with a plethora of games.
I watched as Gidget failed to make it to the end of one of the mine cart levels in Donkey Kong Country. We take a break to eat the pizza, then go back to playing.
Several more attempts were made on Gidget’s part, each one resulting in the Kongs plummeting into the abyss.
“Give me the controller, I know a cheat.” I demanded.
Instead of suffering the loss of many lives, I used the secret warp barrel right away, which transported me to the end of the level.
Gidget gave me an accusing look. “Why didn’t you tell me that was there? It would have saved me ten lives!”
Instead of answering, I laughed in a half good natured, half sadistic fashion. In response, he picked up one of the pillows from the sofa and chucked it at my head. The pillow bounced off my forehead and landed directly in my hands. I had shaved my blood red chin length hair off a few days ago in favor of a Goth skinhead look, and I wasn’t quite used to it yet. The sensation of the pillow grinding into my head had definitely been a strange one.
“Now you’re asking for it, you bastard! Pillow fight!” I lunge across the sofa and smack him upside the head with the pillow.
Since he wasn’t the submissive type, he picked up a different pillow and proceeded to nail me in the face as I repeatedly whacked him with mine. It was nice and aggressive, the way a pillow fight should be.
Gidget suddenly dropped his weapon, looking defeated.
I raise a drawn on brow at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Here come the withdrawals. I haven’t done heroin in over twenty four hours, so my head hurts like a bitch.” he explained while massaging his temples.
“I’m afraid all I have is some Asperin.” I offered.
“I don’t want it. If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it the hard way and get it over with.” he said.
Even though it was only about seven o’ clock, he turned away from me and curled up on the far side of the sofa. “This is really going to suck.”
“Yes it will, which is why I’ll stay down here with you. Unless you don’t want me to.” I said.
“No, stay. Please.” he begged.
“Sure.” I sat down next to him on the couch. I picked up the tv remote and surfed through the channels for a while, but there was naught but crap on. Eventually I settled on some atrocious, low budget sci fi movie about a giant spider that terrorizes a small suburban town.
Eventually, I look to the side and see that Gidget had fallen asleep. It was a bit of an odd sight. While it wasn’t the first time he’d crashed on my sofa, I never thought I’d be keeping anyone chained up in my living room.
Night had fallen, but it wasn’t that late yet. Boredom overtook me, and the horrible movie I was watching began to lull me asleep. Normally I would have laughed at how incredibly pathetic the script and special effects were, but I didn’t want to awaken my guest. Since I didn’t have anything else to do, I laid back, shut my eyes, and fell asleep in no time.
...........................................................................
The ringing of the telephone jarred me from my slumber, startling me awake. I was far from pleased. Looking out the window, I saw that the sun was just barely beginning to rise. Who would call me at this ungodly hour?
I stumbled into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Hello? Who is this and why are you calling so early?” I asked.
“Pogo, you’re the world’s worst security guard.” Manson’s voice scolded over the line. “You must have fallen asleep, because Gidget got out.”
“What are you talking about? He’s right here in my....” I trail off as I peered into the living room only to find it deserted. The collar was open and laying in the middle of the floor. A quick search of my pockets proved them to be empty.
“Uh...shit.” was all I could think to say.
“I got a call from the hospital. Apparently he overdosed on heroin.” Manson continued.
“What?! He’s okay, right?” I asked in a panic, now wide awake.
“Yeah, he’ll live. But I’m sick of this, so I’m kicking him out of the band.” he said coldly. “I need you to come down to the studio, because I wrote up his termination contract, and the rest of us have all signed it. We just need your signature.”
I sighed. “Alright...I’ll be right there.” I said and hung up the phone.
.........................................................................................
Later that afternoon, I found myself in the cheaply decorated waiting room of a nearby hospital, holding the envelope in my hands.
I really, really regretted signing it, but I didn’t have much choice. Overall, I knew it was for the best. Still, I wished that I could dispose of it into the trash, but if I did that, Manson would probably have one waiting for me. He was my friend now, but he was the type of person who could suddenly turn against you with little to no warning. It was a risk I couldn’t take.
I approached the front desk, where a bored looking nurse sat, painting her nails. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotonous tone. The way she asked the question was a clear indicator that she hated her job with a passion.
“Yes, I need Brad Stewart’s room number. I have something I need to give him.” I state.
“Are you a family member?” the nurse questioned.
“Yeah, I’m his older brother.” I lie, hoping the nurse will buy it.
She typed something into her computer and it beeped. “Fifth floor, room 117. He’s not awake yet, so he won’t be able to hear anything you say.”
“That’s okay.” I said and began walking away.
I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and roamed the halls until I found his room. Instead of entering, I paced back and forth near the doorway for about ten minutes, most likely unnerving other patients as I did so.
I hate hospitals, I always have, and while I’m not an emotional guy, I hate seeing people I care about in such vulnerable positions. It makes me very uncomfortable.
After pacing for several more minutes, I collected my thoughts and was set on doing what I came here for.
I looked over the envelope one final time. Reading it was going to hurt, no doubt about it, and he would likely feel rather betrayed by us. To lessen the blow just a tad, I had snuck in a picture before sealing the envelope shut. It was one of the polaroids we had taken at Disney World earlier this year. Specifically, the one where we all posed with a guy in a Mickey Mouse outfit. I had written, “Please don’t hate me, Manson forced me to sign this thing” on the bottom of it.
I walked into the room, quickly dropped the envelope on the bedside table, and walked back out.
♠ ♠ ♠
I haven't forgotten about this, but updates will probably be slow.