You Can't Push It Underground

Now it’s not like Frank is someone who seeks out conflict. He’d say that he’s a pretty down to earth, friendly, loving guy, but there are some people who are just begging to be argued with.

That big brawny guy in line at the gas station tapping his foot when you take too long paying for your diet coke, he is just asking to be yelled at. The little six year old boy whose game of basketball you accidentally interrupted and started staring up to you with those eyes, he’s just asking to be scolded. The kid in your third period class who just joined the debate team the day prior, they’re just asking to have a rowdy discussion with you.

The one who’s really aggravating Frank though is that new bitch of a neighbor. Well it’s both of them to be exact, but it’s the woman that really gets on Frank’s nerves. A close-minded Mormon couple with twelve crucifixes in their entry way. They have seven bumper stickers that all spew religious garbage. One of them is an anti-abortion thing, another says that Satan will gladly take God’s rejects, another trying to debunk evolution, and a few more that are a little less polite than that.

Honestly, Frank believes in believing whatever the hell you want. He could not care less what you think, what you believe, or who you look up to, he just doesn’t want it to affect him. They’re your beliefs not his, and he doesn’t want to hear about it. Go suck up to your god, Frank’s going to go suck a dick.

The thing is that he’s never felt like he needed saving. He never felt like virginity was anything special that had to be saved, and he’s never seen the sense of depraving yourself of basic human decency just so that you can get the approval of someone who’s never proved themselves to you. He just wants to have sex with random strangers in the comfort of his own home without being lectured about the sanctity of it all. It doesn’t seem fair to him, he didn’t ask to have nosy neighbors!

The fact is that religion is not something that can be pushed down the throats of people. If you decline the embrace of Jesus once from your pushy neighbor, then they should accept that as your answer. What they should not do is stuff pamphlets under your door at all hours of the day, clutter your mailbox with God preaching stickers, and knock on your door at inconvenient intervals à la Kevin Price.

Mormons are the nice ones who hate you and think you're going to hell for all eternity where you will have stalagmites shoved up your ass for sinning, but never say it to your face. That’s what Frank’s neighbors are emanating every time he catches them looking at him evilly from their heavily draped parlor. It’s a ‘parlor’ because they’re arrogant pricks who think the term ‘parlor’ sounds posher then the proper term of living room. It’s a fucking living room, it’s not the Buckingham palace.

No matter how sugarcoated they like to make their words sound, Frank is not an idiot. They regard him as the utmost filth of humanity. The Sinclair’s want Frank to be an entirely different person than he is. Specifically they want him to be straight, clean, a virgin, unpierced, and without tattoos. Looks like they’re not going to get their way though. He isn’t going to change for anyone, most of all not those pricks.

“You could try putting a fence up, you know,” Brendon says.

“No it’s against the rules to put one up. I’d have to pay a fine or some shit, and it wouldn’t stop them. They’d attach signs to it and walk through the gate. I just have to put up with it.”

“What about not answering the door?” he asks.

Frank groans, “They never accept me ignoring the ringing doorbell though! If they even think I’m home they’ll ring that bitch for twenty minutes. They wake up at eight in the morning as well, and don’t understand that some people like sleeping in. Some people are fucking nocturnal, and don’t want to answer the door at ungodly hours!”

“Then it sucks for you, man,” Brendon snorts. Brendon, like most of Frank’s friends is a flamboyant homosexual, because having straight friends is strange. A lot of people can be like lemmings, they attract people of their kind, and often exclude others. It’s not like Frank is necessarily opposed to straight people, he just doesn’t know where to meet them. Where do you find an actual straight person in this day and age? Someone who’s not even a little gay?

“You could try telling them to piss off though,” Brendon says.

“You’d think they’d get the message when you say something like that, but they have temporary memory loss. Tried it once and they came back, so I tried bigger words, because I assumed their pompous little minds only understood Victorian English, but ‘I would be most gratified if thou would eradicate thine self from my cloistered residence forthwith or I shall be disposed to kickist thou where the solar rays do not gleam,’ didn’t work.”

“I take it they weren’t fond of that.”

Frank nods, “not particularly, no.”

“Ah, but the question is do they know you’re gay, or do they just want you to find your salvation?”

“I’d say that the likelihood of their knowing I’m gay is a little more than a possibility.”

Brendon frowns, “what did you do?’

“I may have brought home a good looking dude and opened the window while they were gardening.”

“You made them listen to you fucking?”

“I didn’t make them do anything, if they were eavesdropping then they have no one to blame but themselves.”

“You, my dear friend, are a smartass, and some day it is going to get you into a great bit of trouble,” Brendon states.

“What are they going to do? They’re Mormons! Mormons are the ones who act nice to your face, but think awful things about you behind your back.”

“You’re stereotyping,” Brendon points out.

“Oh shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that those two have been passive aggressive at best.”

“What you really need is a good boyfriend so you can have him answer the door for you. Someone nice, who will do it for you because he loves you,” Brendon says.

“That would be nice, but I’m a one-night stand kind of guy,” Frank replies.

“You just haven’t found him yet,” Brendon answers.

“God, Ryan has turned you soft hasn’t he?” Frank says.

“What can I say, I am a fool in love.”

“Whatever. Find me the right man, Brendon, and I’ll consider him.”

“Is that a challenge, Iero?” Brendon asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess so,” Frank shrugs.

“Want to make that a bet of sorts?” he asks with a wicked grin.

“What kind of a bet are we talking here?”

Brendon thinks for a moment and then opens his mouth cheerily and says, “I find you a guy that’ll answer the door for you, and who you’ll fall in love with. In return I get back the Les Paul you took from me in poker.”

“It’s not my fault you suck at reading people, and why should I give it back, I won that thing fair and square?” Frank replies.

“That would be the point of the bet, nimrod,” Brendon says. “Besides, you make more money than me, I can’t afford a new one.”

“Are those you’re parameters? You find me a boyfriend who’s going to fall madly in love with me, and all you want is my guitar?”

“Well he’s got to answer the door for you, and it can’t be one way. I’ll find you someone who you love back,” Brendon says.

Frank has never believed in love. Never ever. Ever never. Never ever ever never. Nuh-uh. Nope. A million times no with a side of hell no. There’s just no appeal to the idea. Attaching yourself to another person, and giving them the power to hurt you? What utter nonsense. It seems so impractical. Why the hell would anyone willingly chuck themselves down that rabbit hole? It’s illogical for one thing, and if Frank’s going to be honest, it’s just plain imbecilic.

Society is so negative about being alone. Apparently you’re only ever complete if you’ve got someone with you. Frank isn’t that stupid. He doesn’t need anyone to be complete, and he doesn’t really want anyone.

He’s not bitter about a failed romantic relationship as his mother, father, coworkers, friends, acquaintances, mailman, grocer, barber, therapist, doctor, superintendent, and dogs seem to think. Everyone is always trying to impend on his right to being alone, by trying to show him the wonder of love.

Frank kind of thinks that love is just a myth told to make people feel like they’re not completely alone on this shithole of a planet. Everyone’s clinging onto this rotating clump of space debris and they have the self-righteous idea that there’s a supernatural force pairing people up like people are nothing more than puppets? Frank believes more in radioactive penguins then love.

The irony is in the fact that Frank lives in a society which believes so wholeheartedly in love, that it’s actually considered wrong to not have anyone. Love is fact, and there’s no question about that. Frank sees it every day, everywhere he looks, but part of him doesn’t think it’s real. He thinks it’s just this fog that crawls over a person when they want to believe. If you want to believe in it, you will, but he’s smarter than that. He doesn’t want to be a part of that system, he just wants to walk alone, a permanent bachelor who’s shacked up with half of the male population of New Jersey. Just because he doesn’t believe in love doesn’t mean he doesn’t like getting dick, because he definitely likes getting dick.

Frank chuckles, “What a stupid wager! Ain’t no one out there I want to fall in love with. I don’t do love, I do meaningless fucking with near-strangers.”

“Whatever man, you in or out?”

“Well what do I get if you can’t find me this nonexistent human?”

Brendon thinks for another long moment before saying, “I’ll buy you a nice security system. Something so inconvenient they’ll be forced to just leave you alone.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Frank says, after thinking it over. It’s not a guarantee to keep them away, but it should do a lot to deter them. The Sinclair’s are very good at perseverance, but they strike him as the kind of people who are mortally terrified of having legal problems, so an alarm should scare them enough.

“So what d’ya want me to look for in the guy?” Brendon asks, looking like he’s just been given the biggest assignment of his life.

“Vibrant red hair,” Frank jokes.

“Yeah, okay, but what actually?”

“I like superficial boys, Brendon. An idiot, who isn’t smarter than me. Not prettier than me either, I want to be the eye candy. Oh, and make sure he doesn’t make me look like a dwarf.”

“But you are a dwarf,” Brendon remarks.

“Shut up,” Frank answers.

“Right fine, you have such impractical taste. No one actually wants an idiot with a six pack bulkier than his brain.”

Frank shrugs, “what can I say? I like ‘em dumb and sexy.”

“I’m not going to find you an idiot, Frank. You’re going to have to settle with someone who’s smart enough to hold a conversation. I’ll get you your perfect man, and you are going to love him like you love raunchy horror films. Then I’ll tell this story verbatim as I’m giving the best man’s speech at you two’s wedding.”

“Yeah whatever. Good luck, but I look forward to my new security system.”