Julian Belvedere of (King Hamburger Pimp and) the Sundance Kid will return with his regular column next week. Until then, please enjoy this piece he wrote…
When I graduated college I moved into an apartment with Books and Jersey Dave. I could write extensively about either of them.
Jersey Dave had this Everyman demeanor that made him non-threatening and hard to dislike. In many ways he was so comical he seemed scripted. He habitually left dirty socks everywhere. Jersey Dave always had a Four-Loko in a paper-bag for a nightcap. The irony of caffeine and alcohol in preposterous amounts never struck him.
The nights he didn’t sleep at his girlfriend’s apartment he spent hanging about his room, which I suppose he thought was reputable in comparison to the living room, where Books and I were – the details of which are another story. Jersey Dave’s room was the most decorated, with Books’ being next, and my own solely comprised of a coffee table and a mattress on the floor. While both my roommates had box springs, it was Jersey Dave with the motifs.
First, he hung a copy of CM Coolidge’s dogs playing poker. Opposite was a mirror with Natural Light printed over it. You’d want a glimpse of your hair before heading out, but instead you’d have a very accurate idea of how you’d look with Nat tattooed on your face. For aesthetic harmony he included variations featuring Corona, Jagermeister and, randomly, Svedka vodka. On his desk he had a computer whose monitor that looked like it was bought at auction from the public library. Given his complaining about it, he had never cleaned the hard-drive either. At one point, Books had to use it to fix our Internet connection.
Dude, before I could even do anything I had to install like six years worth of updates on Jersey Dave’s computer.
Beside his computer was this ashtray that was so overloaded it looked like a figurine he’d bought at the Krakatoa gift-shop. This wouldn’t merit mention, except as it filled to capacity’s maximum capacity, he would ash in empty Four-Loko cans. As he became drunker, though, he’d eventually ash in the one he was drinking out of. When this happened, you’d hear a voice from the back of the apartment yell, Awwww, DICK!
Dick was Jersey Dave’s choice expletive. He used it whenever life caused him disappointment.
Then he’d walk out of his room, Four-Loko in hand, and tell you how he got distracted playing X-Box Live. The whole time he’d be in his boxers, the outline of his penis pointing through the fabric. You’d find it distracting trying to remind yourself to not be distracted by it. He’d scratch himself while you talked.
Jersey Dave’s body is exactly as you imagine it.
Sometimes Jersey Dave would get high. If you ever found yourself in his company at 2AM, you might be invited to join him in his layer. There, sedated on a broken kitchen chair, he’d insist you watch classic Bruce Springsteen.
Okay, whatever dude.
Three things without a bottom:
1) The Internet
2) The National Debt
3) The Boss’ live footage
A fourth would be Jersey Dave’s knowledge of the Third in relation to the First.
What I can tell you about the Boss: He has a saxophonist in his band. His name is Clarence. He is big and black. When Bruce first met him, he thought he was being robbed.
Jersey Dave had a beautiful girlfriend everyone envied him for. To be fair, he is a handsome guy; he actually has an uncanny resemblance to Bruce Springsteen. What’s more is back then he was the lead singer of a band. He had a nice voice with what I would consider a soulful intonation. So fond of this was he that he tatted it on his forearm: Soul. The ‘S’ was a treble clef.
Dude, why do you have ‘School’ tattooed on your arm?
It says ‘Soul’. That’s a treble clef.
His girlfriend was this porcelain brunette that had a body without mark or blemish. Her personality was similarly unmarked. Jersey Dave secretly had a fetish for Asian girls though.
Dude, those little Asian girls drive me fucking wild – just something about ‘em.
Sometimes, he would hang out with our friend Crazy Legs, a pigeon toed jazz musician with a chronic weed habit. Crazy Legs sold on the side, including to Jersey Dave. The two of them loved to get drunk and high together. From doing this routine for years they’d developed certain rituals. The weirdest involved Crazy Legs showering in the dark with only a strobe-light on, while Jersey Dave stood on the toilette playing the didgeridoo. On these nights Jersey Dave barely made it home. He certainly didn’t go to his girlfriend’s apartment.
Half way through the year, Jersey Dave was constantly wondering where his money went. He kept examining his online bank records but couldn’t find any irregularity. Meanwhile, our mailbox had these periodic pamphlets about saving the Thai rainforest.
After five months of hard-times, Jersey Dave announced he’d noticed a pattern. Every month there was a $100 charge listed as Save the Wood. Panicked, he called the bank. They told him it wasn’t identity theft or a mistake, and traced the charge to a company it was routed to, providing an overseas phone number. We were assembled in his room listening when he said: Trees? No, no I’ve never bought any trees…Where?!…THAILAND!
Jersey Dave spent an hour backtracking, re-working, and uncovering the details of how he’d managed to spend half a grand on Thai wood. By then, we were back in the living room. Then we heard that old chestnut: AWWWWWW, DICK!
It turned-out that Save the Wood was a cover name, phone number included, for a premier online porn package of fifty sites featuring all Asian women – a preponderance of whom were Thai. To the best of Jersey Dave’s knowledge, he’d returned home after a session of strobe-light shower-didgeridooing with a feverish desire to wank. In the process, he’d bought a membership for this website. Designed to protect husbands paying out of joint bank accounts, Save the Wood fronted as a philanthropic organization for the Thai rainforest – hence the brochures.
Of course, poor Jersey Dave wasn’t only out half a grand on a fifty website porn subscription, but he’d never gotten to enjoy any of those lovely Asian girls.
-Julian Belvedere of (King Hamburger Pimp and) the Sundance Kid
For twitter-twatter of no matter, follow Julian Belvedere on Twitter.
