LogFAQs > #888152782

"She passed awhile back," Bryant begins the end of his tale. "Basically worked herself to death working menial jobs, because she was one of the ones the teachers gave up on too. I do odd jobs here and there to try to make it, but I don't really know how to do anything. I don't have an education. So when the odds jobs dry up, I need to do stuff like this to make ends meet. All because I liked making kids laugh when I was six...A couple years after she died and I spent a few weeks on the street, it started becoming harder to see the humor in things. I guess I don't really makes jokes much anymore. I just... I don't know. I miss the way things used to be."

A hush falls over the room as Bryant finishes his story. He's undoubtedly responsible for his own actions, but damn if every authority figure in his life didn't fail him. Jerry breaks the tension by saying, "I liked the ending where you said how all the joy in your life was gone."
"What did you just say to me?" Bryant growls.
Jerry raises his hands as he talks with a lollipop in his mouth, "No, I didn't mean it like that, it's just... I'm listening to you talk about being class clown and all that and I'm thinking to myself... well you're not very funny."
You facepalm as Bryant stares daggers at Jerry.
"I mean no offense or anything, I was just thinking toward the end of the story that I've never heard this motherfucker tell a joke in my life, but then you said the joylessness part and it got... I mean I guess I got closure on the issue."
Bryant stands up angrily and shouts, "Well let's hear your uh... John ...Q... god damn story or whatever."

"Alright," Jerry agrees. "I'm Jerry. I'm five feet, eight inches tall, which I've been told is short for a man. I'm also a recovering nervous pisser."
Marco starts laughing again while leaning against the counter.
"Shut up, Marco," Jerry grunts. "It's an affliction that affects thousands of people."
"You said you were a recovering nervous pisser?" you ask.
"Right, yeah. I haven't been unable to pee in front of strangers in about eighteen months now," Jerry states proudly. "I remember every time I was unable to go next to a stranger it was just the most uncomfortable, awkward silence I've ever experienced. I'd unzip, he'd unzip, we'd both hear his stream begin to hit the urinal, and we'd both never hear my stream begin. Then he would stop, and I could already sense that he was uncomfortable, but was also giving me the benefit of the doubt. Like maybe I've also been going the entire time but his stream was just super loud for some reason. But nope, my urinal's bone dry, amigo. At this point, sheer panic has set in and I'm trying to force out something - anything to break the tension. I'm beet red in the face, but nothing's coming. As he's shaking off, the guy next to me just sees me as some weirdo with his dick in his hand who doesn't know how to breathe. He walks away, and in my anxiety attack my brain decides it's a good idea to follow the guy to the sinks, like that will save me. Now I have to wash my hands next to him like I also just pissed with a dumb look on my face that says, 'Ha-ha-ha, I feel so much better, isn't it crazy that we both just pissed ha-ha-ha'. Every single time."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.