Dave T. Kills One of the Shitbums’ Most Beloved Characters
Eric “EJ” Adams’ gift of storytelling, or capacity for lying, depending on how you look at, is something to be envied. True or false, his stories seem to appear to him from another dimension and are wildly entertaining and unexpected. My favorites are those true stories about the times he has lied. Take for example, the time he missed tennis practice in high school–his excuse was that a dog got into his backyard and drowned in his pool. He had to spend the afternoon dragging the dead dog out. Why go small when you can go big, eh?
Then there was the time he quit his job and told his employer he had to move because his girlfriend had just gotten pregnant (I think he was moving to her, but the specifics are a little hazy now). I had a problem with this story because I don’t believe a father-to-be should be unemployed, but when bringing this up to him he shrugged it off. He knew what he was doing. I suppose if I were in the employer’s situation I would think to myself, “Well no one would make that shit up.” Therein lies the genius.
But my all time favorite story involves me, your awesome and humble narrator. Shortly after we had graduated from college I found out that EJ had brought a picture of me into one of his classes and had given a presentation on me, his friend who, I regret to inform you, was dead. I forget now what the objective of the assignment was (describing actual childhood friends who had died fictional deaths?), but apparently his speech was moving because after the class a fellow student approached him to express her sympathies. I think he may have felt a little bad about that one. I have mixed feelings on the subject. Part of me is honored to receive such a scholarly send-off, while part of me is worried about the continued real or imaginary animosity he has shown toward me throughout the years of our friendship. After all, this is the kid who has “accidentally” kicked me in the face twice, once when we were younger and another time in our early twenties. I don’t even remember how I had died that day in his classroom but I’m sure it was violent. I’m pretty sure it had to do with a car “accident.”
In any case I’m here to return the favor. In my fictional world, I’m killing off EJ Adams!!!
Below I present to you five eulogies, each accompanied by a picture and a tabloid headline.
Man Has Stroke at Party, Continues to Drink Well Past Midnight
EJ, with Dave T., experiencing decreased brain activity and reflexes
Goddamn that sonofabitch could party. Remember the character Drugs Delaney, from Outside Providence? Yeah, I used to call DJ EJ Drugs Delaney when I wasn’t calling him DJ EJ. Just like the movie, our Drugs died too soon. And just like in the movie at Drugs’ quasi-funeral, where one of the kids says “When everyone else took one, he took two,” or some shit like that, I’m going to say it here, “When everyone else took one, he took two.” And I think that’s what did him in. I remember the night he died, that kegger at Nikki’s, on the way over he started saying his face was numb and he was already slurring his words. I just thought the asshole was already drunk. “Quit being a little bitch,” I told him. And he did. I didn’t hear another word out of him. We weren’t there for more than a half hour when he was stumbling around the house, finally making it to the couch. I brought him a couple beers and then tried to score some pussy. He seemed like he was having a good time so I let him be, which maybe wasn’t such a good idea. By one o’clock he was passed out, which in my estimation is way too fucking early. I drew a penis shaped cross on his cheek which I’m happy to see the Adams’ have left on. He loved that religious nonsense. It was only the next day I found out he had had a stroke and died shortly after midnight, not before getting down half a dozen beers though. Goddamn DJ EJ you never missed a party, and in my mind, you’ve just moved on to a better one where the music is loud, the women are smokin’, and the kegs never get kicked.
Slapped on the Back: Man cannot face himself, his demons
EJ plays some tennis after the ill-conceived prank
It’s true, folks, EJ could not face himself in the mirror those last few days. And it’s true, that if someone slaps you on the back while you’re making a funny face it stays that way. Goddamnit I wish he knew I was joking when I asked him why he was looking at me like that, or to fix his face, or if he was raised by baboons. I didn’t know he was going to kill himself. I was the first to find him, in his bed, blood everywhere, and Mask playing on his television. He was a huge Jim Carrey fan and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was Eric Stoltz behind the movie make-up, and that it wasn’t a comedy at all. He was kind of in a confused state ever since the incident. Man, I really wish I hadn’t told him he should grow a beard, he was very sensitive about his prepubescence. And I wish I hadn’t told him to go into his room when I had company over. But I was doing it to protect him. That’s all I was doing those last few days.
My condolences go out to his family, along with a pledge…if I ever find the kids who did this to him, I promise that I will kill them for this horrible, horrible offense they committed on such a nice, compassionate young man. Just horrible!
Life Imitates Art: Man disappointed with latest Rambo installment flips out in theatre lobby
EJ saying grace before carving the turkey
What can I say? Should I start with the Hollywood system of churning out low-quality sequel after sequel? Or should I be more specific and blame Sylvester Stallone. You got cocky Stallone. Sure, there will always be a place in our hearts for the lovable Rocky, we can get behind that under-dog persona. But c’mon, another Rambo? Too soon, too soon. EJ, connoisseur of everything 80’s, loved First Blood and the previous sequels. But something happened in that movie theatre. Something made him come out and attack those women.
Now I’m not saying what he did was right, I’m not defending his actions, I’m just trying to explain. All you get from the headlines is that EJ came out of that theatre, attacked some people, and had a long stand-off with the police until they finally took him down. I wonder how many of those people reading the news actually saw the movie. Then they’d understand, goddamnit. If I were more inclined to violence I would probably have been right there next to him, punching random women in the face, shoving popcorn down that midget’s throat. EJ was a good kid. He deserved better from Stallone.
You were a modern day Mike Danton, old friend. That’s about the highest compliment I can pay a man.
First Fatal Case Shows You Can Die from Albinism
EJ dressed in blue to highlight his albinism
You can call my friend a lot of things but you can’t call him a freak. Some people called him “Powder,” but I don’t care for that neither. Powder is of course referring to the movie with Jeff Goldblum about that weird kid with the lightning powers. But EJ didn’t have lightning powers, and I believe Powder suffered from Alopecia areata. EJ had hair, you just couldn’t see it cause it was real white like his skin. Where was I? Oh yeah, he was different is all. In a way, I’m glad he’s out of his misery. I’m not really sure how it all went down, but I know he died because he was albino. I don’t understand all the science behind it. But I think it’s a blessing, truly. He was so white, people treated him like he was a colored boy. It’s just not right. He was my friend. So I won’t sit here and listen to anyone call him a freak, or none of those names. Don’t call him John Turturro, neither. He hated that guy.
Man Dies from Combination of Natural Causes, Old Age, Syphilis
Toward the end of his life EJ closely resembled Albert Einstein
He led a good life, he did. I knew him a long time. He was a tough son of a gun. He made it through many hardships, surviving his first stroke at the age of 18, that tragedy with his stuck face, the Rambo film in ‘08 and the subsequent gunfight with the cops, and his lifelong battle with albinism. Who would’ve thought that it was father time that would finally catch up with him? And that broad, goddamnit what was her name? Hey, sweetheart, what’s your name? Martha, right. And Martha. He led a rich life.
I wish I could say more about my buddy EJ, but my mind starts to wander when I think back. I do remember one thing he said to me when the syphilis was really starting to eat away at him. He says to me, “Davey boy, I’m not gonna make the funeral.” And I says “What funeral?” And he says “My funeral.” And I says, “Why not?” And get this, the son of a gun says “Family issues, I don’t wanna get into it.” “Okay,” I says, “I’ll let the people know.” Ha! That big, swinging dick.
Dave T.
