Work Text:
Swallow. Water. Start over.
GOB looks at himself in the mirror and sees a penis sketched on his cheek in sharpie, leading gracefully to his mouth where it deposits it’s inky semen. Ha! Good joke! He’ll have to get the guys back for that one.
Only the guys are gone and he is alone.
Takes a video of himself using a knife as a lightsabre and sends in to George Michael. Just don’t put it on the internet, y’know? Or GOB might wind up an embarrassment to the family.
He couldn’t stand to be an embarrassment.
Downs a fifth of vodka to stop thinking about what a shame it is that he has to work so hard to defend his honour while his family falls apart around him. It’s like it’s not even worth his trying, it’s like they could show up at the door right now, dressed nice and looking down their noses at him even though he’s the tallest, and they wouldn’t even care that he’s drunk and broke and crashing at John Beard Jr’s till he gets some money together.
Like they wouldn’t even care.
Swallow. Water. Start over.
Ten pills in the pot and he could swear there were twenty just yesterday. Just the other day. What day is it?
Checks the calendar. GOB had a doctor’s appointment yesterday that he can’t remember attending. The last thing he remembers is Michael’s birthday, which was a week ago. It went well, he showed up, ran through a couple of his new tricks and treated the birthday boy to a full magnum all to himself.
None of which GOB could afford at the time, but it’s the thought that counts. He would have afforded it, if he could, but he can’t. What’s he supposed to do, sell his bees?
Come to think of it, it must have been Lindsay’s birthday too. Or not. He forgets how that works. Her and Michael are or aren’t twins, one of the two.
He misses Michael. Number up on phone, presses call.
No response, clicks through to the answer phone. He doesn’t feel like leaving a message.
He never got Michael a birthday present, unless you count the magic trick, and knowing how horribly ungrateful Michael can be, he probably doesn’t. Hasn’t spoken to his family in so long. Hasn’t seen them. They don’t know where he is. he doesn’t know where they are.
Swallow. Water. Start over.
Like what is he supposed to do, sell some of his bees? No way.
The bees are diseased. They don’t like the limo and the limo doesn’t like them. Where is he sleeping these days anyway? Back seat? Back seat.
Dead bees litter the foot well, just like that guy had said right before GOB kicked him out. Served him right, for talking shit about bees.
Bees, bees. Dead bees. Dead bees dead bees everywhere and not a drop to drink.
His bees. Dead. GOB feels something that might be an emotion and maybe he sort of doesn’t want that. Where are his pills?
Swallow. Water. Start over.
He is in the desert and his face is sunburned. He’s always waking up in the desert. He felt bad, he felt bad and had to come out here. He felt sick? He felt bad.
He felt bad because…bees
He felt bad because…Michael
He felt good because Tony Wonder but now he’s alone in the desert and his bees are dead. Michael is dead.
Michael is dead?
No. Wrong. Not on the calendar. No one is dead. They will all be dead one day.
He felt good because Tony Wonder and now he feels alone. Sad. Sun burnt. He has to stop waking up in the desert. He should call mom but she’s in prison, and she probably wouldn’t talk to him anyway. He should call…
No one left to call. Maybe in the morning this will all go away.
Swallow. Water. Start over.
Man at the counter looking at him weird. Smile, just keep smiling, everyone likes a smile.
Anyway, how did he get here?
GOB smiles, smiles, smiles. Big smiles. All for this guy. “Need a refill.”
Man frowns, moves too slowly, like he doesn’t want to. What, this is America right? Free country.
No, not America. Mexico. GOB always liked Mexico. Probably.
He feels dizzy. He feels ill. This will all be over soon.
Pills back in his hand, label doesn’t say much. Forget, forget, forget it all. No one needs to know.
Swallow. Water.
Start over.