Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates Read Online Free PDF Page B

crushed. He probably could have pressed charges. Alex, on the other hand, promptly stood up and walked off unharmed. We picked Anthony up and dusted him off, but he wobbled violently and crashed to the ground. Suddenly an (actual) Australian off-duty nurse came running over. Den’t git up, ya need to ring an ambo to the doc shop stat, love! she shouted. Dave was so happy a real Australian had appeared that he just started screaming at our girls, THAT’S HOW AN AUSTRALIAN SOUNDS. THAT’S HOW YOU SHOULD SOUND IF YOURE GOING TO DO AN AUSTRALIAN ACCENT THE ENTIRE FUCKING NIGHT!
    Two hours later, we found ourselves in some midtown hospital. Anthony was sharing a room with a really upbeat gunshot victim. He was such a good sport and was very talkative, relative to the number of bullets in his body. Anthony wasn’t going anywhere for a while, so Dave, the girls, and I left him and his new buddy to get some rest.
    Dave tried the bulldog-apartment line again and our cheerleaders obliged immediately. This seemed strange. Ordinarily, we would expect these girls to be running away from us as fast as possible. Then it hit me. These girls had nowhere to stay. They were gambling on this date more than we were! These girls were worried about securing the basics: they were after food and shelter and we were their providers. At some point on the walk home, I pulled Dave aside and explained my theory to him. We were responsible for these gals! We got them home safe and tucked them into Dave’s bed and retired ourselves to the floor fort, where we woke up to some nice insect bites. The next morning, we bought them breakfast and went back to the hospital. Alex had ruptured Anthony’s patellar tendon. One major surgery and eight months of recovery later, he was good as new.

The Purge
    (Dave)
    So much of where Mike and I come from is our old man. I like him a lot. I admire him very much. I respect the hell out of him. I don’t want to be like him, though. No way. I want to have the good and righteous qualities he does, but I don’t want to be like him. That would require me to change my entire personality, and I’ve been working on my personality for years.
    We’re different. John Stangle boasts a puritan work ethic, whereas I regularly introduce myself as “Snake” to parents I meet for the first time. My dad and I love each other. We always have. He is a great dad and a great man. He makes my mom happy, he fixes stuff, and he drinks Busch heavies. What’s not to like? We haven’t always liked each other, though. Some parents don’t like their kids during the teenage years. Is this surprising to anyone? Teenagers are fucking shitheads. They think they know everything. I thought I knew everything. My dad actually did know everything, and he didn’t like that I was sure I did, too, despite the fact that I was obviously a fucking idiot.
    These days, we’re a-okay. I’m thirty now! I have a job, I’m no longer a financial burden on him, and I haven’t gotten any chicks pregnant. (Just need to confirm this one—does the publisher provide fact checkers?) If my relationship with my dad were a credit score, I’d be in the 700s. I attribute a lot of that to his attitude shift once all the kids were out of college. If I had three male shithead kids and one female diva kid to put through grade school, high school, and college. I’d be a hard-ass too! Tough luck, old man. You shouldn’t have been humping mom so much back in the eighties. You signed up for this.
    Since we’ve all become young adults, he has mellowed in a noticeable way. Things that used to set him off now just escape his body through a shoulder shrug. His skin is thicker than leather. He is now a wise old sage, relaxed and comfortable in his life, and a great time to hang around with. Most people think of their “prime” as occurring somewhere in their twenties, physically speaking, or