Weird Short Stories: When a Work BBQ Becomes a Jungle Molly Party
Here lies the inception of musical hyperdrama AKA weird short stories to help you feel something. The privileged first story is set to Daffodils by Mark Ronson featuring Kevin Parker from Tame Impala, off Mark Ronson’s 2015 Uptown Special album. Here’s the precedent:
The reader cracks a beer or a Truly Lemonade, whatever you’re into, and reads up to the music player. When you reach the video, that’s your cue - press play!
The music mated with the weird short story = hyperdrama.
Sound good? Headphones in. Bass UP. Enjoy.
Commence Weird Short Stories for the Soul.
All the younger guys from the office pulled up in a Jeep six-seater with the doors removed. They were all there: Preston, Hunter, Chaswick, Dirk, Guy, And GuyDirk.
“Dude, I really hope Gary isn’t at this barbecue. Dude is such a buzzkill.”
Six young professionals surveyed the scene from the driveway in salmon-colored khaki shorts, six young snorting bucks on the hunt for loose women and pasta salad. They were ready to mark their scent.
“Let’s go, alpha team playas.” Preston hopped out first. He was clearly the most alpha-est of the alphas. “Smell dem burgers, boyeeeeee!”
“Skert skert skert!” they all hooted. (Weird Short Story requirement #1: Bros in salmon polos)
Preston opened a white fence latch and the half dozen office intern simpletons politely entered and lowered their eyes from the towering herd of buffalo that were the senior associates.
The cagey Senior associates stood around the grill and a cooler: Bob, Dave, Harold, Harry, Robert, and David. Kathy was there. And Karen. And the other Karens and Kathys. Cats in the Cradle by Cat Stevens whispered from an iPod over surround sound pool speakers.
There was a common talking point between all the young bucks and old bulls, the lady veterans and the 22-year-olds who still smelled like last weekend’s karaoke bar:
Gary’s divorce.
“God, I hope Gary can just stand here and have some potato salad without crying into it,” said Dave.
“You’d think he’d be over his marriage of 17 years by now,” said Kathy. “God, it’s been six weeks.”
Harold chimed in: “And it’s not like it wasn’t his fault, anyway. You take your wife to Jamaica for your anniversary – you’re just asking for her to cheat.”
The interns, brandishing their half beards and open-toed sandals, moved to the cornhole pit and talked to the single girls. The veterans talked about the way today’s weather was different from other weather that had happened at different times that weather existed.
And then Gary showed up. In a tan 1988 station wagon. And something was different.
The Cat Stevens on the speakers faded as if hijacked by God, and something new happened…
Gary slammed the door and stood still for a moment. So did the party.
Knee-high white socks with the red stripes. Jean shorts, cut above the knee. Thigh showing. Button-up shirt buttoned down: three buttons open. Bushy chest hair exploding. And in his ringless hand: a six-pack of Truly Lemonade. (Weird Short Story requirement #2: extremely specific obscure beverage)
He strode forth, could not find the gate latch, and kicked it in. He stopped, awkwardly stabbed at a can while trying to cradle the six-pack under an armpit, and shotgunned a Truly Lemonade like a mosquito in a frat.
He tossed the can on to the lit grill and pulled off a raw burger.
“Gary, man, I just put them on –”
Gary balled up the burger and folded it into his mouth. This was confident Gary. No ring Gary. This was no-cry-in-the-potato-salad Gary.
Gary put one bald leg up on the food table and laid down the challenge:
“So, who came to dance?”
Two Karens and a Kathy dropped their appletinis. Preston, Hunter and Chaswick found themselves perspiring in intimidation. Guy, Dirk, and GuyDirk could not overcome the strange urge to drop their beanbags and tackle Gary erotically.
A strange dusk fell over the yard. The pool lights buzzed and flickered on and illuminated the shimmering water. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. The stars seemed bigger and Harold Timbleton could have sworn the moon grew a face and winked.
Bodies started to move. Gary worked the crowd like a boss. Well, he was a boss. District Liaison to Special Administrator of Human Services Of Resources Co-Under-Counsel Supervisor. Tonight he was just Gary, lover of people, dancer among the stars.
The electricity was palpable. Kaleidoscope lanterns burst on around the pool. Gary grabbed the wire with two fists and the lanterns burned so brightly the party felt like they had been drenched in iridescent color.
Image by Caro Sodardar from Pixabay
Karen Q. was the first to open a beer with her teeth and jump in the pool, fully clothed. Karen M. followed. The music pulsated. The bass was disco steady thump-thump. 25 bodies splashed amidst the electric aura like giddy dolphins in a bathtub. Exotic parakeets alighted upon the lamp strings and squawked out a jungle melody, bobbing their wild-eyed heads in unison to that sweet funky stomp.
It was as if someone put all the lights of downtown Tokyo in a barrel and dumped it in the pool.
Next door, brand-new homeowner Roger Goldberg watered his garden in total daylight with his two small children.
“Children,” he peered over the white fence. “Please go into the kitchen and tell your mother to call animal control.” He sighed. “The realtor failed to disclose the orgies.”
In the morning, entangled naked co-workers awoke in a patio pile. In the corporate world, they call it “team-building”. The Harolds and the Karens and the GuyDirks dazedly assessed what had clearly been innocent Summer weekend fun. (Weird Short Story requirement #3: Inappropriate work party eroticism)
Only Gary, sweet Gary, could possibly know how his horribly demoralizing divorce had granted him the magic gift of youth and reckless abandon. Or maybe, just maybe, he had arrived at the party two hours early and slipped Molly and low-grade beaver tranquilizers into the potato salad.
Later, at group therapy, the office speculated upon this magical wizardry. All they knew was if they sat still long enough, they could see the slight vibration of a pen roll across the desk, dancing to that sweet funky disco thump.
End.
That’s it, y’all. I’m calling them weird short stories to foster some accessibility to the general public, but…it’s a hyperdrama. New content for next week will include a review of the new Louis the Child album and more high art weird story snacks.
PS. The dazzling fire-lit model in the thumbnail is Sarah Mcdaniel from the Daffodils official video.
Artist Links:
Mark Ronson’s website
Mark Ronson’s Insta
Tame Impala’s website
Tame Impala’s Insta
Track written by Mark Ronson, Kevin Parker, and Michael Chabon.
Mark Ronson tracks to get you bothered:
Nothing Breaks Like a Heart (featuring Miley Cyrus) (2019)
Spinning (featuring Ilsey) (2019)
Glass Mountain Trust (with The Business Intl) (2010)