Whoomp, There He Is

Recent events can best be summed up by an exert from a poem I first heard back during my company days:

Tag Team back again check it top
Wreck it - let's begin
Party people let me hear some noise
DC's in the house jump jump and rejoice
There's a party over here
a party over there
Wave your hands in the air
Shake the derriere

Whoomp, there he is! The Haitian is finally back in my possession, an occasion truly deserving of ample derriere-shaking. Now the party can begin. Together we'll cause so much short-term memory loss it'll make Animal House's toga party look like a meeting of a quilt club. No party is complete without wide-reaching memory gaps. I rate all my parties based no the crazy stuff I can't remember doing, and let me tell you, soon, Primatech is going to have a killer party!

Of course we couldn't go right into bagging and tagging like the good ol' days. There was so much catching up to do.

"So, what have you been up to, my friend?" I asked him.

"..." he stared at me blankly.

"Oh, don't give me that again! I know you can talk."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he said. "I have just been working in the shipping business until I got deathly ill."

"Well, I see you still have a flair for dressing exquisitely."

"Thank you. I see you still have a flair for boring paper stuff."

"It is my passion. So did you catch Saturday Night Live over the weekend?"

"No. In Haiti, I do not have cable. I was too ill to watch it anyway, though they say laughter is the best medicine."

"SNL wouldn't have helped, then. It's for the best you missed it."

Then a customer walked into Copy Kingdom looking as though he just escaped prison. "Yo, man!" he hollered at me, "I needs me some invitations for my girl's birthday party."

I called for Mike to help him out, but the guy noticed The Haitian and said, "Hey, man! When did you get out?"

"..."

"Sorry," I said to the man, "he doesn't speak."

"Aw, no way! They do that to you in the joint?"

"..."

"Oh, yeah, you don't talk, huh?" The man looked at me, "They do that to him in the joint?"

"He's never been in prison," I answered.

"Right, man. Whatever." Across the store I noticed a uniformed police officer watching the man carefully. The man noticed him too. "Hey, man, I gots to run. Nice seeing you D.L." and the man left the store.

The Haitian looked annoyed. "Why do people always think I'm D.L.?" he asked.

"It's probably the eyes," I answered, trying to avoid awkward racial tension. I added, "I think he's dead, though."

"Is he?"

"I think so. I could care less, but I guess you know that about me."

He laughed. "Yeah, you never were one to care about the well-being of others."

The conversation continued on for what seemed like hours. The Haitian had done so much in four months, he even had a Brazilian wax. Aside from having to put up with constant boasting about his totally hairless body, having The Haitian back has been great. I can't wait to start up our devious ways again. Hmm...Who can we hollow out first?