Someday with Robert Pattinson

Posted by Roger Cho

Rob Pat parked the car between a tree and a hole in the ground where a tree once fit and we exited the vehicle. Chuck and I knew to follow 10 paces behind Rob Pat, as neither of us were carrying rose petals to litter his path with.

“Oh, don’t worry about the rose petal thing,” Rob Pat said over his shoulder, pausing under the pale of moonlight. Oh no! Could he read my mind?

I froze for a moment, marinating in my fear. And though it was not cold, I could see Rob Pat’s breath fog in the glow of the flames of the bowling alley in the distance.

“N-no?” Chuck asked hesitantly while I tried to clear my mind of anything Rob Pat could read as a challenge.

“No,” Rob Pat replied, staring on ahead. “Hold my hands.”

Chuck and I exchanged looks. I, terrified at the prospect of allowing my fragile hand to be inside the grasp of God. He, excited.

We both cautiously approached and extended our palms to our side, the three of us making on a Maginot Line.

“Good,” Rob Pat said, taking each of our hands in his. The three of us faced onward to the parking lot, and over the scores of cars and hunks of cars ahead of us lay the entrance to the bowling -

“We’re here,” Rob Pat announced, releasing our hands and looking at the untouched car that lay before us.

“Oh,” I said in wide-eyed shock, “I thought we were maybe going to going to go inside and investigate or…”

“No,” Rob Pat said, wiping off his hands on his shirt, wrinkles somehow coming out with each pat. “Roger,” Rob Pat went on diagnose, “you need to do more cardio.”

“I, uh, okay.”

Rob Pat is mysterious.

His gaze dropped from the bowling alley to the car in front of us.

“This is what we’re here for.”

Chuck and I followed his gaze. It was an old car, but in pristine condition. Something American-made, but I don’t know much about cars beyond color and shape. This one was red and boxy.

“What’s special about this car?” Chuck asked inquisitively.

“It’s untouched,” Rob Pat responded, looking at the car with the same kind of awe that people look at Rob Pat with.

“K-Stew’s bumbling awkwardness should have destroyed this transport along with all the others,” Rob Pat went on, circling the vehicle like an inspector whose job it was to inspect this car, “But for some reason, this one is untouched and unremoved from the scene. Remarkable.”

“Maybe it wasn’t here at the time?” I pondered. Rob Pat shook his head, his memory systems activated.

“Well, it’s got a weird license plate,” Chuck noted.

I read the heiroglyphics off the rear bumper tag: DADORN2.

“Dad or En-too?” I slowly deciphered aloud.

“Dadorn-Dadorn,” Chuck countered.

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Dad Aren’t You’,” Rob Pat surmised.  I assure you, it sounded more reasonable with his accent than it looks written out.

“You know a thing or two about cars, don’t you, Chuck?” Rob Pat volunteered.

“Only a little,” he admitted, “Why?”

“Hold this,” he said to Chuck, handing him a coat hanger.

“Oh, I don’t really, like, I don’t know how to…”

“Stay still,” Rob Pat commanded, producing a velvet glove. “I’ll take this one for the team.”

He slid the glove on his right hand and approached the vehicle. Then, slowly, he caressed it, letting his delicate fingers delight the automobile as they searched its gleaming exterior until…

Pop.

Every latch, whether it be door, hood, or trunk, released in exquisite bliss.

Rob Pat sexily withdrew his fingers from the glove’s insides, and then withdrew a cigarette and tossed it into the bonnet.

“Remember to bring me that coat hanger in a few weeks.”

Posted by Chuck Chadwick

“I can’t believe we left her behind,” said Roger, still giving more thought to K-Stew than Rob Pat would find acceptable.

“We left no one behind,” Rob Pat snapped as he drove us in his Volvo and headed to the bowling alley.

I looked around, under the seats and floor mats, in the trunk-area and in the glove box and determined that we, in spite of what Rob-Pat said, had in fact left K-Stew behind.

I closely eyed Roger.  Had Rob Pat perhaps hidden K-Stew somehow in my own friend’s skin?  I looked at Roger’s hips. Hmmm. Not the curvaceous hips of a young starlet, but the boney straight up-and-down hips of a scrawny boy.

No, I didn’t care what Rob Pat said, fuck that. We left someone behind and I needed to make sure Rob Pat knew.

“Rob Pat you’re out of your mind! We definitely left your girlfriend back in that tree!” I shouted, but he didn’t hear me because I only said it in my mind.

Though I wouldn’t put mind-reading past that crazy son of a bitch.

“What the hell happened here?” Roger asked, peering ahead. As we turned the block, I could see what he was referencing in full view.

It looked like the equivalent of a small, localized earthquake had stricken our town’s fair bowling alley. Lamp posts jutted out of rocky ground at 70 degree angles, and long cracks spanned the length of the parking lot. The building looked as though it were a diorama that my father had sat on, if the bowling alley had either been at least 20 times smaller, or my dad at least 50 times bigger.  Police caution tape littered the ground.

Stupid officers, I thought to myself smugly. You should know that only the cremated ash of Satan himself can create a barrier impassible to Rob Pat.

The car began to shake up and down as the Volvo breached the parking lot, the pavement littered with so many potholes and indentations it resembled more of a golf ball than anything I’d driven on tonight, or ever.

“Rob Pat, did you have sex here?” I asked earnestly, excited to be regaled by his latest tale of animalistic dominance.

“Someone gave K-Stew a bowling ball,” Rob Pat sighed, “She panicked. I didn’t notice what was going on until the bar caved in. I still got everyone out alive without spilling my whiskey sour.”

“So why are we here, Rob Pat? What does this have to do with saving the world?” I asked.

“A clue awaits us.”

Posted by Chuck Chadwick

We arrived at a local park and Rob Pat stumbled drunkenly out of his car.

Roger and I exchanged confused glances, and he clearly would have been unable to answer a single one of my many, many questions.

As we hurried into the park closely behind Rob Pat, I wondered what on earth could be jeopardizing the fate of the world from this humble park - it didn’t even have a see-saw.

“I’m so glad you guys are here!” I heard a familiar voice shout, sounding at the same time feminine and like a blender full of wood screws.

I looked up, and stuck up in a tree, just like a cat that forgot how to be a cat, was none other than Kristen Stewart.

“Hey you’re way up in the tree, just like in your movie!” I shouted.

“What movie?” she asked.

“Rob Pat, what in the hell is your clumsy-ass girlfriend doing up in that tree?” I asked.

He looked at first as though he was going to hit me for asking such a disrespectful question.  I cowered, knowing a single blow from just one of his powerful fists could destroy me and I did not want to die wearing nothing but blood-and-wine soaked boxer shorts, or at all.

He did not hit me, as you can tell by my continued existence, but instead turned his attention to Roger.

“Don’t look at my fucking girlfriend like that!” scolded Rob Pat.

“Like what?” Roger stammered in a manner not unlike a small child would. One that had been caught red-handed undressing a super-villain’s girlfriend with his unwashed eyes.

“You know what you did,” Rob Pat insisted.

I tried to get Rob Pat back on the topic at hand, “Is this what you meant when you said we were going to save the world? We need to get K-Stew out of a tree?!”

“No,” said Rob Pat, “this is just on the way.”

“What are you doing up in that tree, K-Stew?” Roger asked, shouting.

“The Man With The Softest Hair put me up here,” K-Stew cried.

“What is she talking about, Rob Pat?”

“It’s true, his hair was like a baby bunny fucking a cloud” Rob Pat explained. It didn’t sound as gross through his silver-tongued English accent.

I replied, “But whyfore did he put her up there?”

“‘Whyfore’?” he asked incredulously, “I think you mean ‘wherefore’.”

“Oh…. Yeah, that’s what I meant. Wherefore.”

Rob Pat began drinking again.

“Look!” Roger shouted, “I think K-Stew is going to fall!”

Our eyes darted upward to find K-Stew waving furiously, trying to catch her balance.  Her feet lost contact with the branch she was on, and I knew what would happen next.

But I was wrong! She slipped and while overcorrecting her balance jumped several feet higher and landed on a branch further from the ground than where she had started.

“I’m going to be entirely honest with you guys … nobody put me in this tree.”

Posted by Roger Cho

I could tell by the way Chuck trailed Rob Pat and his own erection that he had just woken up.

Eyeballing them from the passenger seat of Rob Pat’s Volvo, I took in the smell of the interior. Sniff. Ah, the aroma of new leather drenched in hard liquors and vermouth.

Clunk clunk.

The driver and rear passenger door shut and the two took a seat inside with me. Rob Pat’s soft, yet muscular hands gripped the wheel, and Chuck reluctantly hovered over his seat.

“What’s all over my chair?” he regretfully intoned as he wiped a red liquid off of his ass.

Rob Pat turned the ignition, and gazing straight on, his mind wandering, muttered “I had to open a bottle of wine.”

“There are… I think there are little bits of broken glass,” Chuck worried aloud, trying to figure out how to lay his ass cheeks across the interior.

“Then let it christen you,” Rob Pat commanded through his sweet English accent. “You’ll need a blessing for our journey.”

Rob Pat stomped his foot on the accelerator and the tires squealed nearly as loud as I’d heard his fans when they had caught us at the beach; a memory tainted only by the bottle-nose dolphin Rob Pat had killed as bait for the sharks he was hunting.

As we jolted forward I could hear Chuck collapse into his seat, the bits of glass stinging for only a moment. He cringed and exhaled in a high-pitched hiss for a few moments, as though he’d been punctured and were leaking air.

“Rob Pat,” I finally chimed in, “What’s going on? Why’d you get us so late? I mean, it’s too late to go back to cosmic bowling…”

“Something happened,” he replied solemnly. “Something bad.”

“Yeah, like what?” I began to joke, “Safeway run out of pomade?”

This was a mistake. In a single motion, Rob Pat flipped open a switchblade and sliced through the air, taking a lock of my hair with it.

“Dude!”

“This is my hair now,” he growled, his entire upper body menacing over me with switchblade in one hand, my dark hair in his other.

We stayed like that for a moment, all three of us in the car remaining silently in place. The glow of green light after green light washed over us, the Volvo sailing through each intersection effortlessly. His car knew where to go.

Rob Pat cleared his throat, and continued to stare deep into my eyes and then inched closer to me.

He set the switchblade down on the center console and took my hand, placing in my palm my own hair.

“Take this,” he whispered, curling my hand into a fist around the oily clump. “You’re going to need it.”

“Why?” I whispered back at him, my eyes watering with fear and adoration.

“We’re going to save the world.”

Posted by Chuck Chadwick

I was awakened by someone pounding on the door of my room, but I didn’t stir, hoping my roommate would do something about it and I wouldn’t have to get up.  This knock was unusual, however, as when most people knock, they knock three or four times and then stop – whoever was knocking on my door was knocking continuously.

I rose, my nocturnal wood extending like an awkward horizontal maypole; the kind of hard-on I wish I could attain while awake.

The clock read 3:22 AM. The knocking continued and I tried to do something to control my spectacular boner. Pants were not an option.

I opened the door and stood halfway behind it, on the other side of the door, continuing to knock even though it was already open was a tall, ridiculously handsome young man reeking of bourbon: Robert Pattinson.

“What the fuck is taking you so long?” he said, clearly not a stickler for traditional greetings.

“I was asleep, Rob Pat.”

“I don’t care about your beauty sleep, Chuck,” Rob Pat returned, “we need to get going.  Now.”

“Let me try to get some pants on,” I started.

“No.  Now.”

Walking through the hall of my dorm, clad only in boxer shorts, Robert Pattinson and my erection leading the way, I began to wonder, Where the hell are we going? I opened my mouth to voice this question, but instead all that escaped was:

“I’m excited!  I love a good Rob Pat adventure!”

“Good,” said Rob Pat, and he looked at me with that dangerous, threatening and sexy look in his eye.

When we got to his car, my roommate Roger was already in the shotgun seat; perhaps he would be able to explain more as we were on our way. Rob Pat took the driver’s seat.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I asked, knowing he had been drinking.

“Are you okay to ride?” he asked, with more intensity than I could possibly match.

“Hell yeah, I am!” I cried, while thinking to myself, No! You should have offered to drive, you haven’t been drinking! What are you thinking, Chuck?! It’s not too late, tell him he shouldn’t be driving. Tell him to pull over and you’ll drive!

My mouth made no objection, and we drove off into the night.