According to Google

The scene before me is quite majestic. The sun is setting, the cool breeze blows through the trees, rustling the leaves and causing the nearby branches to creak as they sway. The air has a bit of a bite to it, but the slow burning fire pit before me keeps me warm, or is it the near 400 pounds of insulated fat that is making my brow moist in this late October air?

Either way I’m surrounded by peace and beauty, on my favorite day of the year. Oh and Doozer is here. Why then, am I so unhappy? Dare I say, miserable. Not one of those, I’m feeling down so let’s pop a Zoloft kind of downs. But more like, I’ve popped 4 Zoloft's in the last 20 minutes and I still want to drown myself in the bathtub just so this overwhelming feeling of doom will go away.

“I’m telling you Dooze,” I lament, not for the first time let me assure you. “My life feels like a crappy TV show. You know? Episodic. And not one of those good ones like Grey’s Vagina, or whatever it’s called. You know, where the plot is ever evolving, with new characters coming in to freshen things up when things get droll. My life feels more like Seinfeld. Boring and empty. Like you could miss an entire season and yet the next time you tune in you realize you haven’t missed a goddamn thing.”

“You’re just in a rut buddy,” Doozer offers empty platitudes, hoping that his words will cheer me up. “Hang in there, things will turn around for you? They always do.”

His words are interrupted as two children walk up with outstretched arms, the gaping maw of the pillow case greets us as they expectantly stare at the overflowing bowl of candy in my lap. “Trick or treat!” they exclaim with childlike exuberance.

Their happiness, once infectious, sours my mood further as the thought “Why can’t I be that happy” flits through my mind like an annoying gnat on shit. With a sneer spreading on my usually cherubic face I reach down and grab a handful of candies and proceed to hurl them at the children.

High pitched, ear splitting screams sound as the children take the pelting hits and begin to quickly run away. The sheet covering Doozer ruffles as he jumps to his feet and places his hand on my shoulder in an attempt to placate my rising anger. His black painted eyes look down on me with judgment and scorn.

Those stupid Sharpie filled eyes, the fuck couldn’t even color within the lines…

He gently reaches down and takes a hold of the bowl, slowly pulling it away from my lap as I remain sitting there staring up at him, wondering if I shove my fist in his bed sheet covered mouth would he still consider me a friend?

Would I still consider him a friend?

Would I care one way or the other?

“Maybe we should call it a night?” Doozer suggests with his calming tone. The tone he usually reserves for Cancer after the COOL loses a big match and immediately suggests we burn the world down around us.

Is that what I’m doing? Burning the world down around me?

Again, do I even care?

Sighing, I lower my gaze from my ghostly friend and stare out into my cul-de-sac, watching as the two terrified kids run down the sidewalk.

A rut.

That’s what Dooze called it, a rut.

"A habit or pattern of behavior that has become dull and unproductive but is hard to change."

Apt.

I reach down into the breast pocket of my #97 red suit jacket and fish out my Samsung phone. After hitting the number 0 four times the thing powers on and I hold the side button down for a moment before asking Bixby, “How does a lazy person change?”

“According to Google,” I begin to say before I take a moment to read aloud.

Laziness can be overcome by the changing habits, setting goals, and holding yourself accountable. Here are some tips that may help:

• - Set Manageable goals - Be self-aware - Use positive self-talk - Exercise - Ask for help - Avoid distractions

Soon the familiar sounds of Mrs. Pac-Man can be heard as I ignore Doozer’s words and focus on the miniaturized pellet eating whore in my palms. So much for avoiding distractions…

Doozer shakes his head, probably, I can’t really be certain as he’s a ghost and I’m sort of concentrating on the four ghosts chasing me at the moment.

“Perhaps you should look more into that positive self-talk and exercise, no?” the Ghost asks, causing me to pause as my brain mulls over the concept of those words. Positive self-talk. Exercise.

They sound foreign.

Maybe I should ask Flamberge what they mean? Or Ivan? Or even TAL, wait, he’s not Hispanic, he just looks like a Luchador…

“Shit.” the sounds of my defeat echo out from my phone. “Fuck me, can’t even beat level one of Pac-Man.”

I roughly shove my superior to an IPhone, Galaxy S10+ back into my breast pocket before climbing to my feet. Without a second glance I make my way towards my open garage calling out, “Thanks for coming over tonight Dooze, but I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“So soon?” Dooze asks with sadness in his voice. “But it’s your favorite holiday.”

“Yeah, I think it’s past time to call it quits.” I announce as I reach my back door. “You know, it’s been fun.”

With that I reach up and hit the button to my garage door.

“Trick or treat, mother fuckers,” I hear a muffled voice call out as my garage door begins to slowly descend.

I quickly hit the button to stop the door in mid stride as my eyes fixate on the impossible. It appears to be Cancer Jiles wearing a humongous paper mache head of Coral Avalon. With a very obvious and very vast forehead. Two eye holes appear in the mache neck as Cancer Jiles reaches up and adjusts his “head” as it appears to want to droop to the left.

“Woah! #97Red! Scary costume, Bobbo!” Cancer calls out with awe in his voice as he continues, “The eye patch really sells it, but I gotta ask. Are you wearing a bald cap or did you fully commit to the bit?”

My Lee Best infused face smirks as I reach up and peel the edge of the bald cap back and a bit of blonde peeks out. Shaking his massive head I can hear him chuckling as he walks up to join Doozer in my driveway.

“This was one of the best, yet stupidest ideas I’ve ever had.” Cancer says with his muffled voice blocked by the head. “Where do ya think you’re going Bobbo?” the COOLympian asks as he hefts four plastic grocery bags fill of egg cartons. “We’ve got a tradition to fulfill buddy, let’s get to work.”

I shake my head as a small smile slowly forms. Without a word I slowly reach up and push the button for a third time, not even bothering to watch the garage door completely close, I turn and head inside, the smile fading just as quickly as it appeared. I can’t help but compare the closing of the door to that of turning the television off.

Fade to black.

—---------------------

Positive self-talk, whatever the hell that means.

According to Google it means:

“I’m doing my best.”

Rob Williams will destroy me.

“I am capable of achieving my goals.”

The eGG Bandits will abandon me.

“I am worthy of love and respect.”

I will die alone and no one will attend my funeral.

“I am grateful for all of the blessings in my life.”

I should have stayed in HOW.

Oh shit, I MUST be fucked in the head...

—----------------------

Rumor Mill: The current season of As the Bobby Turns is rumored to be under consideration. AKA about to be canceled. As viewership is down and the latest quality has been quite lacking. Let’s hope they can turn it around, because the alternative would be another season of Rob Williams Presents: Rob Williams Punches Babies

—--------------------

The sounds of snoring fill the room. Annabelle Dean stands at the door way with concern etched on her young face. She watches silently as her dad sleeps, unbothered by the noon sun shining through the windows, his CPAP mask blowing air into his lungs making him look like a jet fighter pilot, while making him sound like Darth Vader at the same time.

She can’t help but smile as she watches the man she cherishes most in the world sleeps in oblivion. But the smile slowly fades as the worry creeps back in. What can she do to help drag her dad out of the slump he finds himself in?