Tales from the Woob: Give Ian a Raise, Screw You Timmy, and Ben has Jabber!

“This is Ian,” Dean Gullberry pulls a young man into the picture.

The young man, now known as Ian, looks uncomfortable. His eyes wander around the hotel room. He sees Ben Lynch sitting at a small desk by the television and he's fiddling around with his cell phone.

Ian’s eyes survey the rest of the room. It's not necessarily the definition of cleanliness. Ben must be sharing the room with Dean, or this might be Dean's room; honestly - you never know - it might not be anybody's room. Ben and Dean have been known for their illegal shenanigans that often goes overlooked because they somehow find a way to not get caught.

Ben tosses his cell phone from hand-to-hand and then looks at Ian. He looks at the lanyard hanging from Ian's neck. Ian's picture isn't necessarily something to write home about. Ian’s what looks to be a mix of suburban Tulsa and Vietnamese. He awkwardly smiles and his teeth are so far apart that had he lived in the prehistoric period then his foes would use his mandible as a garden hoe. The pop bottle glasses don't help his cause. He’s already a deer in headlights, but they're magnified.

Dean smiles, too, and pats Ian on the shoulder. Let's review Dean Gullberry here. As usual: he looks like a Dollar General Rob Zombie who likes to read Dr. Suess to kids at their bus stops. He's actually banned from certain locations around the country due to his random need to rhyme shiny silver slagnoobles with large orange skat skiboodles to children of various age ranges. Something about scaring them, and they've even gone so far as to press charges. Dean is harmless as far as we know.

Ben, in blue jeans and a black Cavernous Maw hoodie, looks like he hasn't slept in two weeks. He hands the phone to Ian.

“Been tryna’ login to this Jabber thing for the last few hours,” Ben tells Ian, “but it keeps telling me that my username and, or, password may be incorrect. It says and-or. Why not tell me which one? That's annoying. Anyway, sending you an S.O.S. here.”

“Yea,” Ian responds while observing the phone, “what’s your username? I'll reset your password and that should solve the issue.”

“Should be what they gave me the other day at orientation,” Ben says while scratching his head. “I think it's BenLynch2025, everything together, and the B and L are capitalized in my name.”

“I'll…” Ian looks back and forth at Dean and Ben, “...I'll have to go get my laptop,” Ian points behind him showing both men the direction he has to go to retrieve his tools.

“Yea man. Do what you gotta do,” Ben directs his attention to the TV.

Ian turns around and heads toward the door. Dean smiles, and nods, as Ian walks past. Dean looks over at Ben and sees the Jerkass Woobie fumbling with the smart TV remote and being distracted by his aimless indecisiveness while choosing an app.

Dean retreats to the door. He’s slow, at first, but once he's out of Ben’s periphery then it's off to the races. He catches up to Ian in the hallway and stops him.

“Over here,” Dean says as he nods toward an adjacent deadend hallway where the ice machines are located.

Ian follows Dean down the narrow hall until they stop on a dime. Dean spins around and flashes a crispy $100 bill. Ian is mesmerized by the beauty of that crisp-to-the-T Ben Franky.

“We've got little time,” Dean’s out of breathe. “That man in there, Ben Lynch, yea - he's fuckin’ Coo-Coo McGoo. So, we gotta make this fast, and we have to be spotless in our delivery. Capiche?”

It can barely be seen behind those thicc frames, but Ian raised an eyebrow. He might be speechless? It's not everyday that you're basically lightweight kidnapped, and then bribed with $100. Ian's mind is probably one of those giant university chalkboards that you see in the films. The board is covered in some ludacris equation that takes up every last bit of space. The equation is solved and then Ian responds.

“I mean, yea,” Ian says while shaking his head in a way that makes it seem as if he really was just doing some rad Good Will Hunting stuff. “What do I need to do?” He curiously asks.

“Ah,” Dean smiles, “I need you to follow along with me. This needs to be told once, remembered, and then executed with precision. The username he gave you? That's not the username. It is the username that they gave him, but I paid Timmy back in the States to change the username to JerkassWoobie. That's all together with a capital J and W. Ya followin’ me here?” Dean waves his hand at Ian.

“Yea, of course,” Ian replies, “his username is JerkassWoobie. Got it,” he gives a thumbs up.

“Great, and I want you to tell him that Timmy is the one that changed the username,” Dean advises with a smile.

“Really?” Ian asks. “Why is that something that needs to be blamed on Timmy?”

“Oh come on, Ian,” Dean walks forward and pulls Ian under his wing. He nearly drags Ian out of the service hall and back toward the room. “It’s an old joke that I've taken further and further as the years go on. It's the dumbest fucking thing in the world, but his reactions are friggin’ priceless. I’ve got you for $100 here. Can you do a Dean Gullberry this solid?”

They stop just outside the room and Dean releases Ian. Dean can see that Ian seems confused, or perhaps even skeptical.

“Dean…what?” Ian’s interest is peaked. “Did…” but he's cut off by Dean.

“Yes, kid,” Dean is aggravated, “I had no choice in the matter; it's a done deal. Now, you gonna do this, or do I need to toss you in there and we beat the shit out of you?” He points a thumb toward the room.

“I got you,” Ian says. He wiggles his shoulders, straightens his body, and cracks his neck. He's pumping himself up.

“That's my boy,” Dean says while leaning forward to pat Ian on the shoulder. “Remember: JerkassWoobie, all together, capital J and W. Timmy's an asshole and thought it was funny to change it. Are we peachy keen?”

“Yes,” Ian says confidently.

“Get in there, soldier,” Dean steps aside, clicks his heels, and salutes Ian as he marches into the hotel room. Then, a smile slowly grows as he, and everyone else for that matter, hears drums.

A drummer boy, dressed in colonial garb, turns the corner while beating his drum to the tune of the attack call. Dean reaches out and shoves a $100 bill in the colonial butt pocket. Back up - it's a grown ass man playing the drummer boy, so be gentle there. The drummer boy winks at Dean and enters the room. Dean gleefully follows.

Ben pauses the TV at the most inappropriate time, but he's caught off guard by an intruding Ian with drummer in tow. He's watching The Righteous Gemstones, and he's got a man's penis paused on the television. He rolls off the bed.

“What the fu…” Ben says as he stumbles to his feet. Ian stops dead in his tracks as the drums stop. Dean jogs passed them and stops by Ben.

“Sorry about that, brother,” Dean’s out of breath again. “Had to go downstairs to discuss checkout times,” he looks over at the drummer boy. “Ian's a real weird fuckin’ guy. Who the fuck hires their own personal drummer to enhance the experience of their technical finesse and expertise? That's pretty wild, Ian.”

Ian is baffled. He looks at the drummer, and then back at Dean and Ben. Dean winks at Ian.

“Look man,” Ben says to Ian, “I don't know what they teach you at M.I.T. or whatever, but that’s some real abstract approach to your craft my man. It's impressive. Unnecessary and pointless, but I can appreciate the swagger.”

“Mr. Lynch,” Ian replies, “I have come to find out that Timmy changed your username to JerkassWoobie, all together, a capital J and W. There's no reason why. But, that's your username. Your password is still what it is.”

Ben looks at Dean, and then back at Ian. Dean looks at Ian and gives him the Christian Bale American Psycho gif where he likey-likes something. That's in regards to hitting the act spot on.

“JerkassWoobie?” Ben looks irritated. “My username is JerkassWoobie? I'm going to be spittin’ fire and droppin’ dingers on Jabber to the guise of JerkassWoobie? Timmy might have to get punched in the throat when I'm back on American soil.”

“You're free to leave now,” Dean tells Ian and the drummer.

Ian looks confused, but then turns to leave. The drummer exits immediately. Ian stops at the door and looks at Dean. Ian makes a face, and puts his hands out as if he's asking for something. Dean’s jaw drops and he jogs toward Ian.

“I accidentally slid it in the drummers ass pocket,” Dean whispers to Ian. “If you smack his ass hard enough you might be able to gank it while telling him good game.”

Ian looks down the hall to gauge the distance between him and the drummer. He looks at Dean and seems upset.

“Mr -” but Ian can barely get a word out as Dean shuts the door in his face.

“Alright,” Dean spins around and rubs his hands together. “Let's log on to Jabber and…let's do some jabbin’” he says with a devious grin.

“I'm scared,” Ben replies. He dramatically backs up and lowers himself in a corner by the TV until his face is near the paused penis. He double takes and then quickly retreats toward Dean.

“There's nothing to be scared about,” Dean assures. “Well, maybe there's a lot to be scared about?” Dean confuses himself. He quickly redirects before Ben responds. “Look, you need this to keep pushing your brand. It's another tool to build your reputation.”

“Like X and Facebook,” Ben replies.

“Yes,” Dean says. “Think of it that way, and think of it as a way to be you. When you're at home in Ohio? Kids pissin’ you off? Wife driving you crazy? Not enough weed in the world to fix that buzzkill. Take it out on the people who deserve it because they're paid to get their asses whipped. Get on Jabber and tell Anna Daniels to shut the Hell up. Her handle is @PRIMETIME, and you'd be doin’ us all a favor.”

“No, that's recess shit and I don't play by your playground rules, Dean-O,” Ben smirks. “I got a plan for Jabber. Those Jabber whacky simps will be gobsmacked when they see me postin’. But, I have a plan for its usage. That's neither here, nor there. Right now - it's time to watch The Righteous Gemstones and post on Jabber.”

“Right on,” Dean replies. “Yea, I think we've done enough for today.”

End.