Chronicles of Friendship: the Ryan, the Bitch and the Internet
by Andy Kwon, 05.11.06

Year 1
“Wanna go another round?” asked Ryan.

“Uh, sure,” I responded. We had just gone driving thirty minutes on Saturday’s congested afternoon freeways for the best Chicago dogs in Los Angeles County. Don't ask. I was only fifteen so he drove. Afterwards, we headed to the theaters for the movie of the week and topped it off with milkshakes at Denny’s. It was getting late, but we decided to crash a local bowling alley for a quick game.

“Alright,” said my 19-year-old colleague. “I’ll be back.” I sat there sipping on my coke, as it relieved my throat from the salty fries. Soon enough, Ned returned and grabbed an aqua green bowling ball. “Okay, try and beat this one,” he challenged, raising the sphere above his head and forcefully pounding it against the waxed hardwood alley. The 3-holed victim of merciless gravity bounced hard the first time.

“Oh my- what the hell?!” I stood up, shocked, as the ball made a "Thomp!" and clumsiliy fell prey to the gutters. “We could get kicked out for that man! My friend said he got kicked out for sliding in the lanes… and it was on accident!”

Ryan glanced back in the direction of the manager, who seemed preoccupied with other duties. The bowling alley was larger than most places and crowded that Saturday night. Nobody besides neighboring bowlers bothered to notice my friend’s unorthodox striking technique.

He just shrugged and we ended up chuckling it off. We goofed around in the bowling alley some more, and he drove me home at one in the morning. “Thanks for all. Seeya later masturbater.”

That was pretty much my relationship with Ryan, who was an assistant TV tech dude employed under my father. On Saturdays, we’d get together after work, watch a movie, maybe play a course of miniature golf or visit the arcades. Maybe go to the Malibu Speed Track and dine in at a 3-star restaurant, discussing girl problems and typical “life sucks” themed topics, as the Oldsmobiles streaked by the midnight windows.

In retrospect, Ryan and I were quite the team. One day we’d go to Chuck E. Cheese and get lost, only to settle at the L.A. Zoo. The next morning we’d stop by The Virgin Megastore to pick up The Nutty Professor soundtrack before heading to Big Bear and visiting Ripley's on our way back. As capricious as we were, there was no drama between us, something that tends to come in a 2-for-1 package deal with friendships nowadays. All that mattered was doing what we felt like. And it was apathetic and fun while it lasted.

Year 2
“I don’t know man… are you sure this is going to turn out alright?” I asked. “I mean, you met her online.”

“I just feel like this is something I have to do now,” he said. “She could be the one.”

“Yeah…” I empathized with my pubescent mind.

“I’m leaving next Friday.”

“How long?”

He blew bubbles in his root beer. “Two weeks.”

“You’re actually gonna fly all the way there?” “There” was Ohio.

“Yeah. We’ve already arranged to meet at the airport.”

“Have you seen any pictures of her?” I inquired.

“No.”

“So you don’t know how she looks like?”

“No.”

“Did you try asking for a picture at least? Or ask what she looked like?”

“I don’t know. It just sounds weird,” Ryan conceded. “I didn’t want to come off shallow.”

“How do you picture her when you’re chatting with her?”

“Ya know, I don’t know…” he said with a faint smile.

Something about this sounded crazy, but I had little knowledge of internet dating as a 16-year-old. All I knew was that even the most perilous and unlikeliest of journeys ended happily, according to Walt Disney. “She might be hot,” I remarked.

Year 3
“i ended it.”

“What?” I returned the instant message.

“i broke it off with the fat bitch,” GrumpyOlBean responded.

“Ryan, are you serious?”

“yah.”

I couldn’t believe it. "Are you kidding?"

“nope. she was too fat for me. her pussy was too loose.”

Was he really telling the truth? “Ah shit…”

“you should know by now that I cant have the same bitch for more than a few days. shes lucky I had her this long.”

“LOL” I broke my impartiality. “I told you this would happen Ned. Hey yeah, she was a bitch. I agree with that.”

“shes too fat for TV,” he typed back.

“Haha, yeah. I mean, I never liked her man. That’s the honest to God truth. Dang, she was one clingy bitch.”

“FUCK YOU ANDY!”

“Huh?” I responded.

“ANDY FUCK YOU COCKSUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! YOU KISS MY BITCH ASS FUCKER!!!!!!!!!”

“What?” I was at a loss.

“that was dany. I didnt really break up with her! ahahahahaha!!”

I went numb… again. This was the third time I had fallen for Ryan’s “I-dumped-her” gimmick. It was sad. Ever since he met who he thought was his 15-year-old soul mate on AOL 3.0, they eloped into a cramped bedroom at his grandma’s one-room apartment, where Dany ate away at his refrigerator and brain cells. I wanted to ask why, why Ryan, do you let this woman devour everything good and tasty in your life?

Truth, there was nothing really good or tasty going for him. Still, he was fired from my dad’s shop when he had decided to skip work and meet his 5-foot, 220-pound trailer park counterpart Dany. He sought employment from several other companies, such as Foot Locker and Jiffy Lube. He held both jobs for less than two weeks before he was let go because he stopped showing.

And when we hung out together, she always tagged along. Dany could never stay home by herself. She had issues, and they weren't Spider-Man. I’d beg for her to give me one day with Ryan - just one day - without her trudging along and complaining about how sore her pudgy feet were. “I’ll think about it,” she’d always say. But alas, where he went, she went. What he ate, she ate. What he did, she did. She read all of our instant message exchanges and overheard all of our phone discussions. There was never any alone time for me to slap some sense into Ryan and snap him out of his hellbound communion. Never a private moment for me to kick him in the balls and ask him, “Is it the sex life? If it is, I swear I’ll sell my pogs and get you a walrus just like it!"

Year 4
“its over,” the IM box read.

“What are you talking about?”

“i fuckin kicked her out for good,” GrumpyOlBean typed.

“…”

“she got on my every fuckin nerves. she follows me everywhere. she never lets me do anything. she never trusts me and shes always playing that goddamn dave matthews band.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you for over a year.”

“and shes too fat,” he confirmed. “she stinks up the fuckin room with her fat sweaty ass body odor..”

“Did you seriously kick her out?”

“YES," he confirmed.

"..." I was still reluctant to believe him. He had cried wolf on numerous occasions.

"come to my fuckin house," he dared.

Could it be? Something seemed different this time... maybe it was the way he typed, but he wasn't trying as hard. No. Finally a light bulb had flashed, and he saw her for the satanic device that she was. His life had been on an indefinite free fall from the moment Dany joined the dinner table.

“i regret all the time that i wasted with her,” he confessed.

“Don’t worry,” I consoled him as a friend should. “You don’t need her anymore. Actually, you never did. Now you won’t have the parasitic bitch leeching on your every move.”

“im fuckin free!!” were his words of triumph.

“I’m so glad you got rid of that bitch.”

“it was only a matter of time pal,” he rekindled our stunted relationship.

“Hey, I’m gonna go over and play basketball at the park. You wanna come and play?” I invited.  

"It'll be just like old times," he added.

Two hours later, I was practicing free throws and layups on the outdoor court of Shatto Park. As I primed myself for an amiable 1-on-1 game against Ryan, I happened to scan a few guys loafing around. My mind, weighing the prospect of a 3-on-3, was subsequently caught off guard by a high-pitched monologue wailing from the evening blue. It was almost nine o’clock, and the movements of the dual human silhouettes suggested that they were coming near… fast. Very fast. Very very-

And then they were here.

“FUCK YOU ANDY!!! YOU ALWAYS THINK YOU’RE RIGHT YOU COCKFACED MOTHERFUCKER!!!!”

Apparently, Ryan had somehow managed to dig his heart a six-foot hole and dupe me again. As expected, Dany was frenetically stampeding toward me, wearing nothing underneath Ryan ’s Eddie Jones #6 Lakers jersey and large navy blue Riddell shorts that didn’t fit her. Wouldn’t fit her. Couldn’t fit her if she lipoed the cottage cheese factory from the thunder thighs that boomed with every looming step. I gulped what was left of my pride, as I proceeded to dribble around the court, shoot some hoops and pretend I didn’t hear all of her death threats. This was not the 1-on-1 I had in mind.

Regardless of what I had expected, the ball was in my court. So I walked home, mindjobbed by the current events.

Why Ryan? Why… I didn’t know why. And I didn’t care, because I stopped hearing from Ryan. Not because he didn’t try and call me the next day, and talk to me like he didn’t just trap me into a bitch-for-all the last Sunday night, and all the other nights. But because I didn’t want to. It was time to let him go, like a pet that got bit by a ravenous beast, or bitch... literally. He wasn’t my friend anymore, and the history we used to sacredly share became negated by forces beyond my control.

Year XX
"I don't know if I should feel sorry for him," she said in a dejected voice.

Ryan's grandmother ocassionally visited the shop to tell stories of her grandson's life. Some were sad and some were... sad. Having been so close to the subject in question, it was never easy to discern where I should draw my feelings from the human emotional extremes.

Grandma's latest scoop told the account of Ryan and Dany’s constant arguments. Once it got so heated, he shoved her against the wall. Bad idea. Dany had gained a considerable amount of weight since giving birth to three sons, and now the scale read close to 300 pounds. As a heavyweight, she imposed her will on the lightweight challenger by spearing his torso with her shoulders. On the ground, the mount would follow, as she proceeded to choke him until streaming tears indicated a lesson was learned. He never did mess with her again. But she realized how effective the physical retaliation proved in negotiating her needs and wants.

"Now she uses it all the time," Ryan's grandmom was shameful to admit.

On another visit to the shop, she was nice enough to share a compelling story involving Ryan and Dany’s attempt to lock Grandma out of her own apartment.

"I couldn't get into my own house. The keys were of no use. They had changed the locks behind my back."

"What'd you do," I was quizzical.

"I called the cops."

"Wow."

The last I heard, Ryan thrives on governmental welfare checks and stands in food lines. On his free time, he’s either cooking, dishwashing, laundering or getting strangled. Some people say, “Behind every great man, is a great woman.” I guess the “great” part of it, is subject to change.

Please send all comments and suggestions to andykwon@guyfactor.com.