By Keith O'Brien
Gygamino was a five-headed
beast that lived in a small cave in Northern Scotland. That’s all that
is necessary to know about the matter if… you’re a shallow bastard and
only care about first impressions.
Because, if you bothered
to get to know him, you would soon find out that he had more posters
of Whitney Houston than any other entity in the known universe. This
is equally due to the fact that he was a Whitney Houston fanatic and
that he lived in a vast cave – even the most diehard suburban Houston
fan could not compete with the possibilities of such square footage.
Nonetheless, he guarded
the knowledge of his collection with the same zeal that dictates that
Trekkies trek to Las Vegas covertly until they are within comfortable
territory. Since Houston has been widely cast as an impossible diva,
she has certainly taken a tumble down the cool barometer as of late,
but, let’s face it, even in her "Bodyguard" heyday she was
no Leo. And let us not even start on how far back that movie set Kevin
Costner.
In order to garner this
information, one would have to either gain his trust in conversation
or begin any correspondence by belting out a medley of her greatest
hits. Some people made the mistake of singing a few bars of "Greatest
Love of All" only to be bewildered when the giant man-beast waved
them away from his dwelling.
What they failed to realize
was that Whitney, to Gygamino, was a proper Spanish bar and her songs
were Tapas to be sampled. No one goes to a Tapas bar to gorge themselves
just on salmon croquettes and, following that line of reasoning, no
Houston booster dines solely on "My Name is Not Susan."
And while some people may
argue that Houston has made some poor choices in the later stage of
her life, such as marrying Bobby Brown or continuing to exist, Gygamino
cherished her even more dearly because she was human, something he could
never become. And while some people may argue that, well, if you accept
that as a rational thought, then logic would dictate that Gygamino should
feel the same sort of infatuation with every human being. Well, I can
only say that he would need a lot more than five heads to accomplish
that bucko.
He had other pursuits, but
they were all beyond human comprehension. He also did enjoy shuffleboard;
he guarded this hobby even more tightly than his Whitney fetish. This
was because; let’s face it, where can you get a legitimate game of Shuffleboard
in this universe? The truth of the matter was this…
Shuffleboard was only played
in three distinct arenas.
1) Amongst the elderly where
anyone who avoids injuring themselves is declared a winner.
2) Deep into beer-b-ques
when the drunkest of the lot suddenly gets a hankering for shuffleboard
as if he’s a pregnant woman craving a yet-to-be-invented form of potato
chips. Forty minutes after that revelation, he/she finally gets motivated
to look for the necessary equipment and then another forty minutes passes
before he/she finds said objects. Then an undetermined time passes while
they argue about who gets to play first. Consumed time is washed down
with more beer and the final result is far beyond what can be considered
a game.
3) Young children who escape
their mother’s attention long enough for them to hurtle the disc towards
the toes of his/her younger sibling.
Gygamino was highly competitive
of his shuffleboard game and refused to play in any conditions below
his standards. Therefore, no one knew of his fondness for the game for
the sole reason that everyone from the poorest of the poor (who fashion
their equipment from brooms and empty cat food cans) to the richest
of the rich all love shuffleboard – albeit it in the context of "I’ve
been meaning to have a barbecue – bring your shuffleboard and Geordie…
Geordie, wake up man, you’re a fucking narcoleptic – bring the beer."
Gygamino was very dedicated
to his own personal hygiene, which took a considerable amount of time
considering his multiple sets of teeth, hair and other facial features
that needed grooming. Every day he would wake up earlier than the next
to ensure he had proper time to get himself presentable for his day
of work as a bank manager in Inverness. Even on days when he awoke at
the crack of dawn and rushed through his pre-job routine, he never failed
to miss the bus. We, with the benefit of reading this on a computer
screen, realize what Gygamino went to his grave unaware of – the fact
that the bus route never came close to his cave and that he was not
employed at a bank in Inverness. This was all the result of a particularly
convincing dream where such things did exist remained ingrained in Gygamino’s
mind and, with his inability to discern between the two already a problem,
you can see how such a mistake occurred. Rather, Gygamino was self-employed
as an envelope stuffer and his stash of unfinished work was piled up
in one of the many recesses in the cave. Many people did not rejoice
at the fact that pre-approved credit card junk mail did not reach them
for the sole reason that suggesting that someone would somehow know
that a piece of mail that was supposed to be delivered to them due their
name being on a marketing mailing list because of a five-minute survey
they filled out in order to get a free t-shirt with a unmemorable slogan
on it that he/she never wore is laughable. The human resources manager
of credit card company that he was freelancing for was quite relieved
to have survived one encounter with the beast during a pleasant meeting
and did not feel it was worth the risk to go see why he had terminated
completing his duties. The manager, instead of outsourcing the envelopes
to the cave, did the work himself. He did it with such fastidiousness
and speed that Gygamino was offered a modest sum as a bonus for HR director’s
brilliant work. The bonus came in the form of a check from the Bank
of Scotland. The memo even spelled out the reason for check – "Bonus
for magnificent work in the field of freelance envelope stuffing for
the Visa Credit Card Company." This is interesting for two reasons.
One, the regional manager was one of those people who ordered his food
at a restaurant by regurgitating what is written on the menu and, as
evidence shows, writes sentences in the memo section of a check to make
sure the receiver does not assume the check is sent as a goodwill gesture
instead of it’s legitimate business purpose. In other words, the regional
manager was a pompous man who thought the worst of the people who surrounded
him. The second interesting tidbit to this transaction was that Gygamino
did not believe in the reading the memo section of checks because it
had been long preached among his tribe that the memo section steals
the soul (oh, and, "the Lord God formed man of the dust of the
ground (Genesis, Chap 2 v. 7)" makes perfect sense). Also worth
mentioning is that Gygamino never really understood the concept of checks,
so he thought the piece of paper with the word bank on it were directions
to his workplace. So, everyday he sat on a stone outside of his cave
waiting for the bus with the check in his hands – turning in at sunset
when it was even apparent to him that the bus was not coming again that
day. The constant absences from work began to depress Gygamino and he
found comfort in his friends. Most of his friends had names and identities
that cannot be expressed by the human language, but he had a minor acquaintance
named Sally whose job could best be described as "rock prostitute."
While she was amicable towards the beast, she had problems of her own
to deal with.
She awoke every morning
at around the same time as Gygamino for a different reason. While the
penta-headed creature was brushing his six sets of teeth (oh, one of
the heads has two sets of teeth), she was going through the routine
of getting herself psyched up to have sex with rocks. Most of the rocks
in that particular area were very gentle and she almost had an affinity
towards them. The things that troubled her and the reasons for her early
morning motivational session was that a) the rocks did not pay her any
money and b) she was not attracted to them or any other non-paying geological
structure. She had a casual attitude towards sex and that attitude
allowed her to become a prostitute without any qualms. Her only belief,
however, was that sex should be done for some gain – either the satisfaction
of being with someone you loved, someone you lusted or someone who would
compensate you financially for said transaction of fluids. Since the
rocks did neither of these three for her nor had fluids, she could not
be happy with herself. The only reason she continued with the profession
was that it was her mother’s (also a rock prostitute) dying request.
The girl was too young to understand what her mother meant at the time,
and it wasn’t until she reached puberty that she realized the nature
of the request.
When Sally realized that
her mother was not coming back from the afterlife to ensure Sally complied
with her dying wish, the young woman changed her resume – opting for
the Impact sans serif type. Gygamino agreed with the type choice, though
he was more of a Verdana fan. Sally bid her friend good-bye and went
off to seek her fortune in the personal shopper industry.
Gygamino enjoyed a short
spell of fame after an archeologist (who actually paid attention when
his grammar teacher lectured about/ expressed his undying love for Louis
Leaky) spotted him while surveying the Scottish highlands for possible
dig sites. He toured the U.S. for a bit and fell in love with Nelly
Furtado. He died of old age in the spring of 2001, thankfully a full
week before GQ published a story about limo drivers and their worst
enemies. The number one enemy of chauffeurs? Mrs. "Every Woman"
Whitney Houston.
