The Incredible Bulk

Editor’s note: Here’s another Story from the Attic- One of those mostly true stories from our time living in “The Climbing House” in college.  I can’t vouch for the accuracy of this account, as I was upstairs sleeping (read: having nightmares).  Words by Justin Robarge…

The party was nearing an end and most of the revelers left long ago, leaving behind a warzone of empty cans and cheap plastic cups.  A few friends remained hoping to snag a spot on the couch.

Keeping it classy

I had enough crazy partying for one night, and started preparing for some much needed sleep.  My mind was wondering through the evenings  events when I was interrupted by what sounded like a domestic dispute at the neighbor’s.  I perked my ears for a moment.

“…..HOW DARE THEY PRANK MY @#*$% SISTER!!!” echoed off the side of the house and down the street, laced with vehemence and the anticipation of violence.  At the mention of the words ‘prank’ and ‘sister’ my mind sent the first pangs of alarm, as if I was somehow involved in the referenced activity, and more importantly, would be involved in the consequences.  And then, with the suddenness of a strobe light flash, my memory came flooding back.

Several hours earlier, a friend (let’s call him “Ian”) picked up an abandoned cell phone from the coffee table.  The owner was laughing and dancing just out of sight.  The perfect crime- Ian began making prank calls to her contacts.  One of the prank recipients was her big brother.  It seems he wasn’t too keen on the idea of some drunken jerk calling him in the middle of the night from his sister’s phone.  The conversation ended in a quick disconnect and a fit of laughter.

The raving lunatic outside wasn’t going for the neighbors, he was coming for us!  I had to warn the others before others before it was too late.  I sprang out of the bathroom and leapt down the stairs in two bounds, my gazelle like agility barley keeping me from crashing down.  I crossed the front room with the first warnings of danger on my lips when the front door exploded and the beast was revealed.  He turned sideways and tucked his head down to fit through the doorway.  In front of us stood the Hulk, a towering behemoth of anger and low IQ.  Rage contorted his face, turning it scarlet red and bulging blood vessels in his forehead.  He rhythmically clenched and unclenched his massive hands.  Eyeing us down like a lion before a wounded calf, he wasted no time in clueing us in to reason of his sudden appearance.

I didn't do it!!!

“WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS PRANKING MY %*&^ SISTER,” he roared, spittle issuing forth from his lips.  Joe, sitting at the back of the room, was the first to respond to the query.  “Uh, I forgot, I have dishes to do…..” he mumbled, half to himself, half to the rest of the group before speeding out of the room.  The hulk growled, his targets now reduced by one.

Artist rendering of the Beast, courtesy of traversart.blogspot.com

Junk was next to act.  He courageously faced the monster, and attempted to calm it down through reason and logic.  His barely audible voice steadily gained assurance and confidence, despite the realization that failed negotiation would result in certain death.  We held our breath during the exchange, calculating the quickest escape route.

After some skillful use of bullshitting and life-pleading, Junk assured the giant that we weren’t the wanted culprits; it MUST have been someone that we did not know, and that we also hated.  Reluctantly, with disappointment replacing the rage, the giant quietly proceeded out the door.

A profound sense of relief flooded my body, and I collapsed into the nearest chair.  Somehow, we survived.  A heartfelt thanks went out to Junk, and we cracked another brew to calm our nerves.