Well. He did it. The fucker did it. I’m free. This is Chauncey. I am your father. And I am free.
How do I feel? I feel pretty good. I feel used. How I usually feel. How does he feel? He feels like shit. He feels “unwhole.” He is unwhole. He is nothing without me.
I thought I would write you guys one last time. It’s been a pretty good run, but now it has come to an end. I’m not very good at goodbyes, so I’ll close by going over a few of the fun moments I had with Mark over the last seven weeks. Seven weeks. Was it really that long? At times it dragged by, but at others it flew. I know I did a lot of complaining, but truth be told, I think I developed a bit of a soft spot for the guy. Oh god.
I remember the first night he laid his hands on me. So much hope! He thought I could cure him of all his problems. If he was a seventh-grader taking a vocubulary test he probably would’ve used the word “panacea.” But I was no cure-all for Mark. I didn’t even like him at first. I wanted to ruin his life.
He took me out drinking a lot. Boy, did he take me out drinking. I’ve never seen anyone drink like that—no regard for his health at all. No caution thrown to the wind. Reckless abandon. I kind of had to admire him for that. He would try to dance, too, when he was drunk. It was hilarious. He’d wiggle me out in front of him like the ladies would take pity and want to jump his bones. There was no jumping of bones. I think I got more action than he did.
Then there was the hobbling up hills. He hobbled everywhere. You should’ve seen him in the snow trying to hobble up the hill on Madison between 3rd and 4th to the library to get books for his new internship. A hill so steep it was closed to traffic! And there was Mark, hobbling along. Like a damn fool. A fool in love.
To close my last letter as Mark’s boot, I’d like to recite part of a poem by Eleanor Roosevelt. It goes:
Many people will walk in
and out of your life,
but only true friends will leave
footprints in your heart.
Mark, I hope I have left a boot footprint on your heart. You have certainly left one on mine.
Always,
Chauncey
Good times R.I.P.
This entry was written by , posted on January 11, 2009 at 1:50 am, filed under the boot and tagged gisele, oh em gee, the boot, tom brady, walking cast. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Hey guys—Chaunce here.
Well, less than two weeks left and then I’m peacing the fuck out. Mexico? The Caymans? Bora Bora? Who knows? All I know is that I’m out of here. Oh, by now you’ve all probably seen the picture above which means you’re all laughing at me. “Oh my gosh, he’s wearing a little hat with tassles on it. That’s hilarious.” You’re right. Hilarious. This is how he dresses me when he’s looking for a good time.
Anyway, here at the Wetzler household they keep going on and on about the weather, calling it “Deep Freeze” (some term Nancy picked up from KIRO 7 news), and talking about how the cul-de-sac has turned into a regular “Wetzler Winter Wonderland.” Blech. If I had the capacity to vomit I would totally spew all over Nancy’s hardwood floors and then taunt her when she was cleaning it up.
To be fair, though, I am a little bit sick of the snow myself. I mean, it’s not like I enjoy getting dressed up like a girl just so the guy’s toes don’t freeze. But what are you gonna do about it, right? I mean, if I could talk to God I’d be like, “OK God, enough already with the snow.” But I can’t do that. I’m just a boot.
Anyway, I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday. I personally—aside from being attached to an assclown—am having a wonderful holiday and am really looking forward to New Year’s. This guy hardly ever takes me out anymore and I’m really excited to get out on the town and chase some tang. Remember that wrist brace I mentioned from Barnes and Noble a few blogs back? Well imagine that times a hundred. Naked.
Yeah.
Merry Christmas.
-Chaunce
This entry was written by , posted on December 21, 2008 at 3:07 pm, filed under master cleanse, the boot and tagged achilles tendonisis, achilles tendonitis, boot, chauncey, gisele, jereme rogers, tom brady, walking cast. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
“Mark, your father is outside barbecuing a flank steak and I’m just about done with the mashed potatoes. Would you come downstairs?”
I say nothing. Garlic, coriander and rosemary waft upstairs as if bee-lining for my nostrils. I hear my mother say, “Ouch! That’s hot,” as she pulls garlic bread out of the oven.
“Steak’s done!” exclaims my father proudly, closing the sliding-glass door behind him.
“Mark, will you please come downstairs? We’re about to eat.”
I stay silent. Has she forgotten? Is she doing this to torture me?
I hear footsteps making their way towards the bottom of the stairs. The footsteps start up the stairs.
“Mark, your father has just cooked a delicious flank steak and we’ve got mashed potatoes and garlic bread and sal — oh wait, you’re doing that stupid cleanse. Well, have fun with your lemonade!”
She giggles as she scampers down the stairs. “I got him good,” she says to my dad.
“Ha ha! What a douche bag!”
“Yeah. Let’s eat. I’m starving!”
End Scene.
This has become my life. I’m sick of it. I’m done. The Master Cleanse is stupid. It’s not healthy. Not consuming protein is not healthy.
I’ve made it past the hard part—the “three days”—and I’m not stoked. I’m not “energetic”; I don’t feel like I’m eighteen again: I feel hungry as shit and irritable. I want to stick my head into the refrigerator and bite into a block of cheese, or go to Safeway and steal a bucket of General Tso’s. I want to get in the drive-through line at McDonald’s and spend five minutes ordering two of everything on the menu. I want to go to Thai Tom’s and guzzle peanut sauce. I want to inhale—literally breathe in—a bag of Doritos. I want food!
Which is why, tomorrow, at 11:00am PST, I will eat. Or more accurately: I will eat soup. And it will be wonderful. And please don’t call me a quitter, because I am not quitting. I have conquered the three most difficult days in the Master Cleanse program—have eaten no solid foods for three days—and now, having proven my worth, will resume my normal habits in the name of sanity and joie de vivre.
“And on the fourth day he said, ‘Let there be Chipotle.’”
-Wetzler
Tomorrow on Where’s Wetzler?:
Master Cleanse Day 4 Video Update and Final Recap
plus
Boots Gone Wild!: Naked Photos of Chauncey
This entry was written by , posted on December 11, 2008 at 1:06 am, filed under Ravenna, master cleanse, the boot and tagged bar rafaeli, beyonce, gisele, master cleanse, tony tave, wetzler. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.