SPAM

The bubble gum machine gumballs on my cell phone light up. The Caller ID says it's Trevor calling. We've been friends almost since childhood.

"What's going on, Trev?"

"Not much. How're things going?"

"Cool. Cool."

"Hey, sorry to hear about you not passing the bar."

"Thanks." I get sick of having that conversation. And it reminds me that I should be fucking studying instead of running my mouth, but I haven't talked to Trev in a bit.

"Well, it could be worse. You could be living in a state where the levees are seriously under funded and a category five hurricane could tear through the state killing hundreds and leaving you unable to find loved ones. All the while you're trapped on the roof of the home you grew up in and the national media plasters your picture all over the airwaves every chance they ge in the name of ratings, and politicians bandy about your plight like a political soccer ball."Trev says.

"I suppose there's always that." I laugh.

"Hey, did you check out American Idol last night," Trev asks.

I laugh, vaguely wondering if he has ADD. "No, still haven't managed to sprout any ovaries," I say.

"Ovaries. That's pretty good," Trev laughs. "I didn't either, but, on the bus this morning, people were getting in a pretty heated discussion about who should have won. Ri-fucking-diculous."

"I bet they didn't vote in the presidential election, but they voted for their favorite Karaoke singer. Rank and file dumbfucks." Then I said, "Seriously, that's all that show is--Karaoke on steroids. "

"Spam." Trev says.

"What?"

"Spam. The people on there remind me of Spam. You know, the highly processed meat in a can that's going to outlive you and me?"

Trev makes some interesting connections. "How's that?"

"Whoever wins is just a highly processed, prefabricated product ready for mass consumption. Spam. Sorta meat. Sorta talented. In a prefabricated way." I laugh. Only Trev.

"Taco Bell as fine dining, " I say.

"Exactly."

Then it dawns on me that Trev is, or should be, at work. "You at work?"

"Got my fucking khakis on and I'm sitting in a grey cubicle. I better be at work. Why?"

"Just curious." Thinking I need to get to work on agency and partnerships. "You wanna grab some brews during happy hour?"

"Fuuuuuck. I dunno. I'm working off a banger right now. I got all fucking soaked last night. I'll tell you about it later. He laughs. "But anyway, that's really why I was calling. What's that hangover remedy you use again?"

"The drink, or the pills?

"Both. I need both, I think."

"Two cups of milk. One cup of orange juice. One small can of V-8 juice. A banana. A little nutmeg and a little salt."

"Pills?"

"Two aspirin. One vitamin D tablet. One vitamin C tablet. One L-Cysteine tablet."

"Thanks. There's a GNC across the street. Gonna run over there and see if I can put that shit together. "

"Cool. Cool. I've gotta go over agency and partnerships. Let me know about happy hour later on."

"Aight."

"Aight."

Let's see. Frolic vs. detour.