Huh? White Friend Wears Shoes Into Your House Like He Owns the Place
“I don’t remember him taking over the mortgage…”
April 12, 2021
By: Grant Yang
Showing up to hot pot night with nothing but the one button-down he owns and a single White Claw, your Caucasian friend Max steps into your house with his feet still fully encompassed in muddy Vans. “That’s weird,” you think to yourself, “I don’t recall him owning this house, but that’s the only possible reason why he would soil the floor like this. Maybe I’m just forgetful.” As you motion to the other partygoers’ shoes strewn across the foyer and offer Max some replacement slippers, he shrugs you off and gives a nonchalant “No thanks.” before continuing down the hallway to join the others. “Something’s a little off,” you say to your fiancé Eric, “if Max is the owner of this house and we are nothing but guests, then who have we been paying our mortgage to?” “Beats me,” Eric offers in response, “but we don’t want to keep our gracious host waiting.”
You follow the tracks of dirt that Max left behind into the kitchen and find him commingling with all the people he must have invited over. Eric brings over the hot pot broth that’s been simmering on the stove the whole day and you begin laying out the meat slices, mushrooms, and seafood that you’ve prepared. “Ew is that still raw,” Max says visibly distressed in his own home, “do you guys have chicken tenders I could have instead?”
“Wait one second,” you think to yourself, “when did Max declare war on us, decimate our soldiers in a bloody battle, and then proclaim himself king of this house? I don’t remember being forced into a servile subject, but I’ve become so absentminded lately, maybe I just didn’t notice.” Careful not to displease your new king, you microwave some Costco chicken tenders and hope Max lets you keep your head.
At the conclusion of dinner, you, Eric, and the other guests begin washing the bowls and plates and putting them in the dishwasher to dry. Max hobbles over placing his plate, still covered in oil and chicken crumbs, directly in the dishwasher. “Hold the phone,” you whisper nervously to Eric, “when did Max attain maximum spiritual enlightenment and become an all-powerful god? I don’t recall him ascending into the heavens and becoming ruler of all creation.”
“Maybe he did it over quarantine,” Eric replies, “like a personal project. Anyways we better run the dishwasher or else Max will smite us out of existence.” At the end of the party, you lead Max out the door, his Vans still somehow tracking mud on the ground. “Thanks for the lovely dinner,” Max tells the two of you, “I’ve decided to spare your lives today, devotees.” Then, in a puff of smoke, he projects his Holy Spirit back to heaven.
