2.10. The Rent Strike.

Heroes never get the credit they deserve. It's part of what makes them heroes. In my 24 years of life I've learned a sad and universal truth; the guy who does all the hard and thoughtful work behind the scenes gets the pleasure of knowing he did the right thing, and the guy who waits until the 11th hour then makes a bunch of noise and screams and shouts the loudest gets laid. I saved everyone in our apartment building from freezing to death this week, and Balki scooped up all the credit once it became advantageous for him to do so. 

Rewind a few days. I started the morning on the wrong side of the bed. 

I had cut myself shaving a dangerous number of times; Our slumlord, Mr. Twinkacetti, has been ignoring my pleas to repair the hot water heater. As a result, I lost all control of my razor and buried it into my skin more than a dozen times. For you young readers and womenfolk out there, it's IMPOSSIBLE to shave without constantly cutting yourself open if the water isn't scalding hot. It's science. I went off to Balki about how Twinkacetti has been ignoring problems with the building, even ones that I put in writing.

That's when he decided to tell me the sink doesn't work. I have no idea how long this has been the case. It wasn't draining, so I told him to flick on the garbage disposal. Balki launched into a series of hems and haws and buts, until I just demanded he turn it on; my reward for taking charge of the situation was dirty sink water shooting up into my face and seeping into my lacerations. Hey Balki, how about next time instead of the sound effects you just say "It doesn't work?" We all loved Police Academy but a guy who speaks in beeps and boops in Larry Appleton's Chicago gets his head caved in. 

So our apartment is falling all to shit, and it's Twinkacetti's fault. Balki got out a toolkit and set about to fix the sink, and that's when I found out he's been quietly fixing things around the apartment for weeks because Twinkie won't bother. Balki is of the opinion that he pays rent for the privilege of sleeping inside and without livestock, and if there's something broken in the apartment that he knows how to fix he might as well just fix it instead of dragging Twinkie up here every time.

What an asshole.

The doorbell rings, and Jennifer enters in nothing but a towel. Balki gets all creepy and horny, like enough where I think Jennifer would feel a responsibility to report it back to Mary Anne if she and Balki are still a thing. It appears Jennifer's shower is broken again so WAIT A MINUTE JENNIFER LIVES IN THIS BUILDING? SINCE WHEN? We first met her a few months ago when she tricked Balki into joining the gym she worked for; did she move in the building after that? Has she been here all along? How big is this building? Is there a world outside of it? Is this purgatory? 

So I point Jennifer toward the bathroom but I tell her we only have cold water, and she gets all pissed off and worked up, which gets me all pissed off and worked up. I launch into another classic Larry For President motivational speech: "we can ban together! If enough people want to change something, they can! We stopped the war! We got women the vote! We came that close to getting daylight savings time all year round!" I have to say that life with Balki has dramatically improved my oratory and plan making skills. I need to come into every situation life throws at me these days prepared to bargain for my life. Keeps me fresh.

Balki, who has clearly lived under some oppressive circumstances in his third world upbringing, warns me that Twinkacetti is a landowner and as lowly peasants, we have no power. I tell him we live in a Democracy, and make a plan to get the tenants together to compile a list of complaints. I can feel the heat coming off Jennifer; women can't resist medium sized, curly-haired men of power when they're on a mission. If Balki wasn't here I guarantee that towel would have dropped right on the living room floor and Cousin Larry would've gone jackrabbit wild on a whole mess of blonde until the building caught on fire.

Later that day I'd collected the tenants in a creepy basement room of the building where Twinkacetti wouldn't find us. We're in a large, four story apartment building with at least thirty apartments by the look of it, but only a dozen people showed up to my organizing party. Two of them were Balki and me, two were Jennifer and Mary Anne, and one was Susan, who even I had forgotten about. This wasn't a good start. We plowed through a list of complaints - holes in ceilings, tilted floors, and so on - all of which have been completely ignored by Mr. Twinkacetti. Within seconds, the group had unanimously elected me their leader, and I was a little reluctant (I'm already basically getting away with murder as Twinkacetti's employee, maybe not a good idea to rock the boat here) until Susan and Jennifer started eye-screwing me and telling me what a natural leader I am. 

I stood - and was it just me, or was I four inches taller, all of a sudden? - and declared that I would be the leader. I would type a letter to Twinkie and send it to him. And as I described the contents of the letter I discovered that Twinkacetti had sniffed out our little Union rally and came down to break it up. So I had no choice but to sack up and tell him we had grievances. After a brief, failed attempt to lie his way out of the jam he's in, Twinkacetti lost his shit and called us ingrates. He tore up our list of grievances, laughing like some kind of cartoon villain. 

Things escalated rapidly. The tenants charged to kill him, with hate and malice in their eyes. I chilled everyone out while Twinkie hid behind me. No one murders anyone in this building, unless that victim is Balki Bartokomous and that murderer is Larry Appleton - and Larry Appleton alone. 

Here's how Balki "helped" - he gave the crowd a history lesson on the Boston Tea Party and asked what it would mean if we decided to stop paying rent until our demands are met. I answered his question, telling him it's called a "rent strike" and Balki declared that COUSIN LARRY is calling a rent strike. See that move? He put it entirely on me. Our mobbed up landlord and employer threatened me personally while everyone else started partying.

Balki is such an evil, manipulative little shit I can't even stand it. He tricked me into taking ownership over all of this, made me Twinkie's sole target, and went on to dance around like the emptyheaded idiot he is with the other tenants, while I was left to wonder which one of Twinkie's nephews would come looking for me with a tire iron later that night. Screw you, Balki.

Needless to say, Twinkacetti cut off the heat, water and electricity seconds later. Considering the rent strike was only a few hours old and no one had missed any payments yet, this seems a little premature; but what do you expect, based on everything he knows about us he has no reason to believe we'll just come to our senses on our own. The next morning Balki and I sat shivering (I couldn't help but appreciate how impressively well lit the living room was in the predawn hours, without any electricity), while Balki cooked an egg over a candle. I hope he gets salmonella. I complained about how dirty Twinkacetti was playing this. Balki, meanwhile, didn't really give a shit about the conditions because his life in Mypos was apparently a series of one miserable poverty stricken hardship after another. So great, he caused all of this, and he is the only one not suffering. 

That is actually the perfect inscription for Balki's headstone someday. 

Balki and I stormed into the Ritz - where I honestly don't know if we work anymore or not - to confront Twinkacetti. There was a fresh pot of coffee on, and Twinkie charged me ten dollars for a cup; which I gladly paid. Then I told him off pretty hard and said we weren't giving in until he fixed the whole list. Needless to say this is a complicated and dangerous field to play on: Twinkie and I are both saying things to each other that we can't ever take back, and somehow "you're fired" never becomes one of them. Did we check in for work after? I honestly don't know anymore.  What I did though - gangster move - is I used my keys to the Ritz to let all of the tenants in and sleep on the floor that night so they wouldn't freeze to death. 

---

The next morning I was busily plowing through Twinkie's coffee when he showed up early and caught us all hiding in a tent in the store. This is trespassing, which he was impressively cool about. He was probably breaking the law too, freezing us out like that in the dead of winter, so we're all sort of in this soupy melange of criminal behavior together, I guess. He surprised us all by apologizing, which I was hella suspicious about. Twinkie said he'd make a few repairs if we paid the rent today, just as his bookie called and told Balki that if Twinkie didn't pay up he would literally take him out on a boat and murder him.

Gotcha.

So it comes as no surprise that Twinkie has overextended himself gambling with the mob, and  he needed money within hours or his kids would grow up without a father. We finally had some leverage on him to get our shit fixed, so we told him our most pressing demands and he agreed to them. This was enough for most of us, but now that Balki had the old man by his short hairs he immediately became drunk with power and decided to bleed him out for everything he has. 

We've seen this behavior out of Balki before. He plays all sweet and innocent until he has a chance to put the screws to Twinkacetti, and then he burrows into the little porker like a groundhog on methamphetamines. He plowed through the whole list, making Twinkie agree to each demand one at a time. He actually threatened to call the bookie back and tell him to kill him. Is that conspiracy to commit murder, or just criminal threatening? Has anyone even been keeping track of the number of felonies stacking up this week?

Literally everyone in the building was happy, but not Balki. He started making exorbitant demands as the rest of our neighbors just kind of wandered away.

Now Balki was despondent. When we returned to our apartment he sat inside the fireplace and moped and whined that he had made a fool of himself, just begging for me to validate him and shower him with positive attention, and I actually don't even know why this time. He said we'd lost because we didn't get everything on the list. Remember, two days ago Balki was happy to fix little things around the apartment himself. Now he's all butthurt because he couldn't coerce Twinkie into remodeling the rec room. So was he manipulating me to do his dirty work all along, or is he just this susceptible to mob fever? Either way, I told him this is how negotiating works and he did a good job, and then since he doesn't view me as a person with feelings he rubbed in how he got more out of Twinkie than I did. Just then Mary Anne showed up and backed up Balki's assertion that this was all his doing and I had nothing to do with it, and said "you've got guts. I like that in a refugee."

WHAT THE HOLY HELL DOES THAT MEAN?

She invited him up to her place for "breakfast," and they took off without saying goodbye. 

I wonder what work is going to be like today. 

2.9. Two Men and a Cradle.

Whooooa boy. Balki and I screwed up big time this week. The stakes keep getting higher in the Windy City, and lives continue to hang in the balance of Balki's increasingly reckless behavior. Last week our lives were at risk; this week we've moved on putting innocent children in mortal peril. We're tap dancing on the razor's edge, dear readers, and it's only a matter of time before we fall into the abyss.

This is a shorter entry, because basically only one thing happened this week; we left an infant in the park to fend for himself. I'll give you two guesses whose fault this is, and I'll even give you a hint: He's from Mypos, and dresses like he's playing one of the Lost Boys in the dinner theater performance of Peter Pan in a Greek insane asylum.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Deep breaths, Cousin Larry. 

So.

For the first time since I started writing this journal (or as I'm sure it will be referred to in the future, "Prosecution Evidence, Item #1") one of the countless victims of Balki and my misadventures came back for seconds. Remember Gina, the perfect stranger with the suspiciously unreliable "Italian" accent who Balki took into our apartment, and who eventually gave birth in the backseat of the 'Stang (that's where babies are supposed to be MADE, lady)? She showed up at the Ritz during one of the rare and fleeting moments Balki checked in for work, asking if he would babysit that very baby, Frankie, this weekend. He said yes without even thinking about running it past me, as is his custom. 

This agreement was worked out seconds before I sauntered in, rocking my rebel brown leather jacket and a longer haircut than usual. Translation: it's the 80s, baby, and I'm the center of the Goddamn universe.

I barely had time to say hello to Gina before she started whining about how she never gets laid anymore; I'm noticing that most of the people I know don't understand how to have conversations like human beings. "How are you, Larry," followed by some warm-up chit chat is typically the format, Gina. Anyway she and Balki launched into this half-assed, probably rehearsed back and forth about how Gina and her husband, Steve, could use a weekend away from the baby so they can pound for a couple nights, and tried to backdoor me into volunteering to babysit.

Well you can call me Bloodhound Larry, cause I'm sniffing out mischief by the hour these days. I saw where they were steering me immediately, and made Balki just be honest with me for one time in his life. He said he thought it would be nice if we babysat Frankie sometime and I was like "of course we can, we're nice people, how about we plan it out around our mutual schedules so it's fair to everyone," and Balki said "how about now" and Gina sprinted for the door.

So now we had a baby at work with us, since we literally cannot put in one single shift without pulling some crap like this. Twinkacetti came in and saw us babysitting while he was paying us to work in his store, and had a look on his face like he was convinced we kidnapped a kid, then just basically said "I don't want to know," and went away.

Twinkacetti. What a jerk, right?

Later on at home, Balki was acting like a stressed out housewife because he's doing laundry and making a bottle at the same time. I'd refused to help him since he lied through his teeth and manipulated me into babysitting, but he parked the kid in front of me long enough for the little rugrat to win me over and make me Balki's accomplice.

Hey, get this; apparently they don't have disposable diapers in Mypos, and Balki doesn't know what they are; so he's been washing them in the community laundry down in the basement. I should get some kind of word out to the super that at least one laundry machine must be either broken or filthy with shredded plastic and baby shit. This pushed me over the edge; I mean, he doesn't know about disposable diapers, fine, I get it, Mypos sucks; but he knows enough about laundry. The fact that someone who didn't recognize that a cheap plastic wrapper with an absorbent pad full of human waste is garbage - and doesn't belong in a washing machine we share with our neighbors - could be solely responsible for a baby all weekend seems criminal. 

I scolded him - hard - about how he basically took the baby no-questions-asked and takes responsibility way too lightly. He even admitted it - Cousin Larry for the win, that's never happened! - then he and the baby both started gently sobbing. I finally agreed to give him childcare advice, which I have a wealth of since I have like 200 younger siblings. The baby proceeded to keep both of us up all night; every few minutes he would wake up and cry, and we took turns trying to chill him out; come three-am we were both on the verge of insanity. 

I've always believed that inspiration rides on the unstable line between sanity and madness; and it was in that moment I remembered I'm an amazing singer, and I could soothe the little rascal to sleep with the power of melody. I sang rockabye baby, which caused Balki to freak out about the baby-in-peril lyrics (FORESHADOWING) so he started singing the Brady Bunch theme song, and Frankie seemed to really dig it. I joined in, because Balki needed a low to harmonize with his high or the jam would've sounded like garbage, and not in my house bro. My apartment is a sonic temple. Baby giggles himself to sleep. Babysitting job nailed. 

So that was pretty much our adventure in babysitting, kind of crazy at first but we got the hang of it. Short entry this week.

---

Oh, right, somehow we managed to switch babies at the park.

The next day we were both pretty sleep deprived when we took Frankie to the park, and somehow swapped him out with a little girl. I don't remember how this happened and it's not entirely important. We went into an insane panic, having kidnapped a child and abandoned another one hours before his mother returned for him. We rushed back to the park with the kid we stole, and scoured the place; but Frankie was gone. It didn't make sense that another parent wasn't doing the same thing, until Balki helpfully mentioned that there was a country-crossing couple in a Winnebago with a baby, and they probably drove off with Frankie. 

Even if that's the case, unless these were criminally negligent parents I couldn't imagine they got much further than the parking lot before realizing the mistake that took us literally several hours to discover; I mean, do they leave the baby in its stroller in a moving Winnebago? 

So Gina showed up right on cue, and I felt my bloodstream produce some kind of adrenaline rush that mimicked the effects of a dinner plate-sized dose of cocaine. My eyes bugged out. My hair stood on end. I did not speak; I screamed. I did not walk; I scurried. I kept cutting Balki off before he could explain what happened (and I could tell that he was lining up his excuse to put the blame squarely on me) by screaming over him that we wanted to keep Frankie around a little longer, then told Gina she looked like garbage and threw her in the bathroom so I could think. 

So so smooth.

Another knock came at the door. We assumed it must have been her truck-driving husband Steve and feared that he would murder us, but instead it was the mother of the kid we kidnapped. She had Frankie with her, thank God. This chick Linda Richards - yeah, it was the Winnebago lady - was weirdly cool about the whole thing, enough so that I suspect it was actually her fault and she was trying to get away with something. 

Wanna hear something screwed up? We weren't sure by looking at the baby's face that it was Frankie, so we took off his diaper and got a look at his wang to confirm it. I'm not making this up and I'm not sure why I'm telling you about it, but I'm sure it has something to do with the complicated psychology of guilt. Anyway yeah, it was Frankie's wang all right - which I should mention is impressive - and apparently we've spent more time looking at it than his face because we're sick people. 

We let Gina out of the bathroom, and per usual, got off Scot-free for our shenanigans after several close calls. We had a heart to heart about how much we appreciate our moms now, because having kids is tough. I turned on the TV, and guess what: the Brady Bunch was on. As we finally relaxed, watched the opening credits and sang along to the theme song, there was only one thought on my mind:

I'd like to get a look at those Brady kids' wangs. You know. Just to know.

2.8. Can I Get a Witness.

Ummmmm..... holy shit.

Look, I joke around a lot in this space, right? I'm frequently known to toss out, in a casual fashion, my expectation that Balki will someday kill me or be directly responsible for my early death. I do sincerely believe it, but most of the time I'm being a little glib about the chances of it happening during one of our garden variety adventures. Until today. This week Balki very nearly got us both killed. 

We'll start in simpler times. I was at home, cleaning up after another one of Balki's messes. I had discovered that the Turnip, while listening to my records, was unsurprisingly careless with other people's property and had returned them all to the wrong sleeves. I've pointed out that Balki can't really read plenty of times, but come on. You take a record out of the sleeve. You put it on the player. You put it back in the sleeve. I know that turntable technology is akin to rocket science where he's from on Moron Island; but they have pictures of the artists on the sleeves for God's sake, there's no excuse, be a decent human being for once in your life Balki. 

So my patience level for Balki's bullshit was already set at two minutes to midnight when he came breezing in on top of the world, claiming something wonderful had happened to him on the way home. 

I braced myself. These "wonderful" things that happen to him on the unforgiving streets of Chicago never end well for me, and rarely end well for Balki, either. It turns out that he had stopped at the newsstand for a comic book, and the guy at the newsstand offered him a job.

This is weird behavior. Was the newsstand guy just so desperate for staff that he was asking anyone who came by the store? Or had they had some conversation during which Balki intimated that he's basically a tireless, empty shell, hardened by farm work and willing to do almost anything for a handful of spare change or magic beans? How did this job offer come about? I can't imagine Balki asked for a job; he already has one, at the Ritz, and he barely bothers to show up for it.

Anyway he took the job and I was vaguely encouraging because hey, less Balki around the apartment! Adding to the shiftiness of this whole thing, he'd already earned his "first day's pay" - he's paid daily? - and he had used it to buy me a potato powered clock (so, garbage).

I told him he shouldn't be blowing money on me like that, but he bragged about being loaded now and said someone named Vince gave him fifty bucks. It turns out there was more nuance to Balki's job "at the newsstand" than he originally let on; Vince, apparently, sits in a limo OUTSIDE the newsstand with a couple of hoes and throws money at Balki for running mysterious packages across town and shit. So Balki is a drug mule now. 

The whole "random job offer" thing suddenly made complete sense. You can smell "rube" on Balki from Sputnik. I wasn't remotely surprised - this was always the tragic end that Balki's epic American poem was going to take him toward. But needless to say I was a little worried about the mobbed up element Balki might start bringing around the house before his inevitable murder, so I tried to explain to him what he'd gotten himself into.

*Sidebar - "trying to explain to Balki what he'd gotten himself into" is like doing three sit-ups. You can do it every single day, but all it's going to do is give you discomfort and it won't have any practical effect on anything.

So I told him Vince is obviously a criminal who's using Balki to move contraband. I scolded him for never looking before he leaps, which is why he gets in these messes and I have to bail him out. He got all offended, but agreed to let me come with him for his next big drug run anyway. 

Read that last paragraph again. Did you guys notice the stakes have gone way the hell up out here all of a sudden?

So we went to the drop; and by then old Bal-kapone had either completely forgotten everything I'd told him or just decided to be a reliable hired goon, because when I dragged him into the Ritz and told him we had to open the package he got all worked up about how Vince had told him not to, and he had to deliver it on time.

We started to struggle over the package. I had Balki pinned down in an expert Larry Appleton choke hold as Twinkacetti walked past us and declared that he was on his way to lunch. 

I can only deduce from that behavior that he thought we were there to work a shift while we were actually out being bag men for the mob; which means we probably really were supposed to be on the clock, since there was no one else in the store. Who cares. If we're salaried employees at the Ritz, then we're the real criminals. 

So we ripped the package open and stacks of cash poured out. I told Balki that Vince was running numbers and had dragged Balki into an illegal gambling ring. Balki got all freaked out that he wouldn't be allowed to be a citizen if he got arrested (rooting for you here to do your job, INS). As we tried to seal the package back up and figure out what to do, two women came into the store and I told Balki we had to help the customers, so I guess we had been - once again - off doing our own shit when there was no one else to run the store, and this time probably implicating Twinkie in the whole mess by bringing the dirty cash back to his business. Twinkacetti, what a jerk, right?

Well it turns out the "customers" were actually cops. They'd been tailing us doing our run all afternoon. We were off to jail, a feeling that I suspect I'll grow a certain callus toward over the next several years.

Jennifer and Mary Anne bailed us out of jail eventually, so I guess they're back in the picture. I was trying to put a good face on it all and Balki IMMEDIATELY sold me out to Jennifer that I'd fainted under interrogation (it was hot under those lights, all right?) even though he'd dragged me into this mess. As if the criminal conspiracy wasn't enough, now he's screwing with my game for no reason!

We told them that after spending a couple of hours working on Balki, the police realized he actually was stupid enough to not realize what he'd gotten involved in; so they cut us loose and arrested Vince, who is now being tried under RICO for gambling among a bunch of other OC activities. They begged us to testify at his arraignment and we were like "sure, no chance that will backfire!" 

Then Jennifer heard the name "Vince Lucas" and said something really cryptic: "you know, I think that's the same jerk that was bothering Mary Anne and me." 

That's a pretty bold declaration that neither Balki nor I asked any follow-up questions about. Two beautiful twenty-something women we're maybe dating have been getting "bothered" by a reputed mob boss, and we weren't even curious what that means? What circles do Jennifer and Mary Anne run in? Neither of us even batted an eye at it! In retrospect I probably should have prodded for details there, but I was too busy bragging about how brave Balki and I were for taking the stand. 

*Relationship update: Mary Anne still looks at Balki like she's about to tear his clothes off and devour him at any second. She kissed him on the cheek. Jennifer continues to seem physically repulsed by me. But you know what they say about breaking through a rock, friends. It just takes pressure and time.

I put my deep sexy voice on, and Jennifer made a frantic run for it. Mary Anne followed her reluctantly. Take that, Balki. For once I'm the one putting the ice on.

So a knock came at the door about two seconds after they left, and it was Vince. I slammed the door in his face and he kicked it down. 

Question: he's been "bothering" Mary Anne and Jennifer for a while, apparently. They just passed each other outside our door; I mean, it was literally seconds between when they left and he arrived. Did anything happen there? There's no way he missed them. WHAT IS THE BACKSTORY WITH VINCE, JENNIFER AND MARY ANNE?  Anyway as you might expect, Vince made it very clear that if we testified against him he was going to murder us. Confident that he'd done his job, he left for the evening. 

We showed up to court the next morning, I don't know, planning to just go ahead and testify anyway. The prosecutor told us that seven of the other witnesses "suddenly got amnesia" and the eighth was missing. All of a sudden I remembered the credible death threat we'd been issued 12 hours earlier and got scared again, but Balki, as is his custom, continued to just kind of grin and wander around the courthouse, fearing nothing because he's never suffered consequences for any of his actions.

Jennifer and Mary Anne showed up to root us on, and they were dressed suspiciously nice for sitting in a courtroom all day. Every single element of their behavior around this Vince situation is really suspect. I pulled Balki aside and told him we can't testify, and he gave me a guilt trip but I overrode it and told the prosecutor we were out. The prosecutor told the judge he didn't have any witnesses, and the judge just sort of casually started to toss off the case without much thought before Balki interrupted him and said he'd testify.

I tried to talk him down, but he wouldn't have it. And then he told me what this was really about: Vince had tricked him, and Balki's "honor" was at stake. 

Balki testifying wasn't about cleaning up the streets and putting a violent criminal in jail at all; it was just another selfish personal thing about his "honor" because he was too dumb to recognize that he was getting sucked into running numbers, which I think Vince might have even told him he was doing in the first place. What honor is that, exactly, Balki? He's a physically abusive, self-centered, childish asshole who doesn't show up for work with one employer and testifies against the other. Where's the honor in putting your cousin's life at risk just to make a point against the mobster who paid you - frankly, pretty well - for running a stack of cash across town? I kind of feel bad for Vince. 

Balki. What a dick. 

So Balki tells his story. Then the defense attorney IMMEDIATELY tries to tap into the constant undercurrent of xenophobia that is America's dirty secret by pointing out that Balki is an immigrant. He then accused him of coming to America just to get rich, and asked Balki if his name is Russian, then called him a lazy immigrant who didn't want to work for a living so he took to a life of crime because it's easier. (Not for nothing: Balki WAS running numbers while he was supposed to be at work). He tried to pin the whole criminal enterprise on Balki. I'd heard enough of that shit - no one accuses Balki of being smart enough to run an enterprise on my watch - and kept objecting until the judge threatened to lock me up.

The Judge, meanwhile, kind of got on board with the prosecutor's argument that someone else had to corroborate Balki's story or else it doesn't count and Vince can just walk. It was becoming very clear where this was headed. It would be up to good old Cousin Larry - like always - to get Balki out of a jam and risk my life doing it.

I stood up and gave an eloquent soliloquy to the courtroom, telling everyone how brave Balki was and that I'd back up everything he said. I took the stand, did my thing, badda boom, badda bing. Vince was headed to jail.

We went home, and had a big heart to heart about how badass I am. I felt the power of my courage surge through my body as I cracked open a cold one. The phone rang. It was the airline that I'd booked two tickets to Buenos Aires through under the name Jose Vasquez, in case things hadn't gone our way in the courtroom.

So yeah, that's fraud; but in my defense, what isn't when you really think about it, right? I canceled the tickets, since we'd successfully put the mob boss in jail and had absolutely nothing to be afraid of anymore.

I hope, in his big criminal enterprise, Vince doesn't have any other employees who might seek revenge on his behalf. 

2.7. Falling in Love Is...

I'm on top of the world, y'all! You might see the headline of this entry and assume I finally locked down Susan or Jennifer or some other piece of Chicago strange, but no; this story isn't really about me finding love at all. It's about me getting to watch Balki cry.

The setting: The Ritz. Mid-afternoon. Your boy Cousin L scopes out a megafox and closes in. I'm feeling good, looking good. I roll up to the babe in question and smile charmingly, lower my voice a few registers and ask if there's anything I can do for her. She laughs in my face, rolls her eyes and says "no, I don't think so," then struts off all empowered and smug.

Aaaaaand scene.

What the hell was that? You'd think I called her toots and tried to rub my crotch all over her, I was just trying to do my job. I can only guess she's shopped here before and was "helped" by Balki, and so her guard is naturally up for sexual predators in disguise as helpful sales clerks.

Anyway the fox leaves just as Balki comes running in from his lunch break declaring that it was the best day of his life, because today he fell in love.

Saddle up pardners, this one's not going to end well.

So he's taking an American History class, which - in all fairness - good for him, right? And since he's Balki, he's been using this class to perv pretty intensely on a woman named Carol Mosley, who sits on the other side of class. Carol's been cold to Balki all this time, most certainly because she can feel him glaring at her from a dark corner of the classroom like a cartoon wolf with his tongue hanging out. But the teacher put them together on a project, and Balki said she "started opening up like a little flower." That's a pretty specific metaphor. Did Balki have sex in the middle of his Adult Ed American History class?

So they went to lunch today to talk about their upcoming term paper, and she apparently told Balki she's into him. We harmonized a pretty frigging flawless session of "When you Wish Upon a Star" together and hugged. This seemed like it could be good for me. I'm in debt to anyone willing to take the turnip off my hands for any stretch of time, and if this ends up being the real thing I might be rid of him for good eventually.

Balki asked if it was okay if Carol came over to study that night and I was like sure, whatever she wants, she can use my toothbrush for all I care. I'll just say "what's up" and peace out of there so he could put the moves on. Also my curiosity was getting the better of me. What exactly was going to be Carol's "deal," you know? Was she even a human? I didn't care.

So it's later that night. Balki's prepping the apartment for his date. He had prepared a snack tray of individually wrapped Little Debbie white trash desert treats and candy, proving that he's functionally a giant seven year old and Carol was wading into a legal gray area if she gets his pants off.

I ran through the plan with him. I'd head out to a movie, and if I got back to the neighborhood about eleven pm and saw the curtains drawn, I'd know Balki was getting after it. I'd give him a one-ringer from the coffee shop to let him know he had twenty minutes to finish up doing... whatever he planned to do to her, and hopefully clean up a little before I got back.

The doorbell rings. Balki swings it open dramatically to reveal Carol, a tall, stunning blonde dressed in some kind of silk teddy and matching shawl, with big sparkly earrings and her hair done up all fancy. She kind of looks like a prostitute who tried to dress up for a night at the opera without enough guidance.

*Note to self: movie idea. Prostitute with a heart of gold becomes romantically involved with busy millionaire, and hijinks ensue.

Anyway, so Carol is a stunner as advertised, but I can't figure out for the life of me why she's dressed like that to come over and study unless OH MY LORD BALKI HIRED A PROSTITUTE WITHOUT KNOWING IT. He's had some close calls before - did it finally happen? She starts crawling all over him right in front of me, and says all the girls at school are crazy about him.

I tried to make a little small talk with Carol, who pretty much told me straight up that she's a gold digger within four seconds. She deflected any talk about Balki at all and said "let's talk about you," all naughty-like. She said she had heard I was a photographer - and since I own a camera, I just rolled with it - and she asked if I could get her into a modeling agency. Then she made it extra clear that "nudity is no problem" and winked.

Balki came back from the kitchen right before I found out how far Carol was willing to take this. She got up off the couch and said she had to go; her mother was in the hospital. Balki offered to compile their notes for her, so she kissed him on the cheek and was out the door in a blur.

A ha.

It all came into clear focus. Carol came by long enough to put Balki to work for her and see if I might be into a little hump-for-connections arrangement (the answer is yes), then take off to whatever slightly higher class date she was all tramped up for.

I tried to put it delicately to Balki that Carol is working him over. This life lesson served as an opportunity for me to dredge up more buried trauma from my life in Madison, so I told him about how a girl named Misty figured out I was really good in algebra back in high school and ran the same game on me. Everyone in school was laughing behind my back because they knew she was using me to get a good grade. At the end of the semester she dumped me and broke my heart.

I should mention Misty's commitment to a good grade in algebra was pretty over the top. I mean, I probably would have helped her if she'd just been nice and flirted with me a little, but she engaged in a semester long, monogamous romantic relationship purely for a good grade in math. I can't even really get that mad about it.

While I'm on the subject, I have a question: what is this full grown woman's motivation for taking an adult ed American History class that she doesn't seem interested in in the first place? She said she needs to take it to get her high school diploma, but nothing about what I just learned suggests Carol is pursuing honest employment that requires a base level of education.  Also she pretty much offered to do me if I could get her into a modeling agency, so why does she care so much about getting her diploma if she really wants to be a model? What are the stakes for Carol here? None of this makes any sense to me. I can only guess that she's just one of those people who just spreads it around, and tries to keep as many options open as possible.

And another thing: can you imagine what kind of free-for-all, hopeless, anarchic monkey shit-fight this class must be for BALKI to be the smart one? We're witnessing the end of the American Empire, my friends.

Anyway.

Balki didn't get the hint, so I got more direct with him and told him Carol is using him, and he got all pissed off at me and rubbed in my personal cold streak with the females. He got right in my face and said I was jealous, and called me "Mr. Lonely Guy." I felt that strange wave of euphoric anger wash over me; that feeling you get when you know you're about to let go of your manners and let 'er rip, that you're going to stop being polite and start getting real (*note to self: great tagline for a TV show). I threw up my hands and told him he was on his own, and to remember my warning when she breaks his heart, then stormed off to my room.

Two weeks later this little side-show was still playing out. Carol was now habitually telling Balki that she loved him. But I had reason to feel good, because I knew it was the last night of their history class and they had to turn in their term papers; so Balki was just a few hours away from having his heart shattered into a million pieces, and I'd be there to soak up his misery, to drink his tears and to spit "I told you so" into his face until my voice quit on me.

So Balki told me after class he was going to ask Carol to go steady with him, and he was going to give her his great grandmother's priceless emerald broach. For more than 200 years, every first-born Bartokomous son gives the broach to the woman who steals his heart.

I couldn't let that happen. I knew for sure that Carol would take the pin and pawn it in a heartbeat, and that was MY plan once Balki inevitably died! Or for the version I'd put in the press release, "I couldn't let him give up a family heirloom to a sociopathic gold digger blah blah blah, best friend blah blah blah."

I tricked Balki into handing over the broach and ran away with it. He chased me around the house, and I finally convinced him to let me hold onto the pin for 24 hours. If Carol said she would go steady with him, I'd give him the pin and my blessing.

Jennifer came over later that night, out of nowhere. Since Balki had recently rubbed my nose in my lack of any dates whatsoever in more than a month, I'm not sure what my status with her is right now? So I was preparing a "feel better, little guy" ice cream sundae for when Balki got home after being dumped, and waiting for him to trudge in the door knowing I had been right all along.

Jennifer got all hot and bothered and said I'm a great friend. I told her I can be more than a friend, and she physically recoiled in fear.

Friend zone, got it, message received.

Balki burst in, singing and dancing up a storm and stomping around the room shouting. Jennifer just kind of walked out of the apartment without saying hello or good bye to him, and left me with the potentially coked up Mypsosian Romeo. He told me I was all wrong and Carol said she would go steady with him. Although I was a little disappointed in seemingly being wrong, I was legitimately happy for Balki. I  apologized for being wrong and gave him his grandmother's broach and my blessing.

Then Balki talked more, and I realized a fundamental misunderstanding had taken place.

It turns out Carol had laughed in his face when he asked her to go steady. Balki didn't get the hint so she gave him some standard blowoff lines about how she was going to be super busy and was changing her phone number and he should just sit tight until she calls him.

I tried to explain to Balki that she was putting him off, and as you'd probably expect he lit me up again. I told him to call her, and he did, and she must have had more important shit to do because she cut him loose pretty quick.

Being unquestionably right in an argument with Balki is quite possibly the most enjoyable sensation I can have.

Balki slumped against the wall sobbing, and told me I was right all along, and oh my goodness gracious it felt amazing. I was the bigger man of course, and offered him comfort. He sat on the couch seething, and declared he would never fall in love again, then he started REALLY wailing and moaning. I mean this was a two week thing, let's turn down the drama a little bit Tennessee Williams. I told him to keep his chin up basically, and we hugged it out. We ended our night by wolfing down ice cream by a roaring fireplace.

But anyway, do you guys think old Carol would still put out for some free photog work though?