Pretty Boys

Chapter 1 – Prologue


The day I let you go will be the day I die.

I cannot imagine to ever love someone the way I love you.

We will descend to hell together, smoking one last cigarette.

When our time comes, I will be by your side,

my eternal friend.


The very first words Edward had heard from me had been “And who the fuck are you”.
You see, I’m not a particularly rude person, maybe a bit antisocial, but not rude. Edward’s timing had just been…unfortunate.

The day was July 2nd in the year of the snake.
Time: somewhere around 10PM.
Level of drunk: high.
Mood: bad.
Tears shed by time of contact: two.

Edward couldn’t have picked a worse moment to sit down next to me for the first time. We were two of the guests who had been invited to a house party, somewhere in the southern part of town. Well, I hadn’t actually been invited personally, but my girlfriend had. My girlfriend, the at-the-time-thought-to-be love of my life. And also, the main reason for my not so posh reaction to Edward’s approach. You may have already formed an idea of what happened. That’s right, she broke up with me. Surprise, surprise!
The bitch broke my heart at the house party of a friend of hers, who, by the way, later that night got to revel in the skilful movements of her tongue around his dick.

Funnily enough, I remember pretty much everything that had happened that night, except for the talk I had had with my girlfriend. To this day, I have no idea why exactly she had decided to end things with me. I just know that it hadn’t been because of Mr. Fellatio (I had started calling him that sometime after the party). Anyway, after the breakup, I decided to get drunk. And when I say drunk, I mean fucking hammered. Why I didn’t just leave like a normal person, is still a mystery to me. Maybe because alcohol was easier to get by by staying there. In the end, I was glad I stayed. Otherwise, this story wouldn’t exist.

So, I made my way through the crowd and to the bar (yes, there had been a bar, the place was huge).
“A double of scotch”, I said to the bartender. He nodded and proceeded to take a bottle of Laphroaig from the shelf behind him. Upon seeing the full bottle of my favourite whisky brand, I reconsidered.
“You know what, give me the whole thing”, I told the sweaty man behind the counter.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that”, he replied in a confused manner. The blue neon lights that were hung around the shelf illuminated the green bottle in his hands, and I felt something magical. A kind of attraction. A need for the golden liquid. I didn’t have time to argue.
“Listen, mate. Just give me the damn bottle. My girlfriend broke up with me about two minutes ago, and I really need to get drunk, like, right now.” I felt weird saying these words, I probably sounded like an addict, but the barkeeper seemed to understand. He gave me a faint smile, handed me the bottle and turned to his next “customer”.

In the short time it took me to get the whisky from full to half-full, about seven people tried to come talk to me. Apparently, the news of my separation had spread around the party like a wildfire, and people I had never seen before in my life were now trying to become the best of friends with me. However, I was not in the mood to talk, and I let the Samaritans know by telling them to fuck off the minute they sat down next to me. With every new half-assed attempt on comfort, I grew angrier. That’s why, by the eighth person, I could think of nothing better to say than “And who the fuck are you.” I didn’t even bother to look up, and I wasn’t exactly expecting an answer. But there was one. Like a cannon, it came shooting out of the young man.

“I’m Edward, you piece of shit. How dare you talk to me like that you lifeless drunk? Mind your own fucking business.”

I must confess, I was taken aback a bit. The sudden change from phony friendliness to merciless hatred definitely took me by surprise. I looked at the man with the angry brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt that was tucked into his pants, halfway opened, revealing a white tee underneath. In the feeble light, I could make out a golden necklace and a golden watch on his left wrist. His blonde hair reminded me of DiCaprio in Titanic, but it suited him well.
“I’m sorry”, I began.” I thought you’d be another wannabe-friendly douche”.
“Well, I’m just a douche”, he replied, suddenly smiling.
“Ooh, self-pity, I like it.” I handed Edward my bottle. “Do you like whisky?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure my mother fed me with that stuff instead of milk”, he replied, and took a big sip.
“I’m Lars, by the way”, I said, admiring my newfound drinking companion’s lust for the Laphroaig.
“Nice to meet you. So, why so sensitive?” He asked, giving the bottle back to me.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Girlfriend breaking up, heartache, wanting to cry but not being able to, contemplation of seemingly every life decision and so on.”
“I see. So, from what you’ve told me so far, I gather that the breakup happened here?”
“Yeah, about thirty minutes ago.”

We sat in silence for a while, taking turns on the by now almost empty bottle of whisky. I was already feeling a lot more than just drunk, but I knew my limit, and this wasn’t it. Edward was about to say something when suddenly a big guy with a baseball cap appeared in the corner of my eye.
“Oy, you Lars?” He asked.
“Yes”, I answered, already dreading what he was about to say.
“You Alice’s ex, right?” He went on.
“You know Kyle?”
“No”, I was growing impatient, but I didn’t want to start anything with the guy, since his two biceps alone must have weighed more than my whole body.
“Kyle’s the host. Friend of Alice’s, you know. I heard they’ve gone up to his room. Someone said summin’ ‘bout moaning. Thought you should know.” Then he left as suddenly as he had appeared.
I was speechless. How could she have already moved on? Or was Kyle the reason she broke up with me? Edward intercepted my train of thought.
“Dude”, he began.
“Let’s beat him up”, I interrupted.
“Not exactly what I was going for, but sure. I’m drunk enough for some good old-fashioned violence”, my companion replied.
“Great. But I get to do the punching.” With these words, I got up from my seat and started for the stairwell, Edward followed right behind me. My alcohol-induced state made me more than ready to do something I’d never do soberly. Plus, I was angry. No, I was furious. I felt like a Viking who had to defend his honour. I felt like the Christians taking back their holy land. I felt strong, and I was not going to let that feeling go to waste.

We made our way up the stairwell. When we had reached the top, I asked a drunk chick to point me to Kyle’s room. With a rather vague motion of her index finger, she pointed us in the general direction. After opening three doors (again, the place was huge), that each led into rooms with humping couples in them, we finally opened the right one.

I entered first, and what I saw made me want to puke. Upon stepping into the only dimly lit bedroom, I made out a pair of eyes. Above them, a full head of wildly gelled hair. Underneath, a naked body. As my eyes slowly adapted to the darkness, I moved them downwards. I stopped my scan at the body’s crotch area. There was hair, a lot of hair. And it was moving back and forth, like a chicken picking corn from the ground, just not as fast. I could now see the whole room, and what was really going on. Kyle was staring at me with an expression of pure shock across his face. In front of him, on her knees, I saw Alice. She was, well, orally occupied. Obviously, she had not noticed that someone had entered the room, because she kept on slobbering on Kyle’s boomstick like there was no tomorrow. Her raven hair fell down over her naked shoulders, and the only thing she was wearing was a black string.
Alice suddenly paused. She had probably been put off by her partner’s sudden silence. She looked up at him and asked:
“What’s wrong, babe?”
Babe?” I whispered.
BABE?” My outburst startled the kneeling woman, who instantly rose to her feet, covering her breasts. She saw me.
“Lars?” Her voice was quiet, weak even.
“You bitch”, I blurted out.
“Lars, I’m…”
“Is he the reason you broke up with me?” I could feel a strange strength rise up inside of me. A burning rage.
“No, no he’s not. He’s just…” Her voice cracked, she started to cry.
“Oh, sure, go ahead and cry. You know who should fucking be crying? I should fucking be crying. I’m not the one who jumped onto the next best cock I could find.” I was getting fired up now. My words only fuelled my anger.
“Hey, easy, buddy.” Kyle had apparently found his tongue. Too bad, he should have kept looking for it, because the last thing I needed in that moment was the guy fucking my ex-since-about-an-hour-ago to call me buddy.

I lost it. I leapt forward like a wild, very drunk tiger, cocked my fist and threw a Hollywood-worthy haymaker at the douchebag’s admittedly impressive jawbone. My adversary stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of his bed and falling onto his mattress. I saw my opportunity. His tower of love was exposed, and more importantly, so were his babymakers. I advanced quickly, while he was still struggling with the pain of my first blow. For some reason, right before burying my fist in his nutsack, I yelled “thanks for nothing, asshole”.
I hit. He howled. I laughed. He kept howling. Like a beaten dog he lay there, in the foetus-position, his hands holding onto his crown jewels. I felt good. A strange feeling of confidence overcame me. I turned around and saw Edward still standing in the doorway, trying to hold off the people who had heard the screams.
“Oy, the little prick hit Kyle in the nuts”, someone shouted. He sounded angry.
“Uhm, Lars, right now would be a pretty good time to get out of here”, Edward said.
“Right.” I glanced around the room, saw an open bottle of red wine on the nightstand and grabbed it. I proceeded to look out of the window. Not too high, we’d probably survive.
“Edward”, I yelled. “When I say now, we jump.”
“We what?” He yelled back. He was now desperately trying to fight off three guys, who looked very pissed.

I glanced over at Alice, who was still in the same posture, though not crying anymore. I took a sip from the bottle.
“Try not to be a cunt next time”, I said. Then I opened the window, screamed NOW as loud as I could, not only to give Edward the signal, but also to give myself some more courage to actually jump. And then I did. I even managed to put my hand on the open end of the bottle, as not to spill anything. Right before landing back first in a bed of roses, I could see Edward following my example. His jump was a bit more…enthusiastic. He crashed into a bush about two feet away from me, and I prayed that the cracking I heard came from the plant and not his bones.

I slowly got up. Everything hurt, my head was pounding, and I felt at least a dozen thorns that had made their way through my clothes. Nevertheless, I got up and stumbled over to my companion’s crash-site. Edward jumped to his feet. He did not look like someone who had just leapt out of a building. Apparently, he could read the confusion on my face because he suddenly said “coke”.
I understood.

With a last glance at the heads that were staring down at us from out of the window, I lit a cigarette and began limping towards the street. Edward followed, taking the wine bottle from my hand. He raised it into the air.
“To new friendships. And kicking douches in the mouth.” He said ceremonially.
“Here, here”, I replied in the same sarcastically formal tone.

We continued on into the night.
Legends say that at least one of us puked not far away from the house.
Don’t listen to legends.
They’re never as good as the real story.



Johnny Pisspot

I’m Johnny.
Two years ago, I had the Japanese sign for “water” tattooed on my left forearm.
One year ago, I was struck by lightning.
Ever since I’ve been able to pee when pressing on my tattoo.

It’s like I’m the world’s shittiest superhero. As long as I’m pressing, it doesn’t stop, I’ve got an unlimited pee source now. But that’s it. The urine stream isn’t particularly strong, not stronger than before, anyway. And it’s not like I can control the direction of it. The range is about three feet, so just enough to piss on someone’s shoes when they’re standing in front of me.

You’d think that a superpower would be, well, super. Mine is just lame. My dick didn’t even get bigger. The only cool thing about it was that apparently, my bladder could now expand indefinitely. I never actually had to pee. I had no idea where all the liquid went, but honestly, I didn’t really care. Not having to go to the toilet was kind of amazing. Number twos still happened, but besides that I didn’t have to worry. I could drink as much as I wanted without constantly having to be on the lookout for a place to evacuate my bladder.

As a kid, I’ve always watched superhero movies, and I was fascinated by them. I wanted nothing more than to become one myself someday. And now, I can piss on command. Way to go.

The only person who knows about this is my best friend and roommate Charlie. When I first told him about my newfound “power”, he wasn’t exactly in awe, as one can imagine. He just laughed. I had tried to make myself feel better by telling him about how I was going to become Pee-Man, the living nightmare of every neat-freak-criminal in town. Charlie had just kept on laughing. The next morning, he had greeted me with the words “Oh, look, it’s Johnny Pisspot”, and he’s been calling me by that name ever since.

How I survived the lightning strike was a mystery to everyone, even the doctors. I wasn’t hurt when it happened, just a bit traumatized.

Exactly one year after the incident, Charlie threw me a surprise party. Starting from there, I will now tell you the story of how I became a millionaire.

Don’t believe me? Keep reading.

It had been a busy day at the restaurant I was working at. December always was the busiest time of the year and during Christmas time, almost every firm was hosting dinners, families were having get-togethers, and seemingly everyone wanted to come to us. So, we were fully booked, the whole month through, every single day. The day of the party had been the 22nd, and I came home tired, pissed-off, and just wanting to go to bed to rest my body. Luckily, I didn’t have to work on the next day. Nevertheless, I was not in a party-mood, which was part of the reason why I almost killed someone not an hour later.

The first thing I remember happening was me opening the door to our small suburban apartment and wondering why the lights weren’t on. Normally, Charlie was still awake when I came home, no matter how late it was. He didn’t really have anything to do, most of his income came from his father. The rest he earned by playing small gigs in bars and the occasional birthday party, so he spent the majority of his time in front of the TV.

Anyway, I wanted to flip the light switch next to the door. Only that what I touched was something else. It felt like skin. What happened next is a bit blurry. I remember screaming, my screaming. Then lights being turned on. More screaming, this time not from me, but from about twenty people, half of which I’d never seen in my life. The “SURPRISE!” still echoes in my ears. Then darkness. Apparently, my tired state mixed with the shock had made me pass out.

I woke up to the feeling of something warm and wet in my crotch area. I had been carried onto the couch and was surrounded by five of my smiling friends, including Charlie, who was caringly holding my hand. Well, it wasn’t my hand. And suddenly I realized where the wet-warm was coming from. My best friend was pressing on my tattoo, the worried smiles suddenly turned into mean grins, and from somewhere I could hear a man chanting “I just shitted and farted”. I rose to my feet with the speed of a scared gazelle and smacked Charlie right across his face.
“What in the fuck,” I shouted. He smiled at me crookedly and started laughing. He was clearly drunk. I took a look around the apartment and quickly realized that the party had already been going on for some time. There were empty beer bottles and chips bags lying around, the sink was filled with dirty dishes, and I was pretty sure that I smelled weed. I had to get out of that place. But not with pants soaked in piss. I started for my bedroom, trying to ignore the laughter. Right before I could slam my door shut, I could hear Charlie mumble “Cmon man, itwss jus a joke”.

Five minutes later, I emerged from my room with a fresh pair of pants on and went straight for the exit. Of course, I didn’t make it. Charlie blocked my path halfway through the living room. He was holding a big box with pink wrapping paper around it.

“Happy ligh…happy day of light…lightning…happy lightningday.”

He stumbled forward, almost throwing the box at me. I caught him just before he crashed into a chair. I took the box from him with an insincere “thank you” and proceeded to set it down on the kitchen table. People started gathering around me when I opened the surprisingly light box. I pulled out a long-sleeve T-Shirt in the ugliest shade of blue I’d ever had the misfortune of seeing.
Charlie suddenly appeared next to me.
“Turn it around,” he said.
I obeyed. Apparently, I had been looking at the T-Shirt from the back, because when I turned it around, there was a big yellow P drawn onto it. Like, actually drawn. With watercolour. Charlie started talking again:
“Geti? Coz you’re the pee-man.”
The situation couldn’t possibly get worse at this point. At least that’s what I thought. Obviously, every person present at this unfortunate gathering knew about my skills. Even more obvious was the fact that Charlie had told them. Which made me furious. I gave my roommate an angry glance. Not that he noticed my fury, he probably saw me double by now, anyway.
“Puti onn,” he simply said.
“Not yet,” I answered. “There’s something missing.”
I took a black marker out of a cupboard and drew a second P on the T-Shirt. Then I put it on.
“Peepee?” someone asked.
“Pisspot,” I said. “Johnny Pisspot.”

I grabbed a half-drunken bottle of Jameson that was standing on the table and climbed onto said furniture. Eyeing my “guests”, who had now all surrounded me, I took a big sip. Then I lit a cigarette and said, “I’m Johnny Pisspot”. Taking turns drinking and smoking, I proceeded saying these words, each time a bit louder, until I was literally screaming them at the top of my lungs. By now, people had started chanting along, forming some sort of a very out of tune choir. I was filled with a feeling of power, seeing my friends, who had laughed at me just minutes ago, look up at me and saying my name. This feeling mixed with the anger and the whisky reaching my empty stomach made me lose every sense of embarrassment.

I shouted one last time, “I’m Johnny-motherfucking-Pisspot!”

Then I let go of my cigarette, pulled down my pants and pressed on my tattoo. The stream hit one guy right in the face. I began turning, spraying all the people who had the misfortune of standing closest to me. Suddenly, I felt someone pulling my leg. It was the guy I had hit first, and he looked angry. Before he could pull me off the table, however, I hit him again with my stream, making him let go of my ankle. Then my other foot came swinging at his jawbone, knocking him to the floor. I pulled my pants back up, jumped down from the table and looked at the man lying in front of me, blood slowly surrounding the back of his head.
“Fuck,” I whispered. Then everything went black once more.


I awoke in my bed with a bad headache. It was somewhere around noon and I wasn’t sure if what I remembered had just been a dream. A quick look in the mirror proved that it hadn’t been. I had a pretty nasty looking black eye and there was dried blood stuck to my upper lip. I was fully dressed, and my pants and shoes stank like a cat’s litterbox. No dream. Definitely no dream.

I opened my bedroom door and went into the living room where I found Charlie cleaning up the mess after the party. He saw me.
“Oh, look, it’s Johnny Pisspot”.
Only now I realized that I was still wearing the T-Shirt.
“What about the guy?” I immediately asked, remembering the frightening amount of blood.
“He’s gonna be fine. Some of the others took him to the hospital. He needed stitches and is concussed pretty badly, but he won’t press charges,” Charlie replied.
“Good, that’s good.” I sat down on the couch. The piss-stink was everywhere, even though Charlie had opened all the windows. It smelled like a public toilet in there.
My friend sat down next to me.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said.
“Yeah. Me too”.

We sat there in silence for a while, when suddenly Charlie jumped up.
“I totally forgot,” he exclaimed. He ran into his bedroom to get his laptop. Sitting back down, he clicked on a YouTube video and handed me the device. I feared the worst. And my fears came true. It was a video of me standing on our kitchen table, shouting, drinking, pissing, and then knocking someone out.
“Fuck me,” I whispered. “This is bad.”
“Actually,” Charlie began. “It’s not.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Some beer company called about an hour ago. Apparently, they’ve seen the video and want to buy the name “Johnny Pisspot” for their new brand. I told them I’d have to talk to you first, but that you’d call them back.”
I turned to my friend, looking for words.

“What the fuck did you just say?” I finally uttered.
“You heard right. Now you better call them back, the number’s on the table.”

It took two days for everything to get settled. Because of the video, I had gotten temporarily suspended from work, so I had time to concentrate on the paperwork. The company paid me two million dollars for the name. Two million. For Johnny Pisspot.

During the next few months I mostly invested the money in Charlie’s music. He got signed by a record label and released a first record that went sky high in the charts. I quit my job and volunteered for a study on incontinence. The guy I kicked in the jaw recovered quickly and has actually become a very good friend of mine. His name is Max. He’s a professional boxer. Every minute with him is partially filled with terror.

Well, if you’re still reading (if so, why?), here’s the morale of the story: no matter what powers you have, use them only for good.

Or, you know, just don’t get caught on video.






I know I’d find the words to say,

if only I could sing.

I know I’d scream the shame away,

if only I could sing.

it’s hard to find the comfort

in a voice so out of tune.

it’s hard to listen to my thoughts,

if only I could sing.


heaven‘s full

my friend, even the whisky will run out at some point.

maybe not today or tomorrow,

maybe not even in the next thirty years,

but once it does, we’ll both have to go our own ways.

I don’t think there’s enough room in hell for the both of us.

so, let’s hope they’ll send you somewhere else.



can’t we just

be in love for a while?

let everything else pass us by,

and just be in love for a while.

don’t mind my tears,

they’re happy ones.

can’t we just

be in love for a while?