Philly''s P-Hine{t} /> Hardcore Phant-[o]m$ Part One Chapter VI

VI

April 24^th, 2015

1:04 p.m.

“Yeah, haha, Randall was pretty wasted.”

House chuckled nonchalantly as he sat at the bar in his basement (his parent’s basement), but not the one outside- the one inside and the one much nicer and even more extravagant than the one outside (complete with a marble top (like the one outside), some comfortable, several hundred dollar bar chairs (like the one outside), and a flat screen TV in the corner matching what was playing on the one in the living room (and on the one outside) playing the Phillies game (so not exactly the same as outside (because the Phillies actually play outside, get it?))). Said TV was currently turned to silent, however, not only so that House could hear the house music he was playing on the stereo, but also because he wasn’t all that interested in what was on the TV to be honest /> since the Phillies had SUCKED giant donkey balls dipped in slime ever since making it to the finals that one year after they won in 2008. Palmer and Gestarrè both had drinks: Palmer a beer and Gestarrè: a purposefully very light daiquiri :).

House was standing in between the two with his jar-shaped beer glass (a libbey) resting in his hand on the table and taking large sips of it frequently. It was beginning to get into the afternoon. Gestarrè had officially missed his tee time </3.

House, as if obediently, took another sip of his drink.

“He was definitely not far from being belligerent, I’ll tell you that much.”

Palmer asked, “why was Barry so offended by Randall’s exuberant love for ‘Archer’?”

“Maaan,” House responded with a very sudden and over-amplified frustrated undertone. “Barry is a f****n’ p***y, excuse me.”

House, here, left for a quick moment to go look at his phone across the room inside of the giant TV ‘cabinet’ (which also housed House’s computerized entertainment devices (cable-box, Xbox, Playstaton etc.), as attached to the surround sound speakers, and a number of other ‘creativity-enhancing’ amenities). It was very nice, a very nice place. He started scrolling through it (the cell-phone (smartphone)) just as Britney Spears’s ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ was coming to an end #RealHouseMusic.

“So what I’m gathering here is that Barry Swindle didn’t have much of a reason for any type of retaliation or violent objectification against Mr. Gähstŭr?” said Gestarrè to Palmer while House was out of hearing distance.

“Well, we can’t rule anything out just yet, Gest-“

“Oh!”

Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” came onto the stereo. House was stoked, started lifting his arms in that slow type of dance that people do when they just turned on a song they’re really stoked on, all obliviously entranced and staring right at, without blinking or moving his eyes in any way for about thirty seconds, Palmer and Gestarrè, one of whom didn’t notice and the other didn’t have the peace of mind at the moment to care (ever (which one???)).

“I love this song,” House said still dancing, eyes now closed.

“Mr. Millstein, can we uh… move along here, please?” asked Palmer, with a certain air of cautiousness.

House stopped dancing and stared with the most hateful eyes in all of H.P. Lovecraft at Palmer until he finally looked up from whatever he had his piece of paper leaning on-

“Wha-“

“I told you not to call me that (Millstein (last names))-

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“We hung out for a while just chillin, drinkin’ beers, smoking the bong,” House went on after he’d sat back down. “I mean pipe of smoking tobacco.”

Gestarrè lowered his glasses but put them back up very momentarily as he went back to his-

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Clipboard-

???

“It was real nice man, chill,” House continued. “Good time. We had more than enough beer to get Randall drunk enough to do what he said he was going to, but he just kept drinkin’ that cheap-a*s ‘Wild Blue Vodka®’- you ever have that s**t? It’s f****n’ nasty, no wonder Randall got so fucked up- You know everyone I’ve ever seen get fucked up on that s**t has either gotten into a fight or passed out just before they were about to? It’s f*****g weird man, f****n’ weird, it’s like the company’s got a deal with the UFC or something-”

“Or the health industry.” �"Palmer.

“Yea, you’re right. Anyway, we were just hanging out really, shooting the s**t, drinkin’ some beers. Randall was fu-hucked up, but we were all just hanging out really, nothin’ crazy. I had some beers but I wasn’t that drunk…”