Positively Negative.

My friend Bob always thought negatively. He was such a pessimist. One day we were walking to the train station after school.

“Only two more days, then we’ve finished school forever. We’re out. We’re free!” I said, excited to be nearing the end of such a long, trialing part of my life.

Bob replied “Yeah, great. We’re ‘free’. Free to become cogs in the giant corporate machine, forced into factories or tiny offices or laboratories, working ourselves to the bone until we’re Sixty Five and forced into retirement by a cold-hearted young manager who cares more about the almighty dollar than people’s lives, packed into an old people’s home like dying cattle and left to die alone in a pool of our own filth due to our ill-functioning bowels. Yeah sure, really ‘free’.”

Bob kept walking. I stopped, wondering why I should bother continuing to live.

Another time, Bob and I were relaxing at the football, having some fun and drinking some beer. Feeling the ecstasy of being at a good game under the influence of alcohol, I spoke.

“Nothing comes close to this. Friends, footy, beer. This is perfection.”

Bob was quick to put in his two cents.

“Yeah, awesome. Here we are watching a bunch of steroid taking Neanderthals running around trying to put a giant red egg between two huge poles.” Bob shook his head in disgust. “And because THAT’S not entertaining enough, we have to poison ourselves with this brain cell killing, cerebellum inflating, liver polluting, violence causing, home wrecking death drink!” He continued, and then took a swig of his beer.

“Well” I said “At least you’re with your best friend.” I tried to put a positive spin on the situation.

Bob stood still, watching the “Neanderthals” chasing their “giant egg”. After a while he commented on my statement.

“I read in a magazine that out of all the people a man’s significant other may cheat on him with, the best friend is the most likely.”

He then glared at me, suspiciously.

Then there was the time we were at a party and Bob had sex with a supermodel. He exited the bedroom, putting his belt back on. I walked up to him and gave him a congratulatory slap on the back.

“Nice work man. That chick was HOT!”

“Yeah…” Bob sighed. Then he exploded. “I just slept with a fucking supermodel. You know what that means?”

I looked at him blankly and after a while tried to answer his question.

“Does it mean you’re a stallion or something?”

He shook his head furiously. “No! Those girls sleep with every male model and photographer on the circuit. They’re as close as you’ll find to a prostitute without actually paying for a hummer. That bitch was probably crawling with STD’s! STD’s that I now have thanks to her telling me I didn’t have to wear a rubber!”

He began impersonating her “Ooh, you don’t have to wear a rubber darling. I’m on the pill. It’ll be more comfortable for you if you don’t wear one.”

He then resumed his tirade.

“Fucking bitch probably had the whole thing planned from the get-go. Gonorrhea, Syphilis, Herpes, I’m probably fucking infected with every disease known to man. That bitch. She’s practically turned me into a walking fucking illness!”

Bob then stormed off, cursing loudly.

He was a tough guy to be friends with sometimes. His negative attitude was never pleasant and try as I might, I could never say anything to cheer him up. So eventually I just stopped trying and beat him to death with a hockey stick.