The Rok Couple

When they say "we're all family here at the commune," they don't mean it. At least they don't mean they're the kind of family you can move in with when you hit upon hard times. In fact, I don't think they even say "we're all family here at the commune," I think I just heard Red Bagel singing "We Are Family" and possibly misinterpreted it. I haven't been this embarrassed since the similar incident where Mr. Bagel was singing "I Want Your Sex."

By now you're probably asking yourself, "Is this going anywhere?" Yes, indeed it is. And in response to the other question you're possibly thinking, you're correct, I believe that is infected. However I'll let you deal with your private problems while I deal with mine.

Following the disintegration of my marriage and the disruption of life as I knew it, I've spent roughly a month (indeed roughly) living in my desk here at the commune. Fortunately I have a large desk and my small stature allowed for comfortable quarters, but we can't keep cleaning people employed, they all have pretty weak stamina for seeing a small nude man sleeping in a desk drawer. I personally say stay out of my drawers, but since they work for tips and whatever they can find in the desks, the staff and administration of the commune have tossed me out to the streets.

Fear not, good people, I'm no longer homeless. Help has come from a most unexpected source: My nephew Camembert has taken me in. Camembert has a heart as big as all outdoors, just like his thick eyeglasses. Plus, he's living the high life on those disability payments from the government, in no small part thanks to Rok Finger, and I think he remembers that.

Camembert and I make the perfect odd couple, it's quite hilarious. He is a slob and I am a neat freak, minus the "neat" part. I am actually very sloppy, and so is he, but we hate each other so it's kind of like we're neat and sloppy alternately. He is gangly and bookwormish, while I'm suave and popular, at least while inside the apartment. I can walk. He can't.

The two of us being such an odd couple, you can bet I'm always thinking of that play. Camembert, on the other hand, is not as big a fan of Oleanna and doesn't enjoy acting it out as much as I do. I would allow him to play the role of the professor, but I don't fit into the wig and school girl outfit as well as he does. But we have fun, even if he sometimes doesn't.

Being on my own again, with Camembert, reminds me of the old Rokwell T. Finger bachelor days. Being single is not so bad, except for the debilitating loneliness. No woman to nag me, no woman to tell me to clean up my messes and bug me about where I'm going and why am I out so late, no woman to keep me up all night with her crying. Camembert does that all better than Arvelyn ever did. And boy, can he cook! No, he can't.

I've already begun making the place my own, putting in some of my furniture like the pine needle sofa and hanging up some things like my Farrah Fawcett posters. Camembert is quick to point out they're not posters so much as invasive polaroids taken through her window, and I have to agree, then we laugh and I dress him up as a girl and kick him around for a bit.

I'm going to enjoy the single life.

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