Work Text:
"Hey, Pachy-dumps. What's all them boxes for?"
"Strong Bad, I've been packed--"
"Pachy-dumped," Strong Bad corrected condescendingly.
"Packed for almost four months!" Strong Sad paused, hoping against hope recollection would animate his brother's wrestling mask.
Strong Sad was used to hopeless causes, but was nevertheless disappointed when Strong Sad continued staring.
"Remember, I told you..."
***
WAVITY LINES OF REMEMBERING!!!
"Hey, Dumpo, what's with all them corruuuuuugated cardboard boxes?"
"I told you a month ago, Strong Bad: I was accepted to Statesville University. I'm getting ready to move in August."
"Statesville University? That place is a racquet." Strong Bad pronounced the "qu" sound with flair. Strong Sad could see his brother picturing a shady-looking sporting implement. Strong Sad feared for the future, wherein Strong Bad and Strong Mad would create a cruel, more physical-abuse-centric game that involved badminton equipment.
"Strong Bad, I'm not going to give you $5,000 to attend Crazy Go Nuts University. You aren't even accredited. And you don't accept Federal Stafford Loans."
"Nooooooo, but we accept credit cards. And Strong Mad, our Dean of Schools and Badminton Courts, has a staph-ord infection."
"...while your institution is certainly...something...I think I'll pursue my current course of higher education."
"Whatever, Jerked Jumbo. Can I have your room? For The Cheat's recording studio?"
***
SECOND SET OF WAVITY LINES OF REMEMBERING!
"Hey, Gomer Pile of Waste. What's with all o' these boxes?"
"After years of procrastination and attempts to get a merit-based scholarship, I have decided to do as others have done before me and go to a public university with borrowed money. I'm going to be moving at summer's end, which is almost like a metaphor for me transitioning from one phase of my life to the next. Was it not John Keats, a young but dying poet, who said...Strong Bad?"
...
The sound of the television and Potate-chip mastication could be heard faintly in the next room.
***
BACK TO THE PRESENT
"So you're saying you're moving out? Like, in Billiam Joel's "Movin' Out" movin' out?"
"Yes, Strong Bad. I'm moving out. I'm going to..."
"Can I have your room? For The Cheat's recording studio?"
Strong Sad managed to avoid hiring Bubs and Coach Z's moving service (I Like to Move It, Move It Movers and Discount Alligators) and rented his own truck. Though he began the task as a means of exploring the concepts so expertly and artistically probed in the works of Tolstoy, it quickly degenerated into sweaty work that bruised him all over and made his soolnds trumpet like heck.
His brothers were of little help, as Strong Bad took the opportunity to open and rustle through boxes looking for cereal, a knife, a different knife, the blooper reel from Dangeresque V: Opening Credit, Action Sequence, Comedy Sequence, Montage, Action Sequence, Blooper Reel, and a portrait of The Tortellis (from the beloved Cheers spinoff The Tortellis).
Strong Mad would lift boxes but simply cry for more to be added. This went on for about an hour. Then Strong Mad saw a turtle, got scared, and ran away, dropping all the boxes he'd been holding.
When the truck was packed, it had to be unpacked, in order to find The Cheat, who had been wedged into one of Strong Sad's bookcases.
When Strong Sad was finally packed and ready to drive away, he faced his brothers (and, to a lesser extent, The Cheat).
"Well, fellows, fare-thee-well! It seems like only yesterday were were all tiny infants, raised by a mother who must have been around at some point, though I don't seem to recall exactly what she looked like. Or how she parented."
Strong Mad lumbered forward and said, "Strong Mad...love...Chunk?"
"I love you too, Strong Mad," Strong Sad mumbled after Strong Mad gave him a stomach punch.
Strong Bad looked at his younger brother, green eyes glowing. He coughed, then scratched his behind. "Um, okay. Well. Get out of here."
Strong Sad felt a lump rise in his throat. "Thanks, Big Brother."
Strong Bad narrowed his eyes. "That's enough o' that Bolognese sauce. Now get out of here before I call that weirdo floating Roomba Homsar. I'm sure he'd make us sit through some kinda Waiting for Godot-like disaster of a send-off."
Strong Sad knew his brother well enough to know it wasn't an idle threat. He knew Homsar well enough (as anyone could know Homsar) to know it really wasn't idle. Though he did have to ask Strong Bad, "Since when are you familiar with the works of Samuel Beckett?"
In response, Strong Bad said, "Strong Mad, if our elephanosorous brother doesn't get in that move it-move it van in five seconds, I give you permission to huck The Cheat in his general direction."
"Okay, okay, I'm going. Sheesh." And with that final exchange echoing in the chambers of his mind, Strong Sad mounted the steps of the moving van, shut the door, took a last look in the rearview mirror (Strong Mad was holding The Cheat threateningly while Strong Bad shook his boxing glove menacingly), and began his journey to Statesville U (motto: We Are A State-Funded Institution of Learning!).
As someone who had been surrounded by hostile, disinterested, dopey, and/or greedy individuals for most of his life, Strong Sad was not expecting college to be much different. He had already prepared himself for a mean-spirited roommate, a largely unengaged populace of peers, and an isolating sense of doom. In a short time, he would return to his home, his sneaky, sullen brothers (and their equally The Sneaky sidekick), his dreams of education and elocution forgotten.
He had already begun writing a (likely to fail) semi-autobiographical novel about it called Failed Dreams, Longing of the Soul, and Other Musings.
As he went about the task of unpacking his moving van, he was surprised when a genial young man-duck strutted up to him and said, "Need some help?"
Uneasily, Strong Sad said, "Sure. I guess."
The young man-duck lifted a box and informed him, "My name is Buck McGawk. I just moved in to Dormroom Dorms too. I'm majoring in Theater."
"My name is Strong Sad. I'm majoring in Creative Writing. For now. Were you involved in The Arts in your high school?"
"I sure was. Drama, Choral Drama, Traveling Comedy Troupe. Anything that had a script, that was me. I even dabbled in Improv for a while."
Strong Sad was torn between moderate joy and tempered hope. "Which floor are you on?"
"Second. How about you?"
"I'm on second too."
"Well, you should come over tonight. A few of us theater majors met earlier in the summer and planned to have coffee and discuss Mamet and set design and upcoming art events as soon as we were all on campus."
Strong Sad upgraded his moderate joy to immoderately moderate joy.
That night, he met a variety of intelligent, well-spoken, funny, interesting students. They talked about art, politics, and then allowed themselves the guilty pleasure of discussing Renaissance Faires, role-playing card games, and Popular Music.
Several of the people in attendance, boys and girls, had soolnds. Just like him.
But the most memorable first impression was made by a girl named DarleneDaria. She wore her bangs in a heavy swath that were almost always in her eyes. She looked a bit like a penguin, wore heavy dark eyeliner, and spoke in a careful monotone that was equal parts sarcasm and gentle amusement.
She was wearing a sloshy tee shirt.
Strong Sad heard her say something marvelously quippy about one of the latest action film releases, a movie that he was certain Strong Bad and Strong Mad had already seen at least twice (and paid for none times). She saw him mildly laughing behind his hand, and a reluctant sparkle of a smile danced in her beady eyes for a moment before she returned to the conversation.
Strong Sad did not work up the courage to speak to her. When he returned to his dorm room that night, he watched Some Kind of Wonderful 1 1/2 times and used his journal to write down potentially clever ways of engaging her in conversation if he saw her again.
"Dear Strong Bad,
I hope this sbemail finds you and Strong Mad well. I have settled in here at Statesville and have, remarkably enough, stumbled upon a group of people that seem very interesting and engaging. I've started classes, and they are all very interesting and challenging (or at least the syllabuses make them appear that they will be; only time will tell, I suppose!).
I will be trying out for the fall play. I do not think I will make the cut, since freshman rarely do. I will likely end up in the crew and would like it very much if you and Strong Mad and The Cheat could make it for a performance if I end up involved.
Well, g2g (ha ha ha...remember that sbemail?)
Strong Sad"
2 minutes later...
"Dear Dumpo,
I am sooooooooooooo happy to hear you found a group of weirdos who are as weird as you.
SARCASM'D!
Strong Bad
PS Could you tell me where I could find some groceries around our house or in our house? Strong Mad and I have been eating at Bubs' for the last three days, and my stomach is starting to make gross gurgling noises all through the night.
As it turned out, Strong Sad did not have an opportunity to use one of his many finely crafted conversation starters the next time he saw DarleneDaria, because she was his barista one day at the campus's coffee shop/acoustical music venue Howard Zinn's A People's History of Coffee.
"Can I take your order?" she said in a faux cheerful accent.
"Um, can I have a decaf peanut butter and banana soy latte?" Strong Sad suddenly found his sugary treat very, very embarrassing.
"Sure," she said, without judgment, and turned to make his drink. "Aren't you in Introduction to Writing About Symbolism and Intertextual Whatnot 201?"
"Yes, ma'am!" he said, his voice sounding very strange to his own ears. "Stop sounding weird," a voice in his head said. The voice sounded suspiciously like Strong Bad, right down to the crabby impatience.
"Are you an English major?"
"Yes." This time he sounded too normal, which made him shift uncomfortably back and forth. "Creative writing."
"Me too," DarleneDaria said. Before he could respond (the response he intended was somewhere between "O-ho!" and a series of muttering sounds strung together), she began frothing his soy milk. He felt relieved yet annoyed.
When the frothing stopped, Strong Sad heard that same internal Strong Bad voice say, "Ugg-o waffles, Elephant Man, you suck with The Ladies. Just say something nice about her outfit or ask her about that crappy band you both like so much. Geez, do I have to do everything for you in your internal monobrow-logue?"
"I saw you at that theater mixer last week. I think you were wearing a sloshy tee shirt."
"Yeah, I love them." This was said in the same tone she had asked to take his order.
"Have you downloaded the latest bootleg of the jam they had at Mopeyfest?"
"No, have you?"
"Sure, and if you want me to send you the file I could. If I had your e-mail."
Without blinking her obsidian eyes, DarleneDaria took a 100% recycled paper napkin from the pile by the register and wrote out "[email protected]." Then she said, "I know it's lame. I went through this really gotho-wannabe phase in high school."
His heart pounding like Strong Mad's fists on his vulnerable belly, Strong Sad said, "I think the best of us have had that problem."
As she handed him his latte, DarleneDaria said, "You know, we're hiring baristas. I assume by your order you're quite the connoisseur. You should think about applying."
Strong Sad replied, "Okay. Okay. Okay." Holding the napkin with her e-mail address printed in penmanship nearly as lovely as his own, he muttered, "I said that three times, didn't I?"
"Yep." She smiled as she began swabbing the counter free of sugar. "What's your name, Chatty?"
"Strong Sad."
"Well, nice to meet you, Strong Sad. Can't wait to hear that bootleg."
"Absolutely!"
His internal monologue chastised, "Weirdo. Now get me some Potates."
"Dear Gournal,
I think I'm entering my first college romance. I've barely had time to be depressed, I'm so anxious and giddy.
More later. Going to my interview at the coffee shop/acoustic music venue!
Strong Sad
Strong Sad had friends. He had regular Thursday night Monty Python discussion group. He hadn't, as he predicted, made the cast of the fall play, but he was on the crew.
He and DarleneDaria hung out regularly in groups, but Strong Sad had not quite worked up the courage to ask her on a proper date (coffee, of course, followed by a film at the campus theater...the two of them had gone to a Buñuel festival, at her suggestion, but other friends had been along).
Strong Bad came to visit campus one weekend, riding on a Green Line bus. He sat in the audience and only was audibly disruptive twice. When he met with his brother backstage, he said, "Live theater is boring unless there is fire or sharks...or firesharks. Are we going to some 'frat parties' now? I'd love to drink a Cold One or Two, make out with beautiful lady-girls..."
"Sure, Strong Bad, you can do that. I'm afraid we're all going to the 24-hour diner to share pancakes and talk about our plans for the spring production of Meet Me in St. Louis. But you can follow the mass of shouting ballcaps. I know there are a few parties tonight."
There was a long pause. Then Strong Bad reluctantly said, "No, that's...that's okay. I like pancakes all right. I'll just come with you buncha nerds."
Strong Bad made him pay for the pancakes--after all, his older brother pointed out, Strong Sad was the one who was gainfully employed--but Strong Sad didn't mind. Particularly when he noticed how out-of-place and quiet (yes, quiet) Strong Bad seemed in the boisterous group of confident nerds. Strong Sad even felt a little sorry for his usually boisterous, center-of-attention brother.
But not so sorry that he stopped participating in conversations and laughing.
When Strong Bad boarded the bus the next day, he said, "Seems like you got a real nice racquet going here, Sugarfoot."
"Yeah, I like it here."
"Your fro-yo top is even looking a little less stupid." Strong Bad pointed to Strong Sad's hair whorl, which he'd been styling in a more upbeat, level curlicue.
"Thanks. Well...see you at Decemberween break, Strong Bad."
"Yep. Yep."
Strong Sad waited for an insult or a punch, but it never came. His brother simply plodded up the bus steps and headed towards the back.
Hi, Strong Sad, it's Marzipan. Hope this e-mail finds you well. Homestar says "Banana Joe," whatever that means.
I'm writing because Strong Bad mentioned you work at an acoustic music venue. Any chance they are looking for socially active talent? I would love to perform for an audience that is not avian (even though birds are the best).
Sincerely,
Marzipan
Strong Sad talked to his manager at Howard Zinn's A People's History of Coffee, and a few weeks later, Marzipan came to campus to play a Friday night set. Marzipan did not call or e-mail or send a smoke signal after the gig had been set up--she had taken a Native American Communication Through Nature course at the Community Annex, so it wasn't as though she lacked the knowledge. Strong Sad's feelings were hurt by this. But after attempting to write several poems about his wounded soul, he discovered he was also unsurprised. He was also curious as to what his friends, particularly DarleneDaria, would think of Marzipan.
He did not have to wait long and was more relieved than ever that he'd thrown away his aborted attempts at soul-baring poems. After Marzipan played "A Rainbow Made of Dolphins," "Seitan Boogie Woogie," and "Why I Broke Up With Homestar," DarleneDaria leaned over her Americano and whispered, "I'm glad she's made of Splenda, because I'm a diabetic."
Strong Sad snickered. And suddenly, as if a pointy, blonde weight had been lifted off his soul, he realized Marzipan wasn't that great. She wasn't funny, she had never once attended a Buñuel festival with him, and frankly, she looked like a baseball bat.
In the friscalating dusklight of the sparsely populated coffeehouse, Strong Sad reached out and took DarleneDaria's hand-flipper.
Somewhere under her bangs and eyeliner, DarleneDaria smiled.
In spite of a lack of caffeine (he was drinking a pomegranate and acai green tea) or sunlight, Strong Sad smiled too.
When he came home for Decemberween, he and DarleneDaria had been dating for two months. It was too early, they decided, to meet each other's families, particularly since DarleneDaria's parents celebrated HallowedDreidelber.
When Strong Sad walked into the house he'd shared with his brothers for so many years, he couldn't help but notice that:
1) It was totally filthy. Like, worse than it had ever, ever been.
2) He missed his crummy dorm room more than he thought he would.
Strong Bad strolled into the living room and looked at his brother as if Strong Sad had never left. "Hey, Saddykins. How's school?"
"Good, good. I got all As in my classes."
"Well, gravypie for you. I got an A in stinkbomb lobbing at the community annex."
"What community annex?"
"The one behind the Dumpster behind the Dumpster at Bubs'. Also in Homestar's locker." Then Strong Bad cackled.
In spite of himself, Strong Sad laughed too.
"Ugh, what's that noise? You sound like a wildebeest eating a turkey vulture."
"Happy Decemberween, Strong Bad."
"Cram it, Sad Sack." Then, as an afterthought, "I'm glad you came home. I thought maybe you'd go visit that penguin that kinda looks like Zooey Portman or Christina RicciRyder or whoever wears the most mopey eyeliner."
Strong Sad was surprised that Strong Bad had read the few e-mails he'd sent mentioning his girlfriend, since he'd never received a response.
"Well, we decided to be with our families."
"Yeah, well, I hope you don't think of this as some kinda bittersweet Wes Thomas Anderson film where some mope-a-dope song plays as we barely express feelings."
Strong Sad thought a moment. It wasn't as though he'd not considered it. But he didn't mind saying, "Nope, I don't think that at all. I'm glad to be home. As soon as we clean up whatever you jammed in the radiator."
"Oh, there ain't nothing in the radiator. The Cheat fell in a koi pond at the Arboreteum, so he's takin' a tumble in the dryer."
Sighing, Strong Sad trudged down the basement steps, hearing the all-too-familiar squeak of The Cheat rattling around on Low Heat. The laundry room smelled like moldering yarn hair.
After popping open the door, Strong Sad, thinking of how much his life had changed in those few months, yet how comforting it was to come home to his family and the predictable shenanigans of the neighborhood, carried The Cheat back up the stairs and to the front door.
With a confident, "Go, Mordec--I mean, The Cheat," Strong Sad released the family friend down the steps while humming "Hey, Jude."