Comfort Foods

Comfort Foods

by KevBot

Summary: “Garett, are you still mad that the DVD people spelled your name wrong on the packaging? Jesus, man, that happened like a week ago, get over it.”

“Ken,” she said, looking up from the counter in the kitchen. Ken roused himself off the thrift-store divan and wiped the Funyun crumbs out of his belly hair. They got all over the floor, but it was cool. Garett would vacuum it up later. Fastidious little bastard.

Wait, how do I know the word “fastidious”? Was it in a script somewhere?

Barbie Twin #1 was sitting on her customary stool in the kitchen, her big, botoxed lips caught in an eternal pout. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Just then, a door on the far side of the hall opened up. Garett in his pink fuzzy robe, looking sad and dejected. Wait, how do I know the word “dejected”? Did I see it on TV?

“Oh, hey, Ken,” Garett said, paying one glance at Barbie #1 and shuffling into the TV room. Garett didn’t much like Ken’s wives, nor did he really approve of Ken’s little “parties.” Which was fine, Ken supposed, even if the wavy-haired little weirdo had a whole wall of his bedroom plastered with pictures of that guy he was in a show with once. Bergman? Bergdorf? Burgi? Yeah, that was it. The successful one.

“Garett, are you still mad that the DVD people spelled your name wrong on the packaging? Jesus, man, that happened like a week ago, get over it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Garett said, hurriedly putting down the DVD box.

“When they were doing the packaging for Wiseguy,” Ken said, “they were gonna spell it wrong, too, you know. Like wall, like a wall, you know? Like a wall in a building, you know?”

“Yeah, Ken,” Garett said. “Yeah, I know what a wall is.”

“Yeah, like a wall. But then my agent called me and they fixed it right up.”

“They also spelled my name wrong in the series itself.”

“They what?”

“In the opening credits,” Garett said, mumbling. “They spelled my name wrong there, too.”

“Oh, buddy,” Ken said, stepping over to him and opening the bag. “Want a Funyun?”

“No, I don’t want a Funyun,” Garett said petulantly.

How do I know the word “petulantly”? Did I read it in a magazine or something?

“Why not? They are quite a savory snack.”

I don’t want a Funyun!”

Ken clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell you what. Later on, you and me will take our big water jug from the hall and go to the Coinstar machine at the supermarket. Cash in our pennies and stuff and then go out to eat somewhere. How’s that sound?”

Garett looked up at him. “Well, Richard might call. I think he’s pretty upset about the DVD himself, and…”

“Hey, Garett?”


“Richard’s not gonna call. You uh … you know he’s married, right?”

Garett dropped the DVD, “Yeah, but see, he and Lori have this whole deal, because I’m on his list of people, and he’s allowed to do stuff with me, and he could so call. You don’t know!”

Ken removed his hand. “Okay, kid.”

“You don’t know!” Garett dashed away, his bunny slippers flopping, and slammed the door behind himself. The shower turned on, and Ken heard the unmistakable squeaks as Garett drew yet another one of his sad little Valentine-hearts in the mirror. GM + RB. It was so cute, in a pathetic sort of way.


He spun around. Barbie #1 was still looking at him. “Ken, I don’t understand. The TV said they Brad and Jen were broken up but this magazine says they are just getting together. I don’t get it, Ken, I don’t get it.”

Ken slid over next to her, mesmerized by her complete lack of tone or expression. He picked the magazine up. “Baby, this magazine is three years old. See, it says the date right here?”


“Good thing you’re pretty, baby.”

Ken leaned back against the counter, satisfied. He scooped more Funyuns out of the bag. Well, if Garett didn’t want to come with him, he’d just go to the Coinstar machine himself. Maybe throw another party this weekend. Yeah, that’d be nice. Caged tigresses everywhere. Yeah.

“Just gotta remember to bring my keys with me this time,” he muttered around a mouthful of Funyuns. “Drunk and locked out is so not the way to go.” He chuckled at the half-remembered incident last time. “Garrrettt…”

Damn, good times. Good times.


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