Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Josh laughs and turns off the blaring disco song. He looks at his laptop for a moment, searching for something. “Oh, this is a good one. Listen to this—Jonas turned me on to these guys.” An acoustic guitar suddenly fills the room. “X Ambassadors. ‘Renegades.’”
“Yeah, great song,” I say. “You were about to tell me how Happy Gilmore led to your tragic ass-tattoo.”
He shrugs. “It’s embarrassing.”
“All the more reason to tell me.”
He rolls his eyes. “It was when I was at UCLA, when I lived in my fraternity house. A group of us used to say ‘YOLO’ all the time, laughing our asses off about it, thinking we totally made it up. And, hell, maybe we did, for all I know—several years later, Zac Efron got ‘YOLO’ tattooed on his hand and my friends and I texted each other like crazy about it, like, ‘Did you see Zac Efron stole our thing, man? We came up with that years ago!’ And, then Drake claimed he invented it in a song, and Reed was like, ‘Yeah, that’s ’cause the fucker came to my house for a fucking party and we were all saying it!’”
I laugh. “You guys started a trend.”
“That’s what cool kids do, baby.” He winks.
“But that doesn’t excuse you getting it stamped onto your ass, Josh Faraday. That’s just inexcusable. Seriously.”
He chuckles.
“Please explain this horrifying tragedy to me.”
He laughs gleefully. “Well, like I say, ‘YOLO’ was kind of a thing with my friends and me, but only because we thought it was super douchey and hilarious and stupid. And one night at the house I was drinking beer with Henn and Reed and a few other guys and we were throwing out movie quotes and guessing the movie, as one does, and Henn threw out some quote from Happy Gilmore. I was like, ‘Dude, no, you’ve got it wrong.’ And he was like, ‘No, dude, I have it exactly right.’ And I was like, ‘No, no, man, it’s this.’ And he was like, ‘No, man, it’s definitely this other thing.’ And I was like, ‘I love you, man, like a brother, but you’re wrong as shit.’ So we went around and around, both of us positive we were one-hundred-percent right, until finally Reed said, ‘Okay, dudes, put your money where your mouth is. Whoever’s wrong has to get ‘YOLO’ inked onto his ass.’ Well, everyone in the room lost his shit. For some reason, that was the funniest idea we’d ever heard. So, of course, I was like, ‘Hell yeah. I’m in, motherfucker.’ Because the chance to saddle Henn with a fucking ‘YOLO’ tattoo, and on his ass cheek no less, for eternity, was too good to pass up. And I guess Henn was thinking the same exact thing about me, so he was like, ‘Boo-fucking-yah.’ So we shook on it and then Reed put on a DVD of Happy Gilmore and found the scene with the quote, whatever it was, and, motherfucker, Henn was exactly right.”
For a long beat, I’m laughing too hard to speak and Josh is right there with me.
“That’s just... insane,” I finally choke out. “What a horrible, horrible reason to get YOLO stamped on your ass.”
“Could there possibly be a good reason?”
I consider. “Yes. If Make-A-Wish called and asked you to do it for some poor kid with cancer. That’s literally the only defensible reason to get a ‘YOLO’ tattoo anywhere on your body.”
Josh laughs. “But, see, the thing is I never go back on my word—no matter what. We went out that very night to a tattoo place in Hollywood and I did it.” He chuckles to himself, seemingly at a memory. “Henn and Reed were laughing so hard the whole time, they wound up on the floor of the place, sobbing like little girls.”
“Well, I hope it was worth it,” I say. “Because you’ve got that horrible thing forever, Josh.”
He shrugs. “Meh, there’s no such thing as forever. Skin’s just temporary—we’re all gonna die, right? Sooner or later, maybe sooner. And, yeah, it was totally worth it—in fact, it turned out to be a very good thing.”
“How could a ‘YOLO’ tattoo on your ass possibly turn out to be a good thing?”
“Because it’s a constant reminder to me of something I don’t wanna forget.” He considers his words for a moment. “I was so fucking sure I was right about that damned quote—and I was dead fucking wrong. So I guess that stupid tattoo reminds me not to get too cocky or comfortable in life—no matter how much I think my shit doesn’t stink, I could always be dead wrong.” All joviality in his demeanor is gone. He swigs his drink.
His face has turned dark. I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure how to respond.
“And, hey, either way, it’s a good story, right?” he adds. He’s obviously trying to lighten things up again. “So that’s always a win in my book.”