Yeah, I went to school with Cliff Fiscal. Weird kid. He’d turn up out of nowhere at parties he wasn’t invited to, and you could never get him to leave. He’d never bring anything, of course, but he’d constantly wonder aloud if we’d have enough food and drinks to last the night—not that he’d make a beer or food run, of course. The worst part was how he’d spend most of the party talking with the other guests, sharing his paranoia and saying things like, “Boy, I SURE hope this porch we’re on doesn’t collapse.” or “Man, if this place caught on fire, we’d ALL fucking DIE.” or “You know what that black line is up the shrimp’s back? Feces.” Some of the jocks thought it was funny to watch him creep out the guests, so they took him on as a kind of mascot. “Heyyyyy! Didn’t you invite, Fiscal? I’ll call him up! Good ol’ Cliff Fiscal!” What dicks. God, I hated that kid.
