Chad T…

Chad was a wild one. His stories rivaled my own. And I thought Spoons was bad. Chad was like an angel who swooped down just in time while we were in the middle of casting for the indie film that never was. A character plagued us. We couldn’t find a Tyler. Tyler was a character who was foul mouthed, disgusting and downright as rude as can be. Everyone who came in held back, or just simply didn’t make the cut. Then one night, while at a party for one of Dalton’s friends, a man entered carrying a cardboard cutout of Paul Giamatti. Where he got it, I didn’t care. He had a lord of the rings tattoo on his arm. This man was Chad. I listened to him tell disgusting stories all night that included way too much menstrual blood, magnets clamping testicles, and everything in between. It was great. This guy was Tyler.

Chad and I held an audition for him, but only as a formality. He was in. He had never acted before, and as a result he often forgot his lines, but since we cast him so perfectly, we didn’t need him to remember them. He just had to be himself. This resulted in some of the most fun I had on the film set. While doing the scheduling for scenes, I got excited every time I got to put Tyler’s in. We even included him in scenes he wasn’t originally in. If this film has any sort of saving grace, it’ll be because of Tyler. Obviously I wanted to party with this man. I wanted to see how such stories could exist. One night we were filming a party scene, and the only way to get extras to show up was to offer them alcohol. Originally we wanted to wait until later, but the shoot was going horribly, so Dalton and myself cracked open some stress relief, which quickly spread to the rest of the extras. After the shoot was done I told Chad we had to use the remaining liquor to go out and drink. The set was so close to the downtown nightlife that it made pregaming easy. Chad went back to his apartment to get money from his roommate and we drank a little before going to the bar next door. Two double rum and cokes sat before us while I asked to hear more of his crazy adventures.

I looked around the crowded room to see a girl I had met up with a few times and I wanted to have sex with. I said, “Hey I know that girl!”

“Yeah?” Chad said, “You should go talk to her.” I stood up and walked over to her, patting her on the back.

“Hey!” She turned around, a little wide eyed.

“Why’d you hit me?”

“Um…I just patted you on the back.”

“Well it felt a lot harder than a pat.”

“Oh.” I said, “Sorry. I was just hanging out with my buddy over there.” I pointed to Chad sitting at the table.

“Oh. Well you should probably go back over there then.”


“Okay. Well I guess I’ll see ya later.” I did a goodbye salute that I used to always do and she mockingly did one back. Well that went horribly. I expressed interest in leaving the bar and Chad told me we could go to this club. I shrugged and chugged my drink before we walked over. Neither of us had any more money, so drinking proved difficult, but Chad being Chad had an idea. He told me to wait here and here I waited. He returned with a couple handfuls of almost empty drinks, mixing them all into two cups, and handing me one.

Down the hatch.

It was awful. It worked, though. It probably worked too well, because I didn’t remember the rest of the night. I hadn’t blacked out that hard since drinking a half a gallon of chocolate milk. Next thing I knew I was alone in my car, teeth chattering from being freezing cold. Right in front of me was the set. Why it didn’t cross my mind to just sleep there, I’ll never know. I rattled my way inside and passed out on the floor, forgetting that we had to shoot the next day. People started coming in while I was passed out on the floor.

Oh Captain my Captain.

Chad was nowhere to be found. After calling me a few hours later he also inquired as to what happened. He had woken up in a stranger’s bed fully clothed (a much better circumstance than mine). Chad was always a man of no shame. He’d tell the most horrific stories most people would rather keep to themselves and he’d tell them with a certain sense of pride. He also tended to surround himself with shameless people such as myself and his roommate. One night while drunkenly walking back home, we crossed a bridge and on one of the poles sat a spider web with an enormous spider on it. The body of this spider was equivalent to the size of a quarter. “Whoa.” I said, “Look at this thing!” Chad walked over and examined it.

“Holy shit that thing’s huge!”

Chad’s roommate stumbled over.

Looked at the spider.

Reached up.

Grabbed it.

Ate it.

What the what the!? He practically swallowed it whole and didn’t even wince. Chad and I were astonished. Every time I see a spider on a pole I think of that night where Chad’s roommate ate one for no reason, and probably didn’t even remember doing it. If I’m ever in another situation where I’m on a bridge running from the cops and I stop to catch my breath I might see a huge spider minding its own business on a pole. For that brief moment I’ll forget why I’m running and where I’m going and think about how lucky that spider is that Chad’s roommate isn’t there. Just then an overly excited small town cop will try to pull up in a fast and furious manner, but his inexperience will cause the car to slide up over the curb, flipping me on my back as my head crashes and cracks through the windshield. That cop will probably get away with a slap on the wrist and I’ll be dead, stuck in a spider web with my buddy Chad.


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