Chaetophobia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Carlos and his pal Yu are spending Halloween watching DVD's when Yu discovers Carlos' hideous, life-changing phobia; how is it fixed? Find out now, in this useless bromance! (brotherly romance)

Submitted: June 21, 2009

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Submitted: June 21, 2009

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Two notes have brought comedy, tragedy, love and shock to earthlings for far too many years, and Carlos was about to hear them.
Ding….do-ong.
He jolted back to life from the couch, as though pulled by a thread out of his sleep, then quickly got up to the door.
He opened the door and a familiar face loomed at him out of a large cow suit. The only difference was that this cow talked.
“Carlos, my man! It’s All Hallow’s Eve! Where’s your costume?”
“I’m not going.”
Carlos closed the door nonchalantly, but the face wasn’t one to say no.
“No! No, you have to come!”
“What makes you think I will?”
“You never do!”
“Exactly! Why did you think I would come with you tonight?”
“Because…I got you a costume too!”
The cow unveiled a paper bag, and pulled out a Swedish milkmaid costume.
“Get it?”
“That’s just wrong. Did you know that you’re sick?”
“Wha-?”
“And plus, you’re a female cow.”
Finally opening the door, Carlos eyed the costume with a disgusted wrinkle of his lip. The person in front of him had peaks of black hair and a slightly wonky nose (from when he tried to fly at age four). He also had the unfortunate habit of being a complete idiot. His name was Yu.
He said, “Again, I proclaim wha-?”
Carlos looked him up and down before heavily placing his hands on Yu’s shoulders. “Male cows do not get milked, and they don’t have udders. You’re a chick cow.”
Yu glared at him with the evil eye, then turned away to scoff some Nacho Chips, before he kept speaking.
“Anyways, I’ve got news. I’m thinking of growing a moustache.”
“NO!”
There was an awkward silence as the wheel-chair that Carlos was standing in flipped over with the force of Carlos’s loud cry. As he uprighted himself, Yu said cautiously, “Uh, yes, yes I am. Studies show you look 14% smarter if you have a moustache.”
“Yeah, but-you’re, like…if you don’t-and then…”
“Get it out of your system!”
“I don’t want you to grow a…a moustache.”
“Why ever not, dear Carlos?”
“Because…you don’t have the right face shape.”
A can was opened, and a large pool fell on the floor as Yu swaggered across the room.
“Oh. I see. You’re a face-shape-ist. I didn’t know this, and it has come as shock to me. I refuse to believe that you could be so discriminating.”
“Shut-up.”
“I mean, face-criminating.”
“Shut up!”
“Face-Nazi!”
“I HAVE AN EXTREME PHOBIA OF MOUSTACHES!”
Carlos’ eyes were wide, showing more white than ever before as he glared madly at Yu, whose mouth was hanging as if one of its hinges was broken.
“I’m sorry.”
“You bloody well should be.”
Yu let one fuzzy hoof fall to his side before saying, “But I have to say, I’m darn proud of the insults I made using only the words face-shape-ist.”
Carlos let his head sink into his hands, and moaned.
“Ever since I was six. Six, godammit! This is the reason why I didn’t pay that busker, on the street! You know, the one that looked like Kenny Rogers?”
Yu nodded in realisation.
“Oh, and why I can’t watch Castaway. It’s just…when I was a baby, it was take-your-son-to-work day, so my mum took me to her office, and she left for a little while to make some Mac and cheese. Anyway, her boss came to play with me, and he had this great, huge walrus moustache. I mean, I was okay with it, but I yanked on it real hard, and he dropped a stapler on my head.”
Yu bit his top lip. “That’s it? That’s why you have…what’s the official phobia name?” He went to look it up.
“No, it was…I was just a baby, and my head hurt, and…it looked like the moustache was reaching down for me, and it was yelling and swearing, and it had eyes, and then my mum came back and spilt her coffee, and she was screaming too, and…”
He had said enough to make Yu realise he wasn’t joking.
“Is this why you’ve only got LOST seasons one to three? Because they hadn’t grown beards yet?”
“Yeah.”
“And why you won’t play Guess Who, in case you get Philip, Charles, George, Dick or Roberta?”
“Yes. I also never win.”
“Yeah, the trick is to cheat. But let’s not talk about nameless paper people. Let’s get over this…chaetophobia! I knew it! But seriously, you have to overcome it.”
“How? I’ll do anything, pretty much. Just name one thing, and I’ll do it.”
Ten minutes later
“Okay, name two things and I’ll do the other none.”
“Aw, come on! It worked on Dr. Phil, it’ll work for you! Are you ready to send your emotional baggage to Death Valley and get on a one-way first-class ticket to Feel-good Island? Are you?”
“This metaphor became confusing long, long ago.”
“I’m not kidding, Carlos. You are my best friend, and I can’t let a fear of a hairy upper lip get in your way. So sit on the couch and let’s get ready.”
Carlos frowned and let Yu out the door for the exercise. When the doorbell rang again, and Carlos opened it, Yu was still donning his cow pants-but also a fake moustache.
“HOLY-!” Carlos shrieked.
“Hell-ooo. I’m here to make a delivery, and I also have a moustache. Would you like to…stroke it?”
“MOTHER! THE STAPLER HIT ME! HE HIT ME! MOTHER! BYAAAARGH!”
“Carlos, Carlos, it’s me, Yu! Not, not you, me, I mean, it’s me, as is my name is…”
Carlos thrust the door shut and ran into his apartment, slamming the bathroom door behind him and locking himself into the dank toilet.
“Carlos! Geez, my foot, what the-Carlos! Are you okay? I’m not mad at you! I’m not mad at you for…god’s sake, I can’t feel my feet…CARLOS! Where are you?”
Carlos could hear Yu letting himself inside the house and stepping, as though on eggshells, around the hallway, and standing outside the door. The fur on his pants rustled as he crouched beside the dim room.
“Carlos. Are you okay?”
“TAKE. OFF. THE MOUSTACHE.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be so freaked. I forgive you for slamming the door on my noticeably delicate foot.”
“Really?”
“Yes. That’s just the kind of compassionate person I am. Also, I think the loss of blood to my head has reverted me to a naturally loving and euphoric state.”
“Yu?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this too weird for you? Like, are you sure you don’t just want to leave and go celebrate Halloween?”
“I’m sure I want to be here. And how can you ask if this is too weird for me? I’m dressed as a cow with a moustache.”
Carlos slowly stood up, propping his shaky legs with the sink, and went outside.
“Round two, Cow-man.”
The second attempt at putting Carlos into a realistic conversation with a moustachioed human being was difficult, but Carlos didn’t slam any doors or scream. The doorbell rang, and Carlos went to get it, but when he opened the door he couldn’t speak. Yu tried to start the conversation.
“ Hi, brutha, me an’ my gang is lookin’ fo’ directions. Can you tell us the way we gotta go?”
Silence from the Carlos department.
“Is you havin’ a spasm, o’ somethin’?”
Carlos gulped, and then spoke quietly, “No.”
Yu tore off the moustache with a little more gusto than needed.
“YEOWCH! Oh, my…no, Carlos, that was really good. You spoke to me, and you didn’t faint, or scream, or anything!”
Carlos grinned weakly. “I did? I did! Great!”
However, when Carlos went to find a change of pants, Yu realised it would take a few more tries.
The third try, Carlos cried.
The fourth, he threw a fruit bowl at Yu.
The fifth was probably the first success, with Carlos completing a two-minute conversation with Yu-with-a-moustache before fainting.
The sixth time, Carlos completed a 30-second conversation with Yu, but only with a blindfold on, and even during that, he convulsed and stuttered awfully.
Yu picked up a bottle by the sink and downed it in a gulp. He then promptly spat it out.
“Carlos, is the Mountain Dew in here off or something?”
“Oh, no, they’re my Sea Monkeys. Cute, huh?”
Yu ran to the bathroom, and another hour was spent waiting for one of the pair to stop vomiting.
After another half hour of awkward conversations between the two about solutions which could stop Carlos’ chaetophobia, when the pizza arrived.
“I’ll get it, I’ll get it.”
A bored twenty-something greeted Carlos with a dull monotone, then got payed and went away.
Carlos plucked out a slice, choking slightly on the cheese strands, then realised that Yu was staring at him in shock.
“What?”
“Did you notice anything…funny? About that pizza delivery guy?”
“He was pretty rude, yeah, but why are you staring at me?”
“Carlos, I don’t know how to tell you this, but…he had a moustache. You didn’t notice?”
Carlos’ eyes bugged out, and he shook his head slowly.
“You’re cured, man! You’re not afraid any more!”
“Oh, yeah! I’m the Man!
“Who’s the man?”
“I am!”
“You are?”
“I AM! I DID IT!”
After much pizza eating and celebratory dancing, Yu jumped up in anguish.
“Oh, damn! I forgot to shave today!”
Carlos looked at him in confusion. “I thought you said you wanted a moustache?”
“Nah. I have to admit, it rubbed off on me a bit; I’m kinda scared. It’s kind of like having a mambo-dancing chipmunk under your nose.”
Carlos couldn’t agree more.
 


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