A Laffy and a Half

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Story Sent in by Agnes:

Serge and I used to work together at a big company's investor relations department. I was let go in a round of layoffs, and he was laid off shortly thereafter. I found a new position, doing bookkeeping (and a bit of marketing) for a smaller company, and all the while, Serge and I stayed in touch.

He was a nice guy, a few years older than I was, and we had been friends for a little while. He asked me out on a date a few months after we had been laid off.

We met at a nice restaurant that we had frequented when we worked together. He looked great, but brought a... well, a... a friend with him.

This friend was a stuffed animal, a brightly-colored, green and yellow bird with a human head. The dad was white, bald, had black button eyes, a thin red mouth, and a vacant stare that was more ghoulish than anything else. Shortly after our greeting hug, he introduced it to me.

"This is Laffy," he said, and then shook Laffy lightly, flopping his wings around.

"Hi... Laffy," I replied, "Serge, what's this about?"

He shrugged, stuffed Laffy into his pocket, opened the door for me, and we went inside without another word.

At the dinner table, he set Laffy next to him, and then stared at him with a queer smile. I tried to make conversation, and Serge would typically respond, "Huh?" as if I had snapped him out of a reverie.

When the waitress came and took our orders, she smiled at Serge, pointed at Laffy, and asked, "Who's that?"

Serge replied, "Laffy eats baby pig."

Without missing a beat, the waitress said, "And what would you like to drink, sir?"

He ordered a beer, and then looked back at Laffy as if he was the most interesting thing in the world. I tried my hardest to take Serge's attention, but no matter what I said, he wouldn't make eye contact with me, opting instead to watch the mysterious stuffed thing, sitting next to the salt and pepper.

Our food came, and Serge instantly asked for his meal to be packed up. I asked him if everything was all right.

"Huh?" he asked, then, "Things have been a little tight since getting laid off, you know?"

"Are you all right?"

He didn't reply, but looked at Laffy, giggled, and nodded his head.

Serge paid for dinner, we left, and I hugged him goodbye. One more time, I asked him, "Are you sure you're okay? Can I help you with anything?"

He shook his head, said goodbye, and walked away. I haven't heard from him from that day to this, even though I've tried to contact him. I hope he's okay.


  1. According to the Charlie Sheen handbook, that man was clearly "winning."

  2. Rather than drugs, I'm thinking this guy had some sort of mental illness. OP should try to contact his parents or something (assuming this happened recently enough).

  3. To head off any ideas that my life might be that exciting, that story's not from me. :(

  4. Yep - Winnnning! Exploding torpedoes of truth from the mouth of the troll killer.

    Laffy is not a troll - he is not in a cave, and obviously on Serge's side.

  5. ^ Thanks for appreciating my Tiger Blood and Adonis DNA, Anonyme, but you should know that trolls actually don't live in caves anymore - now they hang out mostly in coffee shops and on Internet forums. ;-)

  6. ^ Underneath bridges is still popular though.

  7. This quote is wrong:

    "The dad was white, bald, had black button eyes, a thin red mouth, and a vacant stare that was more ghoulish than anything else."

    The dad? Huzzah what?


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