Robert E. Brown. Tales from the Land of Entrapment

The Holy Triumvirate of the Freshly Baked Perspective.
Part II: Lance

His full name was Lance Steele. I shit you not. He was given that name at birth. But in sharp contrast to Louie's sloppy rock n' roll Otis the drunk vibe, Lance Steele looked like he would be named Lance Steele, except perhaps that he was as short as Louie. He had rugged, chiseled Fabio pretty boy features and matching long blonde hair. He was in amazing shape considering I never once saw him exert any energy and he always seemed to be shirtless; showing off his gen X style matching tribal tattoos that accented his ripped body. I used to describe him as Anthony Kiedis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers crunched down like a beer can. Clearly it was the look he tried to mimic.

Like so many stereotypical pretty blondes, Lance was dumb as rocks. When I first heard the term Mimbo, I blurted out "Lance." But no one told Lance that and right after he had started his third band with Louie (Louie always got kicked out within a month) he began fancying himself a lifestyle rock star philosopher. He developed a whole set of rules and philosophies behind the name of the band- "The Freshly Baked Perspective." He was convinced that his newly inspired slang would take off across the country and people would start following him like some new Manson.
"Dude, that would be cool... Manson was like... he got chicks dude."
He would hold court in their dingy pot smoked house, ankle deep in beer cans and preach to the rocker girls that would come by to buy weed off him. i loved to be there.
"So it's like this dude, you see Freshly Baked... it's like, it's a perspective dude. It's all about how you live." Lance said stretching his arm around the girl with blue pig tails.
"Like there's us, right. We're Freshly Baked."
"I will be if you pass that joint." she mumbled in an irritated tone. He winked and handed her the joint. "So there's us, right. And then dude, there's the All Americans. See the All Americans, they're suckers right. Like that's the only two types of people there are dude."
"What about the French?" I quipped from across the room. He was confused. "Can the French be All Americans? I mean, they're French."
"Robert Brown has a good point dude, the French are cool, cause they're into legalizing it and being all... cool with shit. The French are Freshly Baked. See now-"
"What about Germans Lance? You're not going to say the Germans are Freshly Baked right? Because, well they did the holocaust."
"The holocaust was definitely NOT Freshly Baked, Robert Brown."
"So does that mean the Germans are All Americans? Or just the German Americans? But what about the German's in Germany, Lance?" The processing bar on Lance's internal pc froze and the blue haired girl saw her escape.

But no amount of logic was going to stop Lance's new pr campaign. Everything was either Freshly Baked, or not Baked.
"Robert Brown, That shit you pulled with the blue haired girl was not baked."
Louie and Vic were the only ones who used the new slang or sat through Lance's pontifications. But he was unfazed and hellbent on getting more converts. One night Lance and I went to a strip club named Knockouts, and at Knockouts he nearly did.
"So it's like... it doesn't matter if you're German or Irish or anything dude... Freshly Baked is how you use your mind."
"Wow. You are like so amazingly smart. I wanna give you a free lap dance."
What? Wait. Did I just hear her say that? I snapped out of the pole focused trance I was in. Oh shit, I think she's giving Lance a free lap dance. For the next hour the girl sat in Lance's lap. I was pouting and fuming. Lance was getting mad attention from this hot chick, his Freshly Baked shtick worked, and I was getting no play at all. I couldn't believe it. They called the girl's name and she slipped him some tongue and got on stage. She began dancing and it was clear that Lance was the only guy she saw in the room. He leaned over the table to me. "I'm going to score dude. She understands the Freshly Baked Perspective." I glared at him.
"And she's a nasty bitch. It's going to be a good night Robert Brown. She asked me if I liked anal."
"You better clarify that statement with her" I giggled. He was confused.
"Lance, you said she's really kinky right? She asked if YOU like anal. You might just end up with a dildo in your ass. I really don't think that's too Freshly Baked, is it?"
She was squeezing her tits and blowing him kisses from the stage but Lance just sat there with a nervous blank look of realization on his face.
"You better find out who's ass fucking who" I laughed feeling evil and satisfied.
When she got off stage she ran straight back to Lance and straddle sat on his lap. He leaned in and they whispered back and forth for a moment. She stood up and slapped him in the face. As she stormed off he pleaded "Babe, I never said you had a dick." But she was gone.
"Robert Brown, dude... that was seriously not Freshly Baked."

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