The Kangaroo

So I have this party a few weeks ago, and a bunch of people show up, and like self-respecting Americans, they leave when the party's over. Well this kangaroo that came with a friend of mine doesn't leave. I come home and find him sitting on my couch, with potato chips all over his stomach, watching a Real World/Road Rules Challenge Marathon. I tell him he needs to leave, and he gives me this scowl and a brushing motion with his arm, like he's an Indian guy that can't speak English, and I'm some young guy or woman he's looking down on. At that point I've had it. And apparently so has Jean Claude Van Damme.

He kicked down my door, which kind of annoyed me, and then stood in front of the kangaroo in a fighting stance.

"Okey, kengeroo, you keeled meh femelee. Now yoo mest pey."

This techno music that one might find in a gay underwear store started playing from God knows where, and the kangaroo stood up, ready to go. It was a nasty knock down drag 'em out brawl, and they destroyed my apartment. The kangaroo threw Van Damme through my glass coffee table, Van Damme kicked the kangaroo through my bedroom wall... it was scary. I did like any self-respecting American would do: I called the cops.

But they said they couldn't help me. It was clearly stated in the law that the police could not interfere until after the final battle scene, where they would come in and pick up the pieces either during the final credits, or as Van Damme walked off into the sunset with his vigilante mission complete. So I had to watch as my apartment was ruined until finally Van Damme kicked the kangaroo out my window to his death on the roof of a cop car down below. Then he had the nerve to expect me to treat him like a hero. Asshole.