H i s d a i l y v a r i e t y

Jared Shuler introduces Major Reyes Secret

Titled I

I am Major! Major Reyes. Yes I start the story off with the most commonly used word in the English vocabulary. I sit on a Sunday morning flipping thou the Sunday New York Times. I write in 3rd person because it suits me. I like to think someone has me on there mind, or at least on there lips. But no one does so I speak to and for myself. I stand about 6ft tall, brown skin, 27 years of age. Not that I don’t know this information but it’s always essential to the story. Today is cheat day for all my body building friends they are all starting to look like common clones of one another. I’ve slowly slipped from the A list, seeing I don’t have quiet the gym commitment that the other children do. The hell with it, I continue to lie to myself and hope someone at some point loves me for me. Ain’t going to happen, but it’s wonderful to dream. I couldn’t help to slip into a wonderland. I had IHOP on the brain, and it was cheesecake pancake month.

I’ve learned to become the ugly one among my friends. I was the only one with an active 2 Pac and didn’t plan on throwing my food up any time soon. Oh the Times on a Sunday how blissful, double checking my cell. Just got to make sure its not on vibrate, damn sure don’t want to miss that call. It’s slipping into late afternoon, last thing I want to be doing is fingering thou this cumbersome paper and act like my stomach can deal with half the shit the world is hurling up. I’ll play my part as the ‘stupid American’ this fair Sunday, and run str8 over to the travel and leisure section. Where will I pretend to go this week? Spain? New Zealand? No I got it Ice Land. Yes they love the blacks there. Oh what will I do? I’ll shop and have lots of random sex. Now wait if I’m going to do random sex it will be in Brazil. I hear you can rent whomever for $20 American. Not that I’m at the point of paying for sex, but shit have you seen them Brazilians?

I hear the tiles in my coffee table vibrating. It’s Janice putting in her Sunday morning call. I don’t know if I feel the need to answer! There is that check list an adult male most go thou when his mother calls.

1. I’m Fine! – You give mama the I’m fine because in all realness, you don’t want to tell her too much and she so doesn’t really care to know.

2. Work is fine! – No need for mom to know your boss sold you out like a Hunts Point hooker over a pack of post it’s. She will worry. Call you way too often to ask you if you’re looking for another job. Do you really want that headache? NO!

3. All my friends are fine! She doesn’t need to know how Nigel got the clap from a sex party and refuses to get a shot because he heard there are to any cuties at the free clinic, or the fact that Lynette done ran another man off cause she wont do anything but missionary position.

4. No I’m not dating! Look they never last, so why put the women thou the endless new names. I can’t stomach the shit myself. So why should mama have to.

I’ll let Janice get the voice mail, ain’t no harm in hitting ignore every once in a while with moms.


My fingers are black from this ink, and you’d think I’d had wash my ass at this point, all this pretend reading has gotten on my last nerve. I have to bind my time till I get my IHOP fix. WTF has my life become? Whatever the fact ‘cheesecake’ pancakes are my muse to pick up this here cell and reach out to the muscle bound freaks and see what the hell the hold up is.

Ring 1- No answer! That’s okay, only people waiting for someone to call pick up on the first ring. Someone like me dying for some damn pancakes.

Ring 2- They must heat it now!? I can feel it they are looking for there phone.

Ring 3- Fear sets in!

Ring 4-God Damn it!

VOICE MAIL

Now I’m force to leave a message giving my breakfast buddy more power. I hate giving people complete power on calling me back. The politics’ of Sunday afternoon Pancakes. If I don’t receive a call back, I have to act like its ok its only pancakes right? Yea right! I don’t want to show I’m phining for a plate of hot steamy cheese cake flap jakes covered in a pound of butter and a liter of Pecan maple syrup. Sweet God I need to get some. There is no reason a 27 year old man, with a thriving career as an architect, masculine good looks and a 401K plan should be thinking of IHOP as a place of exotic. But the reality is Ms. IHOP is what’s keeping me going. Well at least I’ve given myself the self affirming Oprah Speech for the week.

I will get my ass-up and throw on these sweats, the grey ones no less, with the same Greece stain from last week when I feed and got a little hush brown in my lap. I guess the muscle freaks decided to change there cheat day and didn’t let a brotha know. I guess they know every other day for me is a cheat day. Hmmm maybe I’ll try blueberry instead.