Hank was a cliché. He was a productive member of society. Hank was 25, he had a steady girlfriend and they were both middle class and made a combined $65,000 dollars a year. They had 2.5 children and both graduated high school and had some college. Hank had a job in an office doing support and sales.
Then he decided.
“Well this just won’t do.”
So Hank went to his manager and told him he quit and Hank walked right out that building like a gangster and everyone was like,
“Oh my God. Hank is such a badass.”
Hank was done with living the life everyone else lived. He wanted to be [I]Classy[/I] . Feeling a revitalized sense of what it meant to be alive he went to his two bedroom one bathroom apartment and unleashed a wild pack of cats inside, a product of his own newfound symbolical thinking (who knows what he meant?), and a final message to the very DeVito like landlord. His girlfriend came home and she asked him,
“Hank? Hank what is going on? Why is there a wild pack of cats inside our two bedroom one bathroom apartment?”
And Hank just looked at her like a cow at an oncoming train. Without a response he put on his shades and took the couch with him. All he could think about was becoming a classy man. He looked at his old car of which model nor year was identifiable, and he thought,
“Well this just won’t do.”
So he grabbed his couch and hoisted it up high onto his shoulders, and walked to the nearest Ye Olde Fashioned Bicycle Shoppe, and he got one of those bikes that has a big wheel in front and a little wheel behind. He also grabbed an Almond Joy because coconut is for classy men. Hank ripped off his pants and made a makeshift tie and tied the couch to the bicycle.
“Awww yeaaaa,”
He slowly whispered under his breath. It was a comfy couch, probably the single most revered object in his life, and it was the force of the Couch’s omniscient mind that convinced him to turn his life around. As he looked for a place to reside, Hank saw a pet store, and he thought,
“I bet Nicolas Cage has a dog. Nicolas Cage is one classy man.”
Hank walked right into that pet store, and he said to the attendant,
“Hello my good sir. I will take 15 and one half of your finest puppies, and only puppies of the lushest coats and juiciest saliva will be accepted, and the ones with any atrociously shocking features will become an object of my wrath, and it will be the fault of you, and you will have known that you alone forcible removed a puppy from this planet Earth, and until the end of your days you will cry and live a miserable life.”
And so Hank was given his 15 and a half puppies, which he crammed into a small grocery cart that he then proceeded to tape to trusty bicycle. Then and just then, he saw the most amazing shining piece of property to most possible had ever been constructed in west Arizona. It was an estate with the greenest trees and moistest grass you’d ever dream of. It was swanky with windows placed all around, and the house itself contained over 19 individual fireplaces. The master bedroom contained a hat rack, which pretty much sealed the deal for Hank, in fact, what could be classier than a hat rack he thought. Hank grabbed a flyer and it said, “On sale for a basket of 13 lush puppies”.
Hank, being a classy man, gave the puppies pocket watches, as a token to remember him by, and gave 13 of his finest puppies to the owners, who in absolutely no way looked seedy nor suspicious. So Hank and his two and a half puppies settled in, along with the couch who simply stared at nothing, but it was all good because Hank built it a nice pen outside, with some shading and fresh alfa-alfa.
Realizing his puppies had gone nameless for some 15 minutes now, he decided it was time to give them their identities, for all the world to know these puppies were truly loyal to possible the most swanky man in west Arizona. The first puppy was named Buck, the second Copernicus, and the final half Celestial Wind Runner, Slayer of the Gods, a name which can only be understood should you have seen this puppy, for truly it was deserving of the title.
There was only one thing Hank could do now. Hank had to make more friends; classy friends. He wouldn’t settle for waitresses or landscapers, but he would have to make friends with the rich, the opulent, and the condescending, plus maybe a homeless man because some of those guys are pretty chic. Of course Hank did not have the right wardrobe to go out in public, nor to any charity events.
“Copernicus,”
He says. Copernicus, let us go search for clothes. He only wanted the most illustrious clothes of the smoothest fibers and materials. There was no other place to go to than to the shops of the Tuxedos, the fabled dress suits which in the right variety, could make any mere peasant bow down and cry amongst his loftier and much more superior colleague. He arrived at “McTilligans Elaborate Extravagant Tuxedoes for Rent and Sale” and an attendant came up to him and asked,
“Greetings my good man, may I measure and fit you so that we may custom tailor you a tuxedo of the finest proportions?”
And Hank roundhouse kicked him in the face, for classy men are not ‘measured’ nor ‘fitted’. Classy men are respectable and retain on to their own dignity, far away from the sins and wallowing emotions of the common man. As with everything else of his new life of luxury and luck, Hank spotted his ideal tux, for it was in the corner, and it was a fine tux of kangaroo leather and bright neon lightings, and it was fitted into a half business suit, half trench coat design, and trench coats are no doubted the most hip of the coat varieties. And for Hank, being an intimidating homo sapien, was given the tux free of charge, along with one gleaming top hat that was darker than the inside of an alleyway at night, for his peers beneath him feared his swagger and lovably passive aggressive appearance.
Upon returning home Hank learned that Buck, his least favorable of the canines, had a knack for selling watches at discount prices, and upon this basis is how Hank and his humble family could elaborately furnish and decorate their estate with only the most obnoxious ornamentation, and even the couch benefited from Buck’s astonishing salesmanship, as it Hank bestowed upon it a year’s supply of hummus, the most classy of the dipping sauces, though for some reason unknown to Hank the couch simply looked at it, neither eating nor tasting the delicious puree.
He had long since thought of his old life, and did not reminisce about his life in office support and sales, and he was almost a man worthy of talking among large assemblies of men with fancy corncob pipes and ornamental canes, who had no time to give to men as corporate as Hank.
Hank’s image was almost complete, for there were few things he had not had, among them facial hair and a most expensive hot tub which may or may not be filled with Mountain Dew. He had decided to grow a most swanky moustache with curls and the smoothness of a balding man’s head. This was an easy process, and he slathered it with liquefied gold and platinum to give it that final classy look. His hot tub was a dream he could not fulfill, for Copernicus was deathly afraid of the water, and Buck was allergic to certain ingredients in Mountain Dew.
Hank understood that not owning an elaborate hot tub would definitely cost him with the extremely fanciful lads and ladies among the top of chain of fancy men. There had to be a way he could redeem himself without getting rid of Buck nor Copernicus, his two most trusted and loyal companions, who would even eat something as gross as a prime cut filet steak just to save his life.
And right then and there he had an idea. He must obtain a cigar of epic aroma and size, to flaunt around in the faces of those who looked down upon him. Most unfortunate, for Hank there were no local smoke shops which sold anything more than the finest Cuban and Haitian cigars. This was not good enough for Hank, so he devised a plan to construct a Cigar that would be so appealing that when written the first letter of it had to be capitalized.
He had to call in a few favors, but the A-team, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Morgan Freeman and the guy from the Allstate commercials joined forces with Hank, to recover the Declaration of Independence from the U.S. treasury. First, as a distraction they used Morgan Freeman’s voice to lullaby the main gate guards to sleep, a voice which if Morgan Freeman killed your mother in front of you, his voice could calm you down. The A-team then proceeded to unleash 10 dozen flaming barrels of Champagne to cause chaos amongst the treasury, and making sure they killed no one in the process, because killing people who are only doing their job far from anything resembles classy.
Hank, Dwight, and Allstate man used Dwight’s amazing knowledge of all things Americana to map out the location of the Declaration and to retrieve it. The declaration was protected by a vault door the thickness of 10 babies laid side to side, and an electromagnetic lock and 10,000 digit combination lock. Hank broke down in tears but he was saved, for the Allstate man was an expert in hacking and in lock picking, such in expert in fact, all he had to do was ask the vault door nicely to open, and it opened revealing a chasm which was the inside of the vault deeper than the Marianas Trench. Dwight and his 12 years of Middle School Track and Field experience allowed him to jog in and recover the Declaration and also Excalibur which was stashed neatly next to or countries fine liberating papers.
Hank thanked all of them, and gave them all free monocles, as a symbol of their dedication to all things classy. He returned home and used the finest tobacco and Saltwater taffy to make such a fine smokable cigar, and he proceeded to wrap the Declaration of Independence around it, holding it all together, and the mustiness of the old document only added to the refined flavor Hank had created.
In the next month he and his cigar and cane-converted Excalibur roamed amongst Gerard Butler’s house party, for Gerard was truly the classiest of the classy. Hank entered and he was welcome, and everyone liked to make fun of him for being the new guy. Once he was final the center of attention, he lit up his cigar and breathed out a puff of smoke that filled the whole room like a flash flood into the grand canyon, and all the undeserving guests said,
“My god. You are not a man, you are amongst the Gods,”
And for this, Hank was extremely pleased, and he roundhouse kicked himself in the back of the head so fast, he traveled back in time to the place he was truly needed, as an office worker supporting himself and his girlfriend, occasionally fighting crime and giving out assistance to crippled children, for he had lived the life he always wanted, and it was truly his turn to give back to the world.
This was a true story, this is the thread to pay your respects to Hank.
Stay Classy, Hank.
Hank requires more appraisal.
Not to be the bearer of bad news... but does this Thread have a point? Seems more like creative writing... Maybe it belongs in the Creationism Corner?
Maybe it is the true story of Hank and you are insulting him with your blasphemy.
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