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Frederick stared down at the vacuum cleaner in his python infested closet.
A smirking face, namely, Orpheus’ smirking face, looked back up at him.
Frederick blinked. And then he blinked again. Still, Orpheus’ face was imprinted onto his vacuum cleaner.
What the fuck is this shit? Am I hallucinating again? Did Orpheus manage to successfully get me high on his British kush?
Frederick knew he was prone to sound hallucinations, but never had he experienced such vivid visionary hallucinations! It was almost frightening to see. It wasn’t just an uncanny resemblance of the goddamn orphan’s shit eating grin on the vacuum cleaner; it was literally him, without a single detail missed.
The unmistakable face of Orphan DeFlop smirked up at him. Well groomed, generic dark brown hair with loose bangs falling off to the side completed the basic look with a goofy ass gold rimmed monocle attached to his right eye. And of course, the mocking smirk.
Frederick had been mocked all his life. Family members scorned his music for being mid as fuck, saying he should stop composing Floridian music and focus on some fancy ooh-la-la shit. The Kreiburgs also bemoaned him for not being French and prissy enough. That was no matter to Frederick, however. Being Floridian was his one true passion aside from his compositions. But, he has never been mocked like this.
Orpheus pissed him off enough as it stood, and this vacuum cleaner, with Orpheus’ likeness imprinted on it, made him furious.
He angrily grabbed the vacuum cleaner by its handle (and kicked it for good measure), almost as if he had a grudge towards it (he did).
“Orpheus, I am FLORIDIAN, through and through! I don’t know where you got such a detailed picture of your shit eating grin—with color, I might add—but this is not funny!”
Orpheus’ plain brown eyes (which the British motherfucker INSISTED were mesmerizing brown eyes and not plain, but Frederick knew better) bored into his soul, which only made Frederick want nothing more than to grab his totally-not-for-show MK-47 if it was not sitting in the kitchen and shoot this dumbass up. Holy fuck, did Frederick want to shoot the area between orphan’s ugly ass eyes right now. They seemed to destroy any sense of anonymity and privacy he thought he had.
“Hey, babe,” the vacuum cleaner said, winking. Frederick’s red ass sunburnt (or so he wished) face paled.
“Aww, what’s wrong? Aren’t you going to vacuum the floor? Don’t you want to grip your white French hands around me? I want to be your vacuum cleaner, my dear.”
Frederick jumped, dropping the vacuum cleaner to the ground like a sack of love bugs with a loud thud (as a Floridian he hated those damned love bugs more than he hated orphans). The “Orpheus” vacuum cleaner yelped at the painful drop. Frederick snapped back quickly from the jumpscare, however. After all, he was a purebred Floridian who had seen enough crazy shit in Florida (or, in the Palm Beach news) for this to leave him (relatively) unfazed.
“How dare you call me French? I racially identify as Floridian! Your basic white British ass has NO right to insult me in such a manner!” He shuddered. British people were fucking weird. First, they drink tea, and now they show up in vacuum cleaners? They really were inferior to Floridians. No one else in the world would make out with an alligator or chug Gatorade like Floridians do.
Orpheus only continued to silently mock the wannabe Floridian.
Frederick put on his most Floridian stance to intimidate the kush-addicted orphan. Before he could spew more gator insults at him, however, he realized he was missing his most prized Floridian possession: his gun!
Frederick slammed the closet door with an embarrassed look on his face. How could he have forgotten his beloved, totally-not-for-show gun to teach Orpheus a lesson?! He walked his Floridian walk downstairs into the kitchen to get both his extremely intimidating MK-47 and a cup of coffee to wake him up from this shitshow.
After getting his “MK-47”, AKA a Flintlocke that he WISHED was Floridian enough in merit, he walked into the dining room and requested a pot of coffee and milk from the butler. Absentmindedly pouring his coffee (wannabe Cuban espresso), his bored eyes suddenly caught sight of something that made his face twist in horror.
Like the vacuum cleaner from earlier this morning, this coffee pot also bore that goddamn Brit’s face!
Frederick swirled the coffee in the pot to shoo away the stupid orphan. The face was gone, washed away by the coffee. Frederick sighed, content with the thought that it was likely just another hallucination from the “exchange” he had with the vacuum cleaner. Right as he thought the coast was clear, a voice came from the coffee pot.
“Frederick, don’t you like hot coffee? Let me be your coffee pot. You call the shots, babe, I just wanna be yours.” Orpheus appeared again, smiling up at the composer.
Holy fucking shit. It just never stops, does it?
Frederick suddenly realized that now was the perfect time to give this flop a piece of his Floridian mind. Abruptly standing up from his chair, he pulled out his pistol in gator fashion and pointed it at DeFlop.
“Orphan, you can’t pull your half-assed tricks on me anymore! With a shot from this powerful (bulletless) gun, your British ass will be wiped off the face of Earth and I can finally achieve my label of “Florida man kills coffee pot” in the news!”
The novelist in the coffee pot opened his mouth to speak as Frederick threw the pot across the dining room. The coffee pot ungracefully ended as a shit-brown stain on the wall; shards of his stupid smirk littered the floor. The maid attending to Frederick screamed and ran out of the room.
His goal of taking revenge on Orpheus completed, the contented Frederick proudly strided out of the dining room, gun in hand, breakfast be damned.
~~~~
Back in his room, Frederick opted to take a shower, an award for his extremely meritable work of killing the orphan (or at least, the orphan’s coffee pot lookalike). The warm water cleared the thoughts of this morning’s shitshow from his mind, refreshing the bona fide Floridian.
Stepping out of the shower, he reached for his setting lotion.
Lo and behold, Orpheus’ shining face was also imprinted on it!
Frederick screamed and threw “Orpheus” across the bathroom, internally thanking the fact that he decided to put on a bathrobe before getting out of the shower. Screw his hair! He’d rather have a bad hair day than using that damned setting lotion!
“You’re too cruel, Fred. How could you be so violent towards me? I just wanna be your setting lotion, hold your hair in deep devotion…” The Orpheus setting lotion complained in the corner he was thrown in, making Frederick doubt that he was dreaming.
“You disgusting pervert! I just stepped out of the shower! Have you no dignity?” Fuming, an ashamed, red-faced Frederick stormed out of the bathroom, leaving his hair unset, unbrushed, and in preparation for the worst hair day of his life.
How dare he? How dare he stand in the way of my perfect Floridian life? How can he disrespect the land of sunshine, orange county, and the haven of gators?
Wiping away a tear (how very un-Floridian of him), Frederick burst out of the manor and made a beeline for his beloved Ford Cortina.
He was driving to Florida. FUCK this mid ass European state.
Kicking the gas, the composer blasted his favorite beach music on his radio. He didn’t need a map; his heart would guide him to his safe haven that is Florida. Immediately feeling comforted by the thought of kissing alligators, Frederick grinned stupidly to himself. Siesta Key, with the softest beach sand in the world. The Everglades, with his anhinga kin. Citrus trees ripe with ready-to-eat oranges. Oh, Florida. What a beautiful state!
Unfortunately, the wannabe Floridian’s daydream was broken by the stuff of pure nightmares (Nightmare mentioned).
“Frederick…Ricky, please, listen to me. I wanna be your Ford Cortina, and I’ll never rust. Take me with you on your journey, dear.” Orpheus’ ugly ass face appeared on his dashboard. Shrieking (it is unknown whether this shriek came from Frederick or the car, or both), Frederick hit the brakes, and much to his horror, the car went flying off a cliff!
Frederick let out the most unceremonious scream of his life as the Ford Cortina crashed into the Pacific Ocean.
“Que carajo?!?” Frederick used what little Spanish he knew to express himself over his very Floridian (don’t they have car crashes occurring all the time?) situation. He heard that Florida is a Hispanic-dominated state; it would only be natural to study some Spanish.
Sobbing, the great composer cursed out the man who ruined both his life and his dream of becoming what he truly loved.
“Orpheus, you coward! How dare you? How dare you get in the way of the gator dream? You can’t even confront me physically! You’re only appearing in my possessions like the wimpy orphan you are!” Frederick cried out to the vast expanse of the ocean, nothing but his ruined yet still beautiful Ford Cortina and Orpheus’ smirking face on his dashboard accompanying him.
A stain to the Kreiburg name. A stain to the land of the gators, the Sunshine State. Guess I’ll die a watery death, my dreams sunken to the bottom of the ocean. Goodbye, Ernest Hemingway museum’s six toed cats. Goodbye, Key West lime pie. Goodbye, my true love, Florida!
Frederick cried himself to sleep, the Ford gently rolling along in the warm ocean waves.
~~~~
Frederick’s eyes blinked open. Squinting in the harsh ray of sunlight, he woke up, greeted by the morning sun.
Wait.
Was the sun always this bright?
Looking around, he observed that he was still in his Ford. His eyes were welcomed to a sight of a lush, turquoise expanse of water gently rocking his Ford, his impromptu “boat”. Soft, pearl white sand expanded the scenery for as far as the eye can see, like a child’s pale blanket protecting the most sacred azure stone that was the Gulf waters. Tourists dotted the shore, with their umbrellas, lounge chairs, and beach towels decorating the Floridian atmosphere. The sunlight bore down boldly onto the beach, reflecting its golden rays against the cresting surface of the ocean water and giving the sand its glow. A faint sound of drum-playing could be heard in the distance, in the direction of a lifeguard’s tower.
Frederick sobbed tears of joy. He couldn’t believe the beauty in front of him. Florida! He was in Florida! Jumping out of the Ford, his feet met the feather-soft sand that he quickly identified as Siesta Key’s prized shore. Marveling at the sight around him, he dumbly walked into the priceless setting of a tourist infested beach party. It really was the perfect morning, except for the shit stain otherwise known as the novelist that Frederick caught in the corner of his eye.
Immediately getting defensive at the horrible, evil man who tormented him, Frederick glared (like how an alligator would glare at a passerby who made too much noise during a good sunbath) at Orphan, who seemed way too overdressed for a beach setting.
He wore a way too fancy three piece suit, adorned by a cheesy red rose pinned to his front pocket. Every crease and fold seemed to be carefully planned, showing off his sigma male gains in all its glory. Well-pressed and ironed, it was obviously a suit that had a lot of thought put into making it.
Said suit would be destroyed by Orpheus in one gigachad motion. Ripping off his shirt in one go like a true alpha male, Orpheus smirked at the stunned Frederick, tossing his shirt onto the sand. A pity, Frederick thought. He mourned for the designer who put so much care into the top only for some fatherless British asshole to destroy it.
Orpheus approached Frederick, doing the Moto Moto walk, showing off his tren-treated six pack that made all other muscle trainers look away in shame. His abs were blinding, reflecting the glow of the Florida sun (the work of some kind of gel, no doubt). The pale ass Austrian man shrunk away towards the wall of a pavilion (like the pussy he is) from the brunette, but to no avail as DeFlop cornered him to the wall. Before Frederick could interject, he got down on one knee, earning a gasp and a squeal from some nearby fangirls (accompanied by clicking phones).
Frederick looked at Orpheus with a mixture of surprise and disgust as Orpheus cleared his drug-infested voice to speak. He choked on some kush, spitting it out on the clean sand like the maggot he was.
“Frederick…please don’t turn away from me again…please listen to me-” Orpheus was interrupted by a coughing bout and Frederick could smell the weed on his breath.
“Ricky…I love you. I thought you would understand after my courting ritual. But since you didn’t understand the first time, I’ll say it to you. I love you. In my Pacific ocean form, I brought you here to Florida in hopes that you will finally accept my love for you. We can raise baby gators together. Will you marry me, Ricky?” Orpheus’ voice was filled with hope. His mediocre brown eyes, for the first time, seemed to capture Frederick’s eyes. They brimmed with expectation, begging Frederick to marry him. Orphan then pulled out a pair of white crocs.
“If you accept, please accept one of these crocs. We can each wear one to show off to everyone how much we love each other.”
Frederick was too stunned to speak. This was too unexpected. Too surprising. Too…perfect. Who knew the stinky novelist was this smooth at courting? Everything he proposed, everything he set up for him, was the Floridian life of dreams.
How could he not marry this pathetic man?
“Yes…Yes, I will marry you, Orpheus.” Frederick’s voice quivered. Although this orphan was insufferable as hell, he had to admit that no one else could dedicate this much attention and time to his Floridian dream as much as Orpheus could.
Taking one of the white crocs, Frederick felt the stiff, foamy shoe in his pale hands before kicking off one of his loafers and replacing it with the superior croc. His new lopsided stand made the situation more absurd than it already was. Orpheus’ face lit up with a smile, and he took one of Frederick’s hands and placed a gentle kiss on it. Frederick averted his gaze in embarrassment.
“Really? I’m so happy, my dear. I promise you, I will treat you and your Floridian dream fabulously.”
They would then leave the beach, each with a croc on one of their feet, waddling off into the horizon as fangirls cheered on their new marriage.
~~~~
After their honeymoon, Frederick and Orpheus went to Gatorland to adopt their new child (a baby gator, as the orphan promised). Walking out of the incubatory, content with their new son, Gatorade, they spent the entire day bonding with him until dusk. Frederick gazed at his new baby cradled in his arms lovingly. He had never seen such a cherubic, scaly face. Big, bulging, ugly yellow eyes blinked back at him.
God, their baby was so ugly. But it only made the baby gator more endearing. Frederick thought their child was beautiful and not ugly. After all, Frederick married the ugliest, most mediocre man on earth.
“Orpheus,” Frederick suddenly stopped walking, face turning very serious.
“Yes, my dear?” Orpheus, the man who was absolutely whipped by his new husband, quickly stopped as well to attend to Frederick. The baby gator in Frederick’s arm lazily turned its gaze to stare at his ugly father.
“Thank you. Really. Even though you’re weird as shit, high all the time, and the most disagreeable man to ever exist, I still love you, because you’re the only person who didn’t call me crazy in the face of what used to be my pipe dream and supported me throughout. Even if I didn’t realize it back then, I realize it now.” Frederick closed his eyes, reminiscing about the crazy shit Orpheus pulled back in the manor.
“Of course I would support you, Ricky. You mean the most to me, my muse, my crazy Floridian muse.” Orpheus smiled and planted a kiss on Frederick's forehead, tucking a strand of his silver hair behind his ear.
The warm Florida breeze blew softly across their faces, tickling their cheeks as the saccharine sun dipped behind a hill (Florida’s highest elevation point is a fucking 345ft hill. What a flat state.), dying the sky with magnificent reds, oranges, and purples that reminded Frederick of one of his aunt Mary’s lavish dresses. He smiled, sighed, and tried to enjoy the moment with Orpheus.
Their moment was broken by the yelling of a greasy child.
“Mom! Mom! Look at those gay European tourists! They’re so pale! How much sunscreen do you think they wear? Do they stay indoors all day? Do you think they can be killed by UV rays alone?” A crusty iPad kid pointed his grimy, sticky finger at the two. Frederick wanted to shoot him with his brand new MK-47 now. He reached for the firearm.
European tourists? How dare that insolent brat call him E*ropean! Didn’t he know he was Floridian now?!
The child’s mother quickly ushered her demon spawn away, apologizing for his behavior. But the damage was already done.
Frederick started sobbing. Fat, salty tears rolled down his face and dripped into Gatorade’s mouth, which the gator spat out promptly in disappointment that it was not food. Orpheus tried to comfort him and affirm his Floridian-ness, but it was to no avail.
Gatorade suddenly leapt out of Frederick’s arms, bolting towards the iPad kid at 35 miles per hour while making angry chirping noises. The iPad kid and his mom turned around to see a fucking midget of an alligator charging at them. The iPad kid frantically attempted to block Gatorade’s attack with his Otterbox iPad cover as the mother screamed for the authorities.
Much to Frederick and Orpheus’ delight, Gatorade’s bite was stronger than the tanky Otterbox and the iPad kid was left defenseless. Gatorade went straight for the crusty kid’s throat, effectively killing the impudent imp in one bloody chomp. He turned to face his parents triumphantly, waiting for their praise for his achievement. Frederick sobbed tears of joy this time, bending down and letting Gatorade leap into his arms again.
The distraught mother of the iPad kid started hurtling threats at the couple and their new son as the authorities chased them down. However, none of them would expect what was about to happen.
Orpheus took a snuff of his crack and started to grow unnaturally large in size, his skin turning into an unnatural gray-blue hue as long, sleek feathers sprouted from what was once his hair. A plague doctor mask replaced his mediocre face (a mask that was leagues more attractive than his regular face, or so Frederick thought). His fingernails morphed into talons, with a fountain pen extending from his middle finger. His large frame threatened to tear through his “I LUV FLORIDA” beach shirt. The sight was comical: a towering, 8 ft tall bird with beach clothes and the most ridiculous top hat stood over the worm-like policemen.
Nightmare promptly flipped off the authorities with his beloved pen nib before he and Gatorade brutally murdered them all. Frederick sipped on his slushie, putting on his shades so the blood wouldn’t get into his eyes. He smiled, revering in the scene in front of him.
What a lovely family we make! Frederick thought. This was the best day of his life. He snapped a selfie of them. He would take great measures to get this printed out carefully and framed tonight.
~~~~
The next morning, Frederick picked up the newspaper and flipped open to the headlines. His eyes widened, and he laughed. He had finally achieved his “FLORIDA MAN ON THE NEWS” label!
BREAKING NEWS: RCTA FLORIDIA MAN’S HUSBAND TURNS INTO A BIRD MONSTER AND KILLS A TEN YEAR OLD CHILD WITH ADOPTED GATOR SON