For the record (Damian)

[Richard Maxim]

There was probably a world record for the greatest number of swear words said in 60 seconds. Somewhere, someone had done something so insane, so retarded, so ridiculously stupid and frustrating that someone nearby (or even themselves, if the incident was an accident) let loose an epic stream that needed to be recorded in the history books. Hey, if we the people gave a shit which dog on this planet has the longest ears, we'd give a shit about three hundred cuss words being spewed in succession. Where he knelt on the pavement, knees bent against the raised edge of the sidewalk casually, Rich found himself giving quite a many shits. Over the last ten minutes, he'd let loose enough profanities to make a sailor squirm in his seat. Perhaps he could outdo this mythical world record, maybe he'd be the one to set it. That'd be a cool thing to put on a resume. 'World's most proficient swearer'. That was not a title given to just anyone.

But if it were given to anyone, why not him? The only son of a wealthy businessman, he was an important face, even in the big bustling world of New York City. He deserved an honor of that caliber, surely. If for no other reason than dropping his keys down a storm drain was, by far, the most ridiculously idiotic thing he'd done in his life, and he'd done some pretty idiotic things. Nope, this definitely beat trying to jump off the roof of his father's mansion and attempting to land in the backyard swimming pool. At least that had been captured on video, and he'd gotten a wicked scar on his arm where the bone had broken through. Heck, even lighting his pubic hair on fire had been kind of fun. But no, there was no one around to bear witness to him now, sitting on his ass on the side of the road, glaring heatedly down into the darkness of the sewer drain where recent rain water was running down a steep hill, straight into the murky depths. His keys glistened tauntingly in the evening sunlight, just out of arm's reach through the small rectangular opening and glared at them resentfully for it. The least they could've done was fall the whole way, at least then his stupidity wouldn't be glaringly obvious.

Richard sneered and grumbled angrily to himself, turning away from his problem briefly to give a sharp yank on the chain he had wrapped around one wrist. At the other end of the six foot length, Christian the cat looked startled and slightly pained by the motion, peering up at the 21-year-old with his wide, clear blue eyes. When he was met by nothing but a dark brown glare, the lion cub immediately planted his butt in the grass of a nearby lawn obediently slowing, if not completely stopping, his childish fidgeting. For the moment anyway. A stick seemed to grab the young cat's attention and he pawed and chewed at it playfully, making sure to avoid putting tension on the leash attached to the studded leather collar bound tightly around his fluffy white neck. Richard watched his pet play with something of silent disdain. The dexterous animal could probably fit in the storm drain, but damn it all if he could be trusted to actually retrieve the keys. He's a lion, not a dog.

What to do, what to do.