Joffry

Chapter 9 | The End

It was now November... No nut November. Joffry had been living in Crapzville for seven months at this point, and had actually begun liking it (mostly due to his boyfriend, Jirärd, living there). They had been getting along surprisingly well, and the rest of the guys didn't even mind it. But someone was coming to visit that very much did mind it... Joffry's father. Joffry's dad was unknown to everyone except for Uncle Dave and Joffry himself. Nobody else knew who he was, all Joffry knew was that he was coming to get him... and he was PISSED. Joffry did not want to go home one bit. He wanted to stay in Crapzville, despite hating literally everyone who lived there.

"What the hell!?!" exclaimed Joffry to his friends as he took a shit. "Why the fuck does he want to come pick me up?? He's never given a rat's ass about me before."

"I don't know, bro." Stanley replied, unsure of how to make Joffry feel better.

"Umm, Joffry?" Jirärd asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Will your dad be accepting of... us?"

"Ab-so-lutely fucking not, man's hella homophobic."

"By the way, Joffry, you never told us much about your dad. Who even is he?" Asked Pablo suddenly.

Joffry paused for a moment, as if he were debating on whether or not to reply, "you all may have heard of him.. his name is Ribgo. Ribgo Starr."

Jirärd perked himself up suddenly, "Ribgo Starr!?! Like the Bootles' drummer??"

"Yes, the very same."

"Holy guacamole!! No offense, Pablo."

Pablo glared at Jirärd, "what the fuck is that supposed to mean??"

Jirärd ignored him, "but holy shit, this whole time I've been dating the son of Ribgo Starr!!"

"Is it really that big of a deal?"Joffry asked with a puzzled look on his face.

Uncle Dave leaned into the bathroom, "Johnny, it's a pretty big deal."

Yeah, bro. It's a pretty fucking big deal.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU IN MY HEAD!?!" Joffry once again grew aware of the narrator.

Jirärd chimed in, "wait, so why do you hate him so much anyways?"

"Oh-" Joffry was taken aback, and paused as if he were pondering on whether he should tell them or not, then eventually he spoke, "alrighty kids, gather around. This story is old as hell."

Many, many years ago, in a small village in Wales, a famous retired musician named Ribgo began raising his one and only son. The boy was very smart and talented, good at everything he tried. He was a prodigy in a sense. The boy's long, wavy, silver hair was unforgettable. He only stood at about 4'10 at this time. Likely because he was only about eight years old. This of course was our very own Joffry Starr, but *smol*. He was forced to do many things he did not have interest in growing up, like music, art, acting. Joffry had already mastered three instruments at this point, but he did not enjoy playing a single one of them. He was also multilingual from a very young age, being able to speak French, German, Dutch, Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, Latin, and even a few native Alaskan languages. This is likely how he was able to learn Crapzvillian (an Atlantic island language) so quickly and easily. But Joffry didn't like this life. He wanted to pursue his passion; sports. Ribgo never let him play any sports growing up, and the Crapball team was his first opportunity to be involved in a sport.

One day, Ribgo received a letter from his brother, David Starr. It read:

Proßeudê mèi Brüđeir,

Mèi austê hörezèit aus juñé prößudtü Amrikä rèiçunfür za arêbeischön. ¿Þunkeinêmèi peußèblei jüñé kildteimeil tüchunseidt deuräschon ün juñé arêbeischönen?