What is Lube?

[Names changed because I like making up new names for people]

The other day I was rather tired and decided to go for a quick bike ride over to my friend [Otto]'s house. Normally, I don't drop in on people as I am not a fan of the drop-in but it seemed okay because [Otto] was making some baked beans and coming over in an hour anyway. Plus his phone sucks and if I called he wouldn't get the message until like a week later so it seemed useless to call. EXCEPTION TO THE RULE CARD PLAYED.

What you should know is that [Otto] was actually banned from my house for a small period of time.
When I first moved into my cool ass house, which I refuse to post photos of because you'll only want to come steal it in the middle of the night, [Otto] would drop in constantly and tell me it was going to burn down and myself and my cats were in severe danger. The reasons varied depending on what he saw and what day it was but essentially I was living in a death trap and if Bruce Willis didn't show up and explode out of the window in a mushroom cloud of fire at any moment, it was a miracle.
Some time passed and it was whispered to [Otto] by a family member that he may get chopped up and tossed into the compost pile if he didn't chill the fuck out because said house is just fine and makes me happy as a clam with glitter glued to its face. Things were okay for awhile as in it was okay that [Otto] was distracted by some skunks that lodged themselves under his bathroom for awhile and that became a large part of his life. They would have skunk parties under his bathroom and he couldn't sleep so he took to napping a lot during the day.

Fast forward to when I lurched to a stop on my Mom's bike the other day in [Otto's] driveway. I knocked on his door and could smell his baked beans cooking but [Otto] seemed confused as to why I was there. It was not particularly unusual, really. In fact he usually invites me in, tries to give me plant clippings and what not. That day, he wandered around his yard and was musing aloud randomly and then when I casually mentioned the bike I was riding was making a clicking sound he went into his MUST FIX MODE. I didn't really have time for him to do a full bike tune-up that was not necessary and was just stopping by to say "Hey hey" on my ride but I was forced off of the bike and stood there seething as he held up a can of Acme Bike Lube, proclaiming loudly as though I were a foreigner, "THIS IS BIKE LUBE."

It was at this point that I started wondering what would happen if I just strangled him with the bike chain. Could they trace it bike to this bike? No. No. It's my Mom's bike. Don't get her into that kind of trouble. She's a kind soul. What if I just cracked him on the head with...that shitty bike pump? It never works and it could be explained away as a drunken injury. Hmm.

It was announced after I wrested the bike away from him that he was going to take a nap. Mind you, he and his Magic Beans were supposed to be arriving in less than an hour and he just announced a snooze-fest. I was actually alternately okay with this and mildly pissed. I hate when people are not courteous so that was the main pisser there. Otherwise...WHAT. EVER.

But [Otto] did show up. Two hours late. As people were leaving. So of course we all sat down and ate a bunch of damn beans. Then a half hour later other said people, [Dude and Dude's Son], left and my Mom mentioned the beeping/F2 warning on her really expensive dishwasher. I'm sure you can envision what happened next. [Otto] decided to have a half hour look at it before my Mom herded him out to the yard where I am told he took charge of the fire pit and dug up some shit because our fire wasn't just fine the way it was. He also checked that she had turned the propane off on the BBQ as he was leaving because my Mom is a total firebug. It's well-known. There's photos of her at the propane places around the county.

At this point, I was just laying on my Mom's futon in some sort of cross-eyed fury where I was trying to figure out the cheapest locale for socks and oranges in bulk. In my head I was going to construct a Rube Goldberg-esque machine that constantly pummels [Otto] until he is broken of his habits to compulsively fix shit that isn't broken or if it is...no one asked him to take up our entire lives to inspect it and go off on tangents about how he's lived here for over ten years and ....zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Either this post will make you want to kill me (and I won't judge you for that) or you will completely understand. Maybe you even know [Otto] and you understand.