He Who Shall Not Be Named

There’s a guy that I know. For the sake of privacy, we’ll call him “T.C.”. He’s a crazy guy and, for the most part, harmless. Our small circle of friends has turned T.C. into a Beetlejuice type figure and this comparison is fairly accurate. When he shows up, the party starts. It may only be a one man party, but it’s a party nonetheless. There’s dancing, drinking, chair throwing, people throwing, a whole lot of shouting “Hail Satan” and “Rock and roll!” For years, this is what our group called a typical weekend. Then we calmed down, got a little older. Not T.C. Absolutely not him. He has remained the unstoppable juggernaut of crazy, harmless, drunk destruction that he has been since we met him.

Now, you might ask “How does this equal a comparison to Beetlejuice?”. It is the rule of 3s, basically. If his name is spoken three times, he just shows up. Be it at your front door, a phone call, text message, or just a song that he would normally drunkenly mumble, he’s there. So unless the whole town is ready for a party, our group has forbidden anyone from speaking his name. This is usually a fruitless task, as most stories that we have about anything involve T.C. But we try, often times hard, more often not, to not speak his name for when we do, we’re in for some very long nights.

Forbidden

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