Generation Kill, Gen

Rudy, Ray

Rudy woke up surrounded by fast food wrappers. The room he was in was completely unfamiliar. He was lying on an ugly couch, in front of an old TV, blaring VH1 classic. The walls were covered in posters. Also, he really had to piss.

He found the bathroom quickly, pissed, and turned to wash his hands. Which meant he looked into the mirror. At Ray Person’s face. Really, no one could blame him for screaming.

He was snapped out of it by a ringing phone. When he picked it up, he heard his own voice, saying, “What the fuck, homes? You better be me or else this is even more fucked up.”

“Hi, Ray. Yes, I’m Rudy. Or, I was. Fuck, this is weird.”

“No shit, Rudy. I never knew my voice sounded like that. Fuck, how did this happen? Did you meditate too hard or something?”

“That’s not how meditation works. Did you smoke the wrong weed?" 

"I’m pretty sure that’s not how weed works. Fuck, I hope that’s not how weed works.” Ray sighed. “My dealer sold me some funky stuff, last time. Called it- shit.”

“What, Ray, what did he call it?”

“Freaky Friday.”

“Like the movie?”

“Exactly like the fucking movie."