The origin of the EYEBALL

I can barely remember a time that I wasn't eyeball. But lately, I have been thinking about it quite a bit and I decided to let you all in on how I became an eyeball. While I was working on my Master Degree, I waited tables at a "Black-eyed Pea" in Lakewood, CO. Although I can't say I would ever wait tables again, I did enjoy my tenure at the good ole "Pea". I met my best friends there. People that I remain in constant contact with even though I have moved a thousand miles away. In fact, they are the key to this story. Even after I sprung myself from the shackles of waiting tables by getting a job in my field of study, we still carried on some of the old traditions such as meeting at Appleby's on Friday nights for drinks. One Friday, I arrived and poured myself a beer from the pitcher and began engaging in the wacking banter that those ever exposed to life in a restaurant would be very familiar. As I picked up my glass for my third or fourth drink, I found myself eye to eyeball with a small plastic eyeball floating in my beer. The look on my face must have been priceless because all fifteen of the other's at the table burst out laughing. Seems they had all been vicitimized in the same manner upon arriving. As things tend to do, this continued throughout the night as other's joined. But it also became very much like a game of spoons. Everyone eyeballed, then got the chance to eyeball some one else. It became a very competitive game with several stageies. There were the sly "slipins", the "team efforts", the "quick he's looking at the waitress", the ever popular "she went to the bathroom" and, of course, more than the fair share of the clumsy "how could you possibly think you could get away with thats". All in all, it was a pretty fun night. But that by itself was not intriguing enough to explain how this grew from a simple game to a compulsion to a complete obsession. No, that happened the very next day. Upon waking right around the crack of noon, I dragged my hungover ass downstairs and put on a pot of coffee. While waiting for the pot to brew, I strolled out to the mailbox. I was happy to see that I received my new "PC Computing" magazine. Returning to the house, I poured a cup and sat down at the table to open the black plastic covering that protected my periodical from any postal mishaps. As I peeled back the thin coated, I was greeted by a picture of the exact eyeball that now serves as my profile image. I was so stunned, I spit my mouthful of coffee all over the cover. The next thing I did after I clean the dark liquid from my new mag, the table, the floor and my poor cat was to call my friends that had played the game the night before. One friend suggested we go eyeball shopping. That day we each came home with five new eyeballs. From that, it grew and grew. We saw eyeballs everywhere. We had t-shirts made. I even dressed as an eyeball one holloween. Over the years, the obsession has faded. But once an eyeball, always an eyeball. Some day, I may be inclined to tell you how I became the rebeleyeball. But not today. I've already revealed more than most can handle in any one sitting. Technorati Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Chapter, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin IceRocket Tags: Fiction, Blook, Chapter, rebeleyeball