So here we are, three inseparable buddies: me, Thomas, and my two pals, Matthieu and Kevin. We live together in a pretty cool apartment in the city. Gotta admit, we’re not exactly neat freaks. The floor? It’s practically a graveyard of beer cans. Dishes pile up in the sink like a giant game of Tetris, and clothes? They’re just doing their thing all over the place.
But honestly, we couldn’t care less. We’re here to have fun, and that’s all that matters, right? Our nights are all about partying, gaming, or just goofing around on the couch. Cleaning? That’s literally the last thing on our minds. We always tell ourselves we’ll clean up “tomorrow”… but, of course, tomorrow never comes.
One day, Matthieu’s dad shows up unannounced. Like, out of nowhere. And this guy? He’s not the kind of person you can just ignore. He’s a big-shot industrialist, probably worth millions, always dressed in an impeccable suit. Anyway, he walks into the apartment and bam, disaster strikes. The guy is shocked by the mess everywhere. He turns beet red, veins popping out, and starts tearing into us.
“How can you live in such a pigsty?!” he shouts. We exchange glances, feeling a bit guilty but mostly trying not to laugh. I mean, come on, it’s just a little mess, nothing to freak out about. But Matthieu’s dad, he’s not messing around. He gives us this massive lecture on responsibility, self-respect, blah blah blah… and decides that things have to change. Right now.
So he tells us to pick which one of us is the messiest, the biggest party animal, the least responsible. We laugh, of course, and play along. Naturally, Kevin gets the title. The guy’s the king of partying, always the last one to bed, always the first to make a mess.
“Alright, Kevin, you’re coming with me. We’re going out,” the old man says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. And just like that, he takes Kevin with him, leaving Matthieu and me at the apartment, sipping beers and laughing.
A few hours later, Matthieu’s dad comes back… alone. We start to wonder what’s up. He tells us that Kevin wasn’t feeling well and went to crash at a friend’s place for a few days. Okay, that’s weird, but it’s Kevin, so it kinda makes sense. Then the old man suggests something: spending the weekend on his private tropical island. A dream weekend to forget about all this.
Matthieu and I jump at the chance. Sun, palm trees, luxury? Of course, we’re in! We pack our bags and head out, not really thinking it through.
The island is straight-up paradise. Palm trees, white sand, turquoise water… We’re thinking this is gonna be the best time ever. But soon enough, we end up in this luxury villa, and that’s when things start to get weird. Matthieu’s dad introduces us to this creepy guy, a hypnotist. Seriously, a hypnotist? Matthieu and I exchange nervous glances, but we figure it’s all part of the fun.
The hypnotist starts talking, doing his thing with a pendulum, and before we know it, we’re completely under his spell. And that’s when everything goes sideways. Bit by bit, we start to feel different. The guy’s totally reprogramming us. When we finally come out of it, we’re not the same. Matthieu and I look like total preppies: perfect polos, neatly pressed chinos, and this attitude… We feel like we’re above everyone else, like we’re the kings of the world.
When we get back to the apartment, it’s a shock. It’s no longer the mess we used to know; it’s a legit palace. Everything’s spotless, everything shines. And then we see Kevin. But he’s not really Kevin anymore. The guy’s dressed like a butler: jacket, bow tie, perfectly polished shoes. He looks at us seriously, and just starts serving us like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
And you know what? We find it normal, too. Kevin’s not our buddy anymore; he’s our lackey. Just another piece of furniture, really. We start giving him orders like it’s no big deal.
“Hey, Lackey, bring us some drinks,” I tell him without even thinking. “Yeah, and get some snacks too,” Matthieu adds with a smirk.
Kevin doesn’t flinch. He just says, “Of course, sirs,” in that overly polite tone that makes you wanna puke, and he rushes off to do what we asked.
That’s when it really hits us that everything’s changed. Kevin’s nothing but a lackey to us now. We treat him like dirt, and he just takes it without complaint. And the craziest part? He thanks us when we call him “Lackey.” Yeah, it’s insane, but that’s our new reality. We’re living it up as snobs, and Kevin? He’s just there to serve us without ever saying a word out of line.
Moral of the story?
If you can’t handle your mess, there’s always a lackey who’ll do it for you… and thank you for it too.
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
annaxmalina
