Gabe loves fan fiction. You Can Make It Up features his own personal alternate adventures starring some of our favorite characters.
“Excuse me, ma’am?! Miss?! I think you dropped something! Ma’am, you dropped some money!”
Bradley Cooper, dressed in a shark-gray suit and a stiff white collared shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, walked with the casual air of a man of leisure enjoying a sunny afternoon in the quiet of his own menagerie. He didn’t even notice the UPS delivery guy shouting at him until the same UPS delivery guy tapped him on the shoulder, a crumpled $100 bill in his hand. “Ma’am, you dropped this.” Bradley Cooper turned to face him. The UPS delivery guy held out the $100 bill, grinning from ear to ear. Bradley Cooper stared at him long and hard. That’s what he stared. The UPS delivery guy pointed behind him at a spot on the ground. “Back there, I saw it fall out of your pocket. Gosh, you’re pretty.” Bradley Cooper took the $100 bill and put it back in his pocket, loose, where he kept all his $100 bills. The UPS delivery guy bowed low, and took Bradley Cooper’s hand to kiss it. “It was my honor to assist you, m’lady.”
Bradley Cooper yanked his hand back. “Oh no! I’m a man!” he said loudly. “I have a penis instead of a vagina!”
The UPS delivery guy held his hand to his chest as if it had been burned on a hot gas or maybe electric stove. “A thousand apologies, ma’am, I mean, sir, I am so sorry. I really thought you were a beautiful woman. But I can see now that you are a man. Or at the very least, I can hear you saying that to me.” He bowed again, although not as deeply this time, unsure of how deep one man was supposed to bow to another man according to the custom of the king’s court, and then he walked quickly back to his truck.
Bradley Cooper walked into a Starbucks and ordered a venti iced caramel macchiato with soy. “Looks like someone needs a pick-me-up!” the barista said. Bradley Cooper laughed, and nodded. “Yup,” Bradley Cooper said. “You don’t want to fall asleep at your desk,” the barista said. Bradley Cooper smiled. He loved to go into a local coffee shop, like a Starbucks, or a different Starbucks, and just mix it up with regular folks. “Otherwise your boss might not give you a big enough box of chocolates on Secretary’s Day,” the barista said, handing back the $490-some odd dollars in change from the $500 bill Bradley Cooper had used to pay.
“Excuse me?” Bradley Cooper asked.
The barista’s face fell. “I’m just kidding, ma’am.”
“Why would you assume that I’m a secretary?”
“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. You’re right. You could be a nurse, or maybe a sales representative for a pharmaceutical company. Or maybe you work as an airline stewardess! It was presumptuous of me to assume that you were a secretary.”
“It was presumptuous of you to assume all of the jobs you just named, not to mention sexist.”
“MEOW!” the barista said. “Just kidding. I know all about women’s lib and feminism and stuff. Are you a lesbian?”
Bradley Cooper threw his drink in the man’s face. “You are a pig,” Bradley Cooper said. “And I am a man.”
Now Bradley Cooper was upset! He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were definitely wet, and he worried that some mascara might be running down his cheek, so he kept wiping at his face. An elderly man on a bus stop bench tried to give him his handkerchief, insisting that he could keep it because he was so pretty, and because of his resemblance to the man’s deceased wife, Rose. To try and calm down, Bradley Cooper went to a strip club. At the door, he held out a $10,000 bill to the bouncer. “No, ma’am,” the bouncer said, holding out his hand like a stop sign made of meat. “Tonight is ladies’ night. Girls get in free until 11 o’clock and half-priced drinks until 2.”
“Oh, this always happens to me!” Bradley Cooper shrieked. “I am a man, but all day long I am confused for a beautiful woman!”
The bouncer didn’t say anything. He was staring at Bradley Cooper’s chest and licking his lips. Bradley Cooper, now furious, stormed into the strip club and proceeded to get trashed on strawberry cosmos before proceeding to the back room for a private dance, during which he came three times, completely soaking his silk panties.