The Chronicles of Mr. Benson

When he enters a room, a sort of energy comes in behind him. And it's not just an energy that those present can sense, you can just plain hear the man. He's loud both audibly and in spirit. Maybe loud doesn't do him justice come to think about it.

A few years older than I, he has an overabundance of knowledge...and he'll tell you all about it. And then declare that he's the best. Over and over and OVER again. From coolant to Ayatollah Khamenei to brewing beer to graphic design to gourmet cooking to Roger Rabbit, you've gotta hand it to him. His mind is something spectacular.

He has an opinion, and let it be known, that he will state it! Crude, raw and often ebrasive, he'll filter things for no one. And to be honest, that is respectable in a sense. Believe in something and stick by it.

Frequently seen wearing a vest, he can be found at a number of Phoenix gay bars on any given night. On Sunday, he can be found at his grandfather's watching football and drinking beer. OR, you might notice him looking a bit too closely at one of the Metropolitan Phoenix police cars behind the wheel of his blue Ford Focus (who has been lovingly named Walter). Once upon a time, and he'll tell you proudly, he met an police officer at the QT. They made eyes over 'the taquitos'. The only thing he can remember is his shiny badge. It read 'Officer K. Pertz.' Or was it K. Hertz? He can't remember, but still keeps a log on his phone which eliminates vehicle numbers of the cars that are NOT Officer K. [P/H]ertz.

He lives his life the same way he walks down the grocery store isle and climbs Camelback with me - loud and shamelessly, often clumsily bumping into things and causing a large scene.

But amongst the crass front, he's downright loyal. As a citizen, as a consumer and as a friend.

This is my roomate, Mr. Benson, and this is my desert partner in crime. For better, or for worse - he's my fearless accomplice. Mr. Benson - take him or leave him.