Peacock and Roxie have been through the tribulations of life together with the spectacle of high drama, laughter, and many unfortunate spectators like myself. I told them once before that best friends, on their level, are a rarity far from extinct.
You can tell a terrible joke, and for some mysterious reason they’ll go ahead and giggle, in essence, helping you out with fragile self-esteem issues. Becoming a best friend takes time, fostered from occasions deserving of deepest trust, like Bashing gloriously because it's Tuesday.
The minds of best friends are connected by infallible hearts. Mere communication through body language often says more than words could’ve conveyed. You don’t even have to have a conversation to know what each other are thinking.
You can give a heartfelt monologue just by looking into their eyes. The fun never ends. It’s great to conspire in making calls or leaving perverse voice mails for unsuspecting male recipients. They get broadsided; the targets never realize what just punched them in the jaw.
Roxie and Peacock accept each other for what they are, believing that they can be better humans by sticking together. What feels better than hugging your best friend? The hugs are close and you mean it when you smile.
Moments and experiences like that are a tough bargain when sadly considering the countless population of ignorant animals surrounding us. The Detonator says nothing good happens at 3:44 in the morning, like that phone call from your best friend that's either answered or ignored with a smirk. Most of the time you’re together on the road at 3:44 in the morning.
Above all else, in the grand scheme of things, a best friend keeps you sane in the insane world.