(before reading, it is advised that you look up both the premise, and theme song of the cartoon "I am weasel")
"You don't need pants for the victory dance, 'cause Baboon's better than Weasel! I.R. Baboon, big star of cartoon-" "I AM WEASEL!"
Baboon lay there, glued to the floor in the spot where Weasel's car had run him over. It was times like this that he wished this cartoon body of his could just die. It's just not fair... He thought, looking up at Weasel sitting in his car, surrounded by a crowd of people, with that sickeningly smug grin on his face. Oh, how he loathed that smile... It was nothing but a constant reminder Baboon's own inferiority. There was nothing he could do. There was never anything he could do that would be good enough to beat Weasel, because no matter how many times he danced around the set, no matter how many elaborate schemes he cooked up, Weasel could blow it away in an instant by doing nothing more than waltzing in and declaring his name. That was the undeniable God that was Weasel. These thoughts left a bitter taste in Baboon's mouth as he slowly picked himself up off the floor, preparing to go home for the day. The worst part of this? The thing that he hated the most, the thing that made him curse his own existence more than anything else? The fact that he couldn't help but like the guy. After all, what wasn't there to like? Weasel was confident, charismatic, intelligent, all the things that Baboon wasn't. But that was just it, wasn't it? All the reasons Baboon could think of to like Weasel were also the reasons he despised him so, because they were the things he knew he could never be. It was almost as if there was some universal force that made everything in Weasel's life work out for him, and kept Baboon one step behind, and yet everyday he was expected be at the same level as Weasel, expected to go against him in a competition he knew he'd always lose. Keeping these thoughts to himself, as he always did, he began his walk home, dreading tomorrow, knowing full well that he'd just be repeating the same pointless, depressing day. It's true that you don't need pants for the victory dance, but Baboon would never be better than Weasel. He barely made it ten steps before he heard Weasel's voice behind him. "Hey, Baboon! Where ya goin'? Aren't you coming to the bar with the rest of us?"
At that moment, all the frustration and self loathing he had until then was converted into pure, toxic indignation.
"Screw off you oversized rat!" He screamed before promptly storming off, leaving Weasel standing there, dumbstruck.
Baboon sat in his bed, tears in his eyes, frantically clinging onto his pillow. "Why!" He sobbed, choking on his own tears. "Why does he have to be so damn considerate!?" "Why couldn't he just be a pretentious asshole so that I could hate him without feeling like the scum of the earth?!" He knew why though, he knew that it wasn't Weasel's fault. Baboon's shortcomings were his own, and he knew that it was unfair to hate someone simply for being more talented than yourself, but that didn't change the blind feelings of envy and rage he felt every time he looked at that God-forsaken weasel's face, his presence alone seemed to mock Baboon. He had talked to many people, but every last one of them told him the exact same thing, which also happened to be the thing he wanted to hear the least: "You need to stop thinking of yourself in relation to Weasel and just focus on making yourself the best version of you possible." He already knew all that, but it was impossible to not compare himself to someone like Weasel, someone who was so clearly on another level, and so he continued to sit there, sobbing in his bed until his tears put him to sleep.
The next morning was the same as every other day. He got up out of his tear stained bed, walked to work, and had his entirely one sided pissing contest with Weasel. Baboon just didn't have the energy today, he could feel himself slowly sinking into an irreversible apathy, yesterday was the final nail in the coffin. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and so he had resolved to cast away the ambitions that caused him so much pain in favor of a life of comfortable regret. As the day concluded, he walked home only to be stopped once again by Weasel. "Hey, Baboon, about yesterday..." He started, "If I did something that offended you, I'm sorry, but I'd like to know what it was."
Something broke in Baboon at that moment, as if there was a string in his head that was being pulled on, slowly, and progressively tighter until all at once, it snapped.
He raised his arm, and spun around, punching the concerned weasel in the face.
He stumbled back, putting his hand on the ground to keep his balance before slowly rising. "What on earth was that for?!" He yelled, wiping the blood off of his now split lip.
"Like you don't know." He growled "You have the nerve to come up to me and ask me what you did wrong after all that you've put me through!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Weasel.
"Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to work your ass off for something, just to have someone else come along, and effortlessly outdo you several times over?!" Baboon had tears in his eyes now, after years, and years of bottling all of this up inside, he was finally letting it out to the one person that might actually make a difference. It was liberating, and terrifying to Baboon all at once, but he meant every word that he said, and said, it had to be.
"Because it's pretty damn frustrating!"
Weasel could only stand there, dumbfounded, any anger he had at the punch was gone, replaced with sympathy for someone he had always considered to be his friend. "I- I had no idea." He managed.
"We'll look at that!" Choked baboon between sobs, "Mr. Perfect ain't so perfect after all!"
Weasel began to approach the baboon who was now hiding his tears. He had never thought ill of or looked down on Baboon before, in fact he regarded him quite highly. He was the most tenacious person that Weasel had ever met. He never gave up, no matter how many times Weasel beat him, and had grown much in the process. Weasel had always envied that about him, everything came easily to him, so he only ever did things on a whim, he didn't feel he was capable of pouring his heart and soul into something, and as a result, he so often felt empty; all his victories felt shallow. Weasel stopped, and outstretched his arms, embracing the thoroughly surprised primate. Baboon had not expected this from Weasel, but he did not stop it, he simply returned the embrace, still sobbing fervently, but the tears had changed somehow. Between the many tears of anguish were ones of happiness, and hope. Maybe things would start getting better, maybe he could start over, and finally be the person he needed to be. Just maybe...