What a little weasel. That's the only way I can describe Ryan. Ryan Oliver Richard Krane or RORK.

We use to call him RORK the DORK back in school. Of course that was a long time ago and things change. But not Ryan.

I am still living at my parents house while they are on holidays and had to drop off a couple of shirts over at the neighbourhood drycleaners. As I walked in, I heard that same familiar nasally whiney voice complaining about the chemicals used to dry-clean garments today.

I couldn't believe it, it was the voice of that little weasel Ryan. Years later and that little freak is still annoying people. He even still looked the same, real tall and skinny with a big pale head. Just like a really weird looking tall alien.

To the drycleaners relief, Ryan stopped his whining the minute I walked into the shop as he recognized me and forgot all about whatever ridiculous complaint he had with the poor captive clerk.

He shook my hand like an old friend and in his nasally tone told me how very happy he was to see me after all these years. I of course, could not truthfully state the same to him back, so I weakly smiled at him as he began to reminisce on how many years it had been.

Before I continue, I should backtrack a little and let you know that during our school years, almost everyone at our school at one time or another beat up the ultra-annoying Rork. This included all the boys, a lot of the girls, some of the younger kids and I believe (but have no actual proof) most of the neighbourhood pets. Rork was just someone that you loved to hate and his spineless attitude only contributed to his dilemma. Actually, up until we graduated from High School, I think I saw the Dork crying almost every week over any little thing or another.

I said almost everyone beat up Rork in our school, with one exception, me. Due to no fault of my own, I was put in a position where as much as I wanted to clobber the Dork on numerous occasions, I was not able to do so.

You see my sister had taken a liking to the wimpy pathetic Rork and use to let him hang out with her. This liking was not one of a sexual nature (that would not be acceptable on any level) but rather one of pity, much like one feels towards a stray dog. (which coincidentally she would also drag home quite frequently).

Mom always said that Sis "has a good heart and loves lost causes" which may explain why the intolerable Rork was frequently at our house. This combined with the fact that Rorks father died when he was twelve, made him a perfect candidate for the lost cause campaign.

Everyone knew that Rork was a big wimp and was prime "thrashing" material, but Sis threatened to tell Dad if I beat him up and Dad warned me to be nice to the little weasel since "he didn't have a daddy". So as a result I could do nothing but tolerate Rork, which I found always worked better from a distance.

Ignore him and hope he goes away, was my theory. Of course by me not pulverizing the kid like everyone else, Rork misinterpreted this as me being his good friend. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

That brings us up to last week when our unfortunate paths crossed at Ali's Dry-cleaning shop in the strip mall by my parents house.

Rork was so giddy to see me that he insisted that we go over to the neighbourhood sports lounge for a few pints on him, of course. Normally being seen with Rork in public would not be permissible but the fact that I had nothing to do for the next three hours until Amy was off work combined with knowing I wouldn't possibly be recognized by anyone I knew at this run down sports lounge, since it was only filled with local neighbourhood "boozers and losers", I reluctantly agreed to go.

Rork babbled non-stop for almost 45 minutes about absolutely nothing. His life was apparently as meaningless now as it was all those years ago when we were kids. In between his nasally monologues, he would take a shot of tequila and then chase it down with a pint of beer.

After watching him do this three times and based on his lanky-bony alien-like frame and his 100 lb body, I figured the Dork would be totally drunk and pass out within 30 minutes if he continued the pace. Clearly, in just 45 minutes he was already slurring his words and acting even more spastic then I remembered him to be.

"You don't drink much regularly, do you"? I asked him as he was just about to start yet another pointless story.

"No, No, Mama doesn't like me to drink, but she's not here now, so it's okay", he replied now looking somewhat glassy eyed.

"Well maybe we should call it a night", I said "I mean it is already....I looked at my watch and silently cursed to myself, it is already almost 6:00 PM. Do you need a ride home"?

"Your such a good friend to me", he slurred, "I feel a little funny"

I helped the Dork into my car and drove him over to his Mom's house where, not surprisingly, he still lived. He seemed to be feeling a little better as we drove and told me again that both me and my sister were "such good friends" to him.

Then he told me a secret which I was rather surprised to hear. "You know me and your sister still see each other every couple weeks for lunches, she is not happy in her marriage"

I was surprised to hear that Sis still hung around Rork after all these years but more surprised at the fact she apparently saw fit to confide in him something so personal.

He insisted I come in as he wanted to show me something. As I was hoping to hear more "juicy gossip" about my sister, I immediately agreed.

"You know if your sister ever gets divorced, I would marry her..she is the best friend I ever had", he stated as he looked off in the distance. "Then we would be related", he laughed.

"Yes, Yes, very good", I said aloud, trying to get this drunken wimp back down to reality and gossip instead of the hideous imagery he had conjured up in my mind over that statement.

"Let me show you something, but you can't tell anybody", he said as he slightly staggered down the stairs to the basement beckoning me to follow him.

Rork unlocked the basement door and turned on the lights. As I entered the room I could not believe my eyes. The room was literally packed from wall to wall with designer clothing of all kinds. Every brand imaginable with their labels attached such as Armani, Lauren, and Christian Dior amongst others.

There were clothes and garments of all kinds, all hung neatly together with their labels still attached. Upon closer investigation I noticed they also had store price tags on them as well.

"What the Hell is this", I asked in astonishment.

"This is my business", Rork replied. "I sell these clothes all over the world everyday at a huge profit. This is how I've been making my money for the last ten years".

This was all so clearly stolen merchandise that only a complete idiot would not know it. I did not ask the obvious such as "Where did you get it" since I really didn't care to know. Obviously if a Dork like Rork can be doing it for ten years he must have a pretty solid reliable network of thieves.

"Who do you sell it to", I asked still somewhat overwhelmed by all of the garments surrounding me.

"All over", Rork giggled. I just clip off the store tags and re-sell these to smaller outlet stores, smaller distributors or boutiques all over. I am also a Power Seller over Ebay and anything I can't sell I remove the tags & send over to the drycleaner who cleans them and I donate them to charity. Nobody asks questions because everybody gets a deal and I make tons of money.

I could see that Rork really thought that there was nothing bad about buying and selling stolen goods. He even justified his illicit activity by making donations to the poor, obviously to cleanse his warped conscience.

That's all we need, I thought to myself, a modern day Dork who thinks he Robin Hood and a bunch of poor people wearing Armani suits when they pick up their welfare cheques. If that was not bad enough, on top of all that the Dork was making loads of cash. About $15000.00 every month by his conservative estimate.

Rork then turned out the light and closed & locked the basement door.

"Why did you show me all that, Ryan"? I asked as we were going upstairs.

"Because your my friend and I want to let you know I am rich and not a loser like everyone always said I would be", he advised almost sounding brave & defiant.

After a few more minutes of meaningless small talk, I finally was able to leave the crazed and self-pitying Rork and head home.

A good friend would be happy for Rork as he obviously has overcome his feelings of being an inadequate loser, which he had been called his whole life. He was now successful in his own mind and that should be enough for everyone. How he had reached that level of success, was of no relevance.

I however did not see things that way. Upon arriving home, I immediately dialled Crime Stoppers (the local Police departments anonymous tip line) and gave them Rorks full name, address and complete disclosure of what I had just seen and everything that little weasel told me that would help with his inevitable arrest.

They seemed very grateful for my "tip" and issued me a code number in the event a reward was to be given to the good citizen who turned in this filthy thief.

I was very pleased with myself after I had hung up the phone for doing such a good deed. After all these years I finally was able to officially join the "I Hate Rork Club".

I chuckled to myself as I planned on telling my Dad that it was okay since now poor Rork will have "quite a few Daddy's" where he was going.