I refuse to give up my status as the world’s premiere source of quality Trivago Guy fan fiction, and therefore have decided to proceed with my epic story “Trivago Guy Buys A Belt (Or Does He?),” inspired by the Rolling Stone article What’s the Deal with the Trivago Guy?
Trivago Guy Meme Fan Fiction Part 4: The Trials Begin
Trivago Guy cracked his knuckles, cracked his back, sniffed his finger. All good. Then he proceeded with the mission that had been so rudely interrupted by Harry222’s cyber troll attack. Time was of the essence. In no more than a half-an-hour, Trivago Guy’s righteous “go green or go home” neighbors would shut down their energy-suckling Xfinity modem for the night, after which Trivago Guy’s pilfered Wi-Fi lifeline would disperse like a surreptitiously trail-dusted fart. If he was going to buy a belt online, it needed to happen now.
Trivago Guy was more than just a meme. He felt it. He knew it. Acquiring a belt to complement his scruffy, vampiric appearance would silence his critics once and for all. Had to! But where to start?
“A website dedicated to selling belts…for the best price,” Trivago Guy announced to the overlarge cockroach presently darting across the dust-caked wall directly behind his loudly buzzing 1998 Gateway tower. “Because if you go to Target or Walmart or Costco, you find there’s so many prices out there for the same old belt. A website that does the work for you and instantly compares the prices. That’s ideal.”
First Trivago Guy blew five of his remaining thirty minutes visiting Yahoo.com, where he entered the long-tail search term “How too Serch With Google.” Normally he was an America Online kind of guy (he was, in point of fact, one of their 18 remaining subscribers). But today he knew he needed to expand his horizons. Bring out the big guns.
He studied hard and good. Took notes. Made index cards. Quizzed himself on the definitions for terms such as “boolean connector” and “SEO” and “Page rank.” Then, armed with a brand new skill-set, Trivago Guy keeled forward like a forward-yanked marionette and started clacking away on his old grimy QWERTY keyboard, the tip of his tongue clasped between pressed lips.
“Is their a belt store that does them 4 the best price, because I want to know?” was just one of the fifteen search terms he entered into the narrow Google search bar, each phrase separated by a comma, per his recent training. Then, holding his breath, he hit Enter.
As fate had it, Trivago Guy had clicked on Google’s mysterious “I’m Feeling Lucky” tab, as opposed to the more popular “Google Search” tab. He simply didn’t have enough training to know otherwise. This seemingly innocuous divergence would come back to bite him in the enticingly flat ass. But that’s for a little later.
Before the Gateway’s Pentium 2 CPU could finished loading Google’s most relevant search result, a violent rapping jolted his door.
Trivago Guy’s heart seized in his chest. He spun to face the door, eyes squeezed into slits. Was it the North Hollywood Police Department at the door? he wondered. Had they come to bust him for three years of pirating his neighbors’ Wi-Fi?
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Or maybe it was Carlos Sanchez from downstairs? Had Trivago Guy not scratched the alleged gang member’s lowrider with his Huffy bicycle earlier that very day? Yes. Indeed he had.
Trivago’s Guy’s Peptol Bismol-tinted eyes zipped to the analog clock on the wall. “This distraction is not ideal,” he whispered, and in the light thrown on him from the Gateway 17” LCD monitor the bags beneath his eyes deepened into skeletal, raccoon shadows. By the urgency of the knocking, he knew this wouldn’t blow over. To have any chance of getting back on track with his belt buying mission, he needed to address—and survive—this latest distraction.
His decision made, he conducted a comprehensive inventory of all the items in his studio apartment he could use as weapons, in the event that the ensuing confrontation went south.
All he could come up with was the officially endorsed Phantom Menace lightsaber he’d bought himself as a gift for his fortieth birthday. The toy used to be fully retractable—just like how it had been for Qui Gon Jin in the picture—but over the years it has since gotten too clogged with itinerant pubic foliage and was now fixed into an erect configuration. But this was a good thing. The saber was now more of a whiffle-ball bat. Solid. Light. A civilized weapon.
The door thundered against its frame as Trivago Guy lifted himself from his aluminum fold-out computer chair and crept to his closet, from which he produced his pre-extended battery-powered lightsaber. He didn’t mean to, but as he adjusted his anxious grip on the scabbard, his finger activated the toggle switch. The lightsaber Whooshed! into full illumination, washing Trivago Guy’s face aglow in a soft blue effect. He was going to turn it off, but decided the lights and the Whoosh sounds were ideal.
He leered at the thudding door. “One way or another,” he said, “this ends now.”
And he marched forth.
Trivago Guy WILL be back!
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Until next time! Until then, enjoy more funny Trviago Guy content, featuring the man himself, T-Will!: