Sunday, February 16, 2014
Washing an Umbrella
Good News
Iris the waitress could tell. "Good news, huh?"
Jepps acknowledged same, but begged off telling it.
He had forgotten.
Back to the messy efficiency to recheck the mail, from
whence it may have come. Bills.
Then the email, Yahoo and Google. No soap.
The one he seldom used with the Cable Company
refused to let him on. When he asked to change his
password, they informed him he needed to type the
twenty-eight digit number on the modem first.
Modern humor completely, since it consisted only
of twenty-eight digit numbers. A wraparound pop art
phase for commerce.
Jepps started losing his glow. It WAS good news,
though. He did remember that.
The next morning, Horge sat with him in the booth, due
to a trucker enveloping his usual end of counter seat.
“Then, you lost your good news?”
“It appears.”
Iris came with their orders, laughing and happy.
“She got it. Iris. You left it laying around and she
expropriated it.”
“Nonsense! It's exclusive to me...whatever it is.”
“Uh uh! Women convert things as part of their usual
expropriating process. Believe me. I've been married
three times.”
“I'll beg it back from her.”
“No way! They don’t give up things. But don't look so
discouraged...it's mostly this filthy weather anyway.
My umbrella smells like shit.”
“Then you should wash it.”
“You don't wash an umbrella! Shows your disordered thinking.”
Labels: absent minded, chaos, expropriation, losing, umbrella, women
Monday, July 29, 2013
Revolution
Freedoms, Cherished n’all
-She really stomped her pretty foot. Again and again!
-What's he like?
-Sorta flabby and sick-like white.
-I have a hunch who his father is.
-Anyway, they wanted our house, and I told them
not for sale. And that was that!
-What happened the next day?
-How do you even know there was a...?
-I know how they operate.
-Well a very nice fella came and said if we
got an appraisal, they'd pay that and all
closing costs.
-And he gave you a week?
-How'd you know that?
-I'll get hold of Blenky Wells. He's in real estate and
can get a good appraiser.
-Whoa whoa! I didn't say we'd...
-I just don't want my mother bloodied up, because
that's the next guy they send. No worry about your head,
though, being concrete.
-Why they can't get away with it, Little Ricky! Man's home,castle, search and seizure, boarding troops, and all that good shit! Constitution!
-Yeah, good shit all right. Like you heard listening
to moronic talk radio. Then you voted for these Fascists.
Well, here's your reward.
-I'm not selling!
-You are! No choice at present. But, a little birdie told me this situation can't last.
-I've got a gun!
-They've got bombs! I likewise don't wish to see my mother blown hither and yon.
The sale went through with smiles all around. The young couple, however, being murdered the following year. Mistaken house identity--for a hideout of party leaders.
Now COLONEL Blenky Wells, he of Real Estate and Revolution, asks about Ricky’s parents.
-We moved them to Serenity Spires, kicking and screaming.
-Would they want to return to the old house?
-Nah! He runs Penny Poker Night and she's on Welcoming Committee. Uh! Sigh of relief there,
young Colonel?
-Hell of a cleanup ahead there. Looks like they ran from room to room spraying blood.
-Panicked surprise that a revolution isn't a
lemonade party?
-I must remember that.
-As Churchill said, we will fight them in the suburbs!
-You mean I'm in the ruling cohort to keep the suburbs clear of the venomous Right?
-Now now! Language isn’t war! You mother raised you
to be more polite.
-Her rules are in temporary abeyance.
-Along with the Constitution?
-Well, they wiped their ass with that. Hafta start over.
-Including firing squads.
-No way! You’ve seen too many films. Exile serves us well. Amazon jungles, lecturing the monkeys.
-Who knows? They’ll need recruits.
Labels: bloodshed, Constitution, expropriation, mayhem, revolution, Right, Talk Radio
