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Bongo McTweedlepants

“Go over them again, Davey,” says Bongo McTweedlepants warningly.

Profoctor Davey sighs. “Fine. No cussing, although I never cuss and if I did they’d bleep it.”

“Keep going!”

Davey pulls the list from his wallet. “No reading from my dissertation on eugenics. No putting the kids’ names in limericks. No giggling when I quote Balzac. No discussing forced sterilization for Kentuckians. Okay? I promise!”

“Okay,” says Bongo, still edgy. “Terry, are we almost live? Okay, cue music.”

Theme soooong!

“But I can talk about euthanasia for the colorblind, right?” says Davey, as soon as it fades.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST,” says Bongo.

Monday, June 9, 2008
A story yet Uncategorized

Terry

Terry would really like to go to his room, but Aunt Val’s holding an icepack to his face. “I’ve always said!” Uncle Walter smacks a newspaper into one hand. “They underestimate your potential!”

Terry’s lied, said the coaches sent him home after a practice accident. He doesn’t want to say Sorry, Uncle, I got deadbeat Dad’s short thick body, sorry I actually ran into a doorknob. Sorry everyone calls me Squat (what’s a bear do in the woods?).

“What they call football!” raves Uncle Walter. “In my day they’d let you dust off, slap a steak on that shiner and roll!”

Monday, January 12, 2004
A story yet Uncategorized