Whatever Happened?

                        Devon and Harris were the names of the two most irritating brats I ever met. They had a laugh that grated on every nerve in my body. They were also incredibly stupid and had no idea how to pass a test on their own. The teacher’s name was Mrs. McNairy and she wasn’t the brightest either because Devon and Harris had seats too close to each other. The thing of it is this: Devon was on my left with his body odor and Harris was to the right with a constant barrage of insults and an endless supply of thumb tacks. I don’t know the name of the guy that invented thumbtacks but something tells me he was a real jerk. At least four times a day I’d find a strategically placed tack in my chair. I am not as dumb as the kids seem to think. I learned to be careful about where I put my ass because the idiot Devon put one of those things on my seat the first day of school. I yelped as it sent me airborne and almost bounced off the ceiling. Everyone erupted with laughter as I felt my face heat up and make a mockery of me.

　

                      It really pissed me off but like I said I’m not dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. Anyway, we had a vocabulary test and the two giggling baboons were up to their usual no good tricks as we sat. I am not a genius but spelling is a simple thing to do. I was ready for the test but shaky because I knew Devon and Harris would try to cheat off my paper. Being unpopular sucks especially because even the teachers think you’re no good. I was thinking that maybe McNairy would think either I gave the right answers to those two or I was cheating off their papers. After we all got our blank slips of yellow paper with horizontal margins, I jotted my name and the date down and waited for the test to begin. That’s when I had a brilliant flash of insight. The creepy turds would get answers from my paper alright, but they wouldn’t get the right ones.

　

                     I grinned inwardly as the big-nosed McNairy started to spout our vocabulary words. The hairs in her nose looked ready to free themselves from the cavern as I watched her try to invent sentences using the words.

　

                  “Momentarily, I will take the garbage out Momentarily.”

　

                    With Devon’s crummy odor breathing at my neck I put the word M-O-M-E-N-T-I-L-L-I-E on my yellow paper in very light number one pencil. As soon as he was done copying the word I noticed Harris was on the other side acting like he’d gotten something stuck in his eye as he snatched the word. As soon as the test was done they grinned at each other. One good thing about McNairy is that she always gave kids a few seconds to double-check their work before handing it to her. I used that precious minute to repair my spelling while Devon and Harris laughed and schemed together. After recess we got the test results and it was my turn to laugh.

　

                   McNairy had the most rolling eyes as she spoke to the turds. “Devon I can’t believe even you are this much of a dope. Cheating is never a good idea but really, Harris is the slowest dope we have in class. The two of you are going to have to see me after class because this is not only deplorable but also absurd.”

　

                 They wanted to pound me but couldn’t do so under the circumstances. I smiled proudly at McNairy and then at Devon and Harris. I got an “A+”. The plus was for good penmanship and chuckled loudly as class ended that day and the turds remained with big-nose.

　

               Standing in the office of Friendly Toys, Herb Fosdyke beamed as his supervisor, a thin woman with narrow eyes and a long nose sent him a silent half-grin. Her name was Olivia and she’d been running the quality control department for the last six months. When Devon James and Harris Mitchell were accused of screwing off and not working in favor of making the skinnier workers do everything, Olivia called Herb to ask if he’d had any history with either of them. Fosdyke had become a toy engineer and found a supervisory position at the company. He had no idea that his two chief tormentors from grade school had been hired.

　

             Olivia said, “Okay Herb, basically the company goofed when they hired these two? Rather than fire them on the spot,” she smiled with a hint of sadism, “I’m curious about what we can do.”

　

            Herb was a decent guy who never bore ill will to anyone. While he mulled over her proposal he couldn’t help but ask himself: "I wonder how many morons forget the crap they put other people through when they were kids?"

　

          Which reminds me the lesson to be learned here: If you’re nice to people and don’t make them jump out of their seats from thumbtacks you won’t have problems down the line. I don’t know, what do you think?

　



　

　



　



　

　

　

　

Another Complication

                              The day was supposed to be perfect. The plan was simple enough and the weather report even looked good. The dumbest thing in the world is that I really thought everything would go off without a hitch. Right! I was going to ask Deb if we could go hang out at her place after school. Deb is a babe with dark hair and killer green eyes. She’s been sitting in front of me in English all year and we’ve been trading glances for a while. According to my old man the first sign that a girl likes you is she trades grins with you and wants to ask you out after a while. I ain’t the best looking guy around because I got freckles all over my body including a dash across my nose. I keep my hair hanging down over my eyes for this reason and kids are always goofing on me because of the mullet I got.

　

                            The day seemed to be off to a good start as I woke up and managed to get into the shower before my sister and mom could take over the place. Then I jumped out of the can with bright teeth and a killer smile. Breakfast was quick and easy and then I skipped out the door to catch the bus. That’s when things started to screw up. I was standing at the stop across from TJ’S Superette and feeling great about everything when a truck carrying more chickens than any I’d ever seen splashed through a giant puddle caused by a huge pothole in the street and doused me with mud. My older sister, Leanne started laughing her damn ass off as she stepped close to the stop with me.

　

                            I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought about going home and changing clothes real quick but the next thing I knew the bus blew its horn and rattled me. I flipped my homework in the air and it scattered about the muddy ground. Leanne kept laughing and pointed at my bad luck which made everyone on the bus join her including the driver (a twit of a guy who looked like a used balled up sock) named Allen. He was a jerk but waited for me to pick up all my papers so I could get on the bus. I managed to climb on board and look for a seat. I sat down next to this chubby kid who smelled like he never wiped himself. His name was Chuck and nobody liked him.

                          Chuck belted out a good chuckle as he said: “Dude you got crap on your head. Looks like this just ain’t your day huh?”

　
                           I nodded once and tried to smile. After tolerating the aroma around Chuck for what seemed like an eternity, Allen finally pulled up to the schoolyard. I tried to beat the rush to the door but got trampled by the tough kids and their girls. By the time I got out of the bus Allen was having a cheap cigar outside the door. He was happy to see me struggle and shot a look at me. “Hey Bo, learn to laugh at yourself. What the hell-everyone else has!”

                          I didn’t bother to reply to the creepy clown. I gave him a short smile and thought about heading to the gym to raid my locker for a change of clothes. My name is Bob but asses like Allen and bullies always call me Bo. I guess the reason is because it sounds like a hick’s name and they’ve got nothing better to do but make fun of people whenever they can. There’s about a fifteen minute gap between the time the bus arrives and the first homeroom bell sounds. I had just that much time to rush to the gym and change my duds. I ran to the gym which is on the other side of the cafeteria. The idiot custodian decided to mop the floor that morning without posting any signs. The end result is that I found myself hydroplaning across the floor and hearing the cackling laugh of the stupid custodian: Nick.

　

                         By the time I got to the locker I had less than eight minutes left. I opened the door and a pile of stuff fell all over me. The stench of dirty underwear, sweaty socks, a spilled bottle of aftershave and an old tuna sandwich, hit me then as I climbed my way out of the mess. My gym partner is a slob called Russ and he was the last person near the locker. I was down to four minutes. I didn’t have time to stuff all the crap back into the locker so I just grabbed Russ’s coveralls he’d left behind and slipped them on over my muddy clothes. I then snatched my gym bag and dumped its contents in the locker. After stuffing all my papers into the bag I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. I had only two minutes to get to homeroom. I closed my eyes to fight back the frustration I was feeling and ran as fast as I could.

　

                        Because of that jackass Nick, I took the back door toward the hallway. The coveralls were bulky and I discovered that I only touched the ground every third or fourth step. Thank God that my homeroom teacher was Mr. Pike. Pike is a complete boob and never takes attendance on time. By the time I got to the room he had just rolled his eyes up from his morning nap. Whew, I thought as I snuck to my seat, just made it. There were only a handful of minutes before classes were to begin. After that rotten start I thought things had to improve or I’d kill myself.

                       Suicide began to seem like an answer then because as soon as the bell rang I gathered my stuff and tripped on the edge of those stupid coveralls. I plunged headfirst into the trash barrel and then tried to get it off my head but the damn thing stuck. Everyone, including that boob Pike, laughed at me. I was trying to get free and heard Deb pass in the hall with her friends as the class emptied amid laughter. I finally got the stupid barrel off of my head and escaped homeroom when the place was starting to fill up with kids who had it for first period geography. My head felt strange then as I realized the hallway was empty and I was running late for my first class. I tried to jog to English when this dumb blind kid’s dog yelled at me as it stood frozen in place.

                     My pants and coveralls were soaked by pee because the dog scared the living hell out of me. That’s when Principal Walcott saw me and hollered at me to leave the poor blind kid alone. She was taking her sweet time to calm the mutt down. Walcott said, “I mean it Robert, if I ever see you screwing off or around that poor animal or his owner again I’ll have your ass in detention so fast it’ll make your head spin!”

　
                    I nodded quickly as he looked at his watch. Then the jerk pointed at his watch and motioned me on to English. I tried to smile through gritted teeth as I watched him turn down the hall to the right. Then I came to class and Mrs. Stein was replaced by a substitute teacher because you were sick. The sub was a real stain and gave me a bunch of crap for being late. Then he stuck his nose at me and said, “Did you flunk potty training? Get the hell out of my classroom and get yourself cleaned up. You aren’t fit to be with the civilized world!”

　
                       I was ready to bawl my eyes out then as Deb stared at me like I was the most pitiful excuse for a person she’d ever seen. I then stepped back into the hallway with no idea about what I should do. That’s when this crazy bastard drove a moped through the hallway and started shooting at the school with a short gun. I felt more pee coming from my leg and slumped against the wall. I gave up as the guy on the moped made the whole school jump to attention. He cackled loudly and turned around to head toward me. I thought that would make my day perfect. This lunatic would kill me and end my pathetic life. Right! The moped skidded out of control as soon as it contacted the pee I’d spilt. The gun flew out of his hand and the next thing I knew the guy cursed as he crashed into a window by the stairs.

　
                        The halls were flooded with kids and teachers as they were all scared for their lives. It was a mess because before I knew what was happening the crowd lost their balance and were slipping through my pee, I had to chuckle at the whole thing and that’s when I turned around to see the cops rushing up the stairs. The guy on the moped was busted and they were looking to see if anyone got hurt. They found me laughing and figured I was a part of the ass’s plan to destroy the school.

　
                      As you can see, Mrs. Stein, I’m just a guy who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. All I wanted was a date with Deb.

　

-----------------The young man in the padded white room has been sent there because a physiological evaluation was deemed necessary by the judge at his hearing for aiding and abetting a fugitive. He has been allowed the privilege of being able to have a notebook and a pen. The preceding is a factual account. The poor schmuck.

                                                                     -Finis-

　

　

　

　



　



　

　

　

　

Trial

                                                                            Trial



                                   The judge was a stern old bird with twisted eyes and a semi-wrinkled brow. The DA was an angry twerp with a brass monocle covering her left eye. The accused was a young woman in her early twenties with a bright look across her face. The witness, a middle-aged man with a buff body (who was also the accuser and victim) smiled an unhappy grin as the proceedings began.

　

                                  Sitting in the accused box while daydreaming of being anywhere else, the young woman: Stella Simpson showed a mixture of confusion and surety on her bright face. As the DA moved in for the accusation, the judge’s eyebrows were raised. The DA spoke clearly to the accused, “Are you aware the penalty for such a heinous crime? Do you understand that after you’ve been found guilty the judge will have no alternative but to sentence you to a minimum of thirty years hard labor?”

　

                                The vindictive smile sent a shiver down Stella’s spine. She cleared her throat and looked directly into her accuser’s eyes. “Does anyone else here think this is the most ridiculous circumstance they’ve ever seen? If I’m guilty of anything it is the crime of honesty.” Stella could do nothing to prevent the laugh that emerged in her stomach. “This is pure, unadulterated, silliness, you know.”

                               The judge glowered at her and then said, “Young lady, you will refrain from making this court into a mockery. The victim of your crime has been made nervous and upset by the crime for which you’ve been accused. Have you opted to change your plea to one of guilty?”

                             Her defense attorney stood up and hushed his client with a glance, and then he said, “Your honor, my client is a young artist who was simply following her instincts. If there is to be any change in plea it would be to include the phrase, ‘by reason of innocence.”

　
                            The judge looked at the defense attorney then at the DA then back to Stella. Mickey, the accuser and victim, looked at the judge with an expression of doubt
and intimidation. The judge then said to Mickey, “Approach the bench Mr. Michaels, you too DA Fitzgerald.” They did so and she continued, “Mr. Michaels, you stated that Miss Simpson was walking by your house on Albert Street, and stopped to tell you that you looked marvelous, is this true?”
                           “Yes ma’am, the way she said it though made me feel like she was trying to seduce me. I’m a simple man who never would entice anyone into inappropriate behavior. She looked at me with those radiant eyes and made the comment.”

　

                            DA Fitzgerald was taken aback as she said, “Your honor, it’s been written in the code of law that anyone who outwardly indicates to anyone else their attraction level should be sent to prison for offending people. Miss Simpson, though young, knows the statute as does everyone else in the community. She was wrong, ma’am, and as such I see no reason she should go unpunished.”

　

                           The judge motioned for Edgar Alexander (the defense attorney) to join both DA Fitzgerald and Mickey Michaels at the bench. Edgar limped over while maintaining eye contact with Stella. “In all seriousness your honor, what was done? A compliment was given and received as a threat. It is my opinion, for all that’s worth; a compliment should be accepted with a thank you. It certainly should not be punishment.” His legs shook mightily as he finished his statement.

                          The judge found herself at an impasse; the laws were made at the turn of the century because people found themselves phobic of other people. They’d been enforced in an effort to calm the populace. Words had become stale and overused to prevent offense, even the slightest, and the language had suffered as a result. She examined Mickey for a moment before fixing her eyes on him. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Michaels, but you are a marvelous looking man. Stella Simpson was correct in telling you so; however, her methods do need improvement.”
                         Stella turned to the judge as Mickey’s face flushed and DA Fitzgerald smiled at the victim. Edgar took this opportunity to speak again, “Precedents have been set before in your court your honor. It’s high time they were again, don’t you think?”

                        The judge ruled in favor of the defense and it became the law of the land that whenever a compliment was given the receiver had to repay with a ’thank you.’

　

　

                                                                    Finis

Silas Rutabega's Secret

Death by . . .!

　

After the war was over the winning government sent groups of fifty or so men and women to explore the rubble and find any survivors. The small group lead by a Captain Willis Jameson came upon a formerly advanced society with their arms ready and loaded. His second in command was a thin man known only as Jed. Jed grimaced as he moved a door and stepped into a former office. He looked around and shouted to Captain Jameson, “Holy shit, Willis look at these people!”

　

Captain James stepped behind and saw the expression of dullness and apathy on the three people that were lying on the floor. He looked around for any sign of what exactly killed these people and took checked the radiation levels in the vicinity with a hand held device. Not finding any radiation whatsoever, the Captain shot Jed a confused glance. “My readings indicate nothing out of the ordinary, Jed. What could have killed these people?”

　

Jed studied the room with a detective’s eye then shrugged with a plastic smile on his face. “I tell you, I have no idea. They seem to be fine and the reinforced walls are without leaks. These folks should be up and about. I can’t understand it, how about you Dr. Baker, any ideas?”

　

Both of the men turned and looked at Dr. Louise Baker, the psychiatrist that was assigned with them, for any clue as to why these healthy people were dead. She brushed a long red hair from her eyes as she checked out one of the bodies. Then grinned cynically at Willis and Jed before she said, “Captain, these people were dead before the war even began. Jed, you’re right, there is no medical reason they shouldn’t be alive. As near as I can tell, they all died of excessive boredom. They were tuned in to the World Wide Web, television and radio and it, quite literally, bored them to death. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

　

Louise was from the school of thought that said people were creatures that needed things to do and others with whom to do it. Apparently, the school of thought was correct after all, huh?




End

　

　

　

　

Danny’s Last Party

　

He was laying on his deathbed with the faint twinkle in his eye that spoke volumes about his life. Only nineteen years had passed since that cool April morning when he was born, but he had indeed lived a full and interesting life. Gathering around the young man were his family (God knows how he managed to have so many relatives) a scattered amount of close friends and his pet iguana Don. His father, an out of work computer technician, and mother, a current reality TV star, were looking down with concern on their faces.

　

Raising a hand to draw his father’s ear closer, Danny shot his mother with a finger and she backed off. His dad leaned over to listen to what the boy had to say. Danny cleared his throat and simply stated, “Where are the nude ladies?”

　

His father wiped a few beads of sweat off his hairy head, looked around and dismissed the crowd of onlookers quickly. Danny smiled brightly as the hospital room cleared and the lights went down. The disco music that followed had the young man shaking his head to the beat as red, green, and blue lights started to flash. Then a line of about twenty nude strippers started encircling the hospital room. Danny’s eyes lit up as if it was New Year’s Eve and the fireworks display had begun. A gorgeous young stripper wrapped her long ebony arms around is head and plunged it into her giant hooters. She whispered to him, “I hope this makes you happy?”

　

His voice was muffled but she says he stated the following: “Are you kidding, this is the only way to die! I’m in heaven right now; it only gets better from here!”

　

He smiled then took his last breath of the ebony stripper’s perfume and died. Danny was not a pervert or anything, just a person who knew what he wanted. Damn, sometimes I wish I were him.

　

　

End.

　

　

　

　

　

　

The Photographer

I’m sitting here over a scalding cup of the blackest syrup ever to be considered coffee watching the people come and go in the city. Baybridge wasn’t always my home but for the last several years it has come to mean a lot more to me than I could’ve ever imagined. The people are simple enough so there’s little conflict. As long as everyone works hard, minds their own business and takes care of their own, there seems to be a lot more good times than bad.

　

The coffee, however, leaves something to be desired and the blackberry muffins are usually as hard as baseballs. I grin as I overhear a short woman with a poof of red hair talking the ear off of a slender blond cop. She’s disturbed by someone in her neighborhood she’s convinced is a serial child molester. The cop sighs as he barely prevents his blue eyes from rolling to the back of his head. She continues by saying, “I’m telling you Bert, the sick son-of-a-bitch peeks at these girls and takes pictures at random as soon as he thinks no one is looking. I swear, if I see him poking around near my daughter, I’m not going to call the police or anyone, I’ll just shoot him.”

　

Bert looks at her, sips his coffee, grins and then says, “Martha, do yourself a favor and calm down okay?” He makes a face then pinches his nose as he downs the cup. “There’s no need to take the law into your own hands. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, you give me a description of this man and I’ll run a database check on him. If there’s anything there we’ll pick him up. If that sounds good to you then let’s do it.”

　

Martha looks like she’s just won first prize at a brownie contest. She smiles brightly at Bert as he calls for a refill. The waitress steps over with a pot as Martha begins to draw on a napkin. Describing the man in question as she sketches a picture of the ’alleged’ molester. When she is finished she holds the drawing up with a vindictive look on her face and says, “This is the man, he always wears that stupid beanie hat with all the colors. The way I figure it, he does this to attract really young girls like a clown.”

　

Bert sips his coffee then looks Martha up and down studying the drawing carefully. Then he says, “How long have you been out of police work Martha? You still have a great talent for capturing images; maybe you should ask Chief Bell if you can come back.” Bert’s praise has Martha on the verge of hubris and I can tell her face is warm.

　

Then he takes the drawing from her and mutters a brief laugh. “Martha, my dear friend, do you have any idea who this is that you’ve drawn?”

Their eyes lock as the grin on his face turns into a bright smile. She shakes her head while the concern on her face becomes wonder. “I’ve told you, I think he’s a child molester that’s tying to grab every little girl in Baybridge.”

　

Putting the napkin down, he takes her hand and then says, “No, Martha, I’m afraid not. In fact he’s homosexual and maybe one of the greatest photographers in history. The man you’ve just drawn is the famous Chelsea Getty. The whole police force has been keeping a very close eye on him to protect his life from a would-be assassin. We think he was threatened by a competitor. He’s been in touch with us and has been looking for his new prize model. He does this by taking random photos and, after having them developed, assess their potential. Mr. Getty is a very nice guy actually.”

　

Martha bows her head in shame as the realization that she needs some other way to spend her time slowly slaps her hard in the face. She looks at Bert then to the drawing and closes her eyes and then says, “Do you think Chief Bell would take me back? I am really bored lately and could use something to do.”

　

Bert laughs heartily then takes another sip of his black swill. I shake my head with amusement and wonder where some people get their ideas. It must have something to do with having nothing to do. Am I right?

　

End.

　



　

　

　

　

　



　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Snowed In

The bitter wind descended across the once amber fields bringing with it white sheets of ice that encompassed the city. The man with the golden eagle tattooed on his bald head stared out the window with a longing for spring that brought with it a sad realization. Spring was months away and he was trapped by its predecessor. He felt lonely and frightened by this occurrence as he wondered the truth of the rumor that no two snowflakes were identical. Looking at the storm’s wrath he decided it was another myth brought about by some bored nitwit of an old wife.

　

From behind him he heard a pair of feet being dragged inside. Slowly he turned to see who owned the feet and was mildly pleased to see a young woman for whom he had romantic inclination named Trish. Thoughts of how he wanted to rush into her arms and hold her amused him as he shook his head with doubt.

　

Despite the warnings issued by the local media, the man’s boss, Mr. John Albright, had called that morning to make sure the store would open. The man, Gerry Tamer, was short and stocky with a desperate desire to show the world how tough he was. At the moment he was filled with regret that he had this character defect. Were it not for said efforts he’d be at home where it was warm and dry. Albright wasn’t really a hard man just a determined one so when he asked Gerry to be sure the store was open he would’ve accepted the decision to leave it closed and Gerry would be able to remain home.

　

Trish smiled weakly as she approached Gerry with a shovel in her hand. She wasn’t ugly but she could use some sprucing up. Her hair was Butch-cut, blond and she had big green eyes, the body she had under her snowsuit was heavy-set and she had a nice bum. She spoke to Gerry with all the confidence of a little girl asking her parents if it was okay for her to play in the snow. “Gerry, how are you holding up?”

　

He paused as he turned to her and then said, “The winter can seem so long when it’s white and cold you know?” Then he smiled brightly as he said, “Then again, summer can seem too long to when it’s sticky and hot, right?”

　

She smiled as she stepped closer to him and gazed into his eyes. Then bashfully she turned away and concentrated on the floor. Trish said, “You know I’ve never realized before how cute you are?”

　

　

　

His face got warm as he suddenly wrapped his arms around her and kissed the woman deeply. Pilling his face away a moment later he said, “I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry but I’ve always thought you were attractive and there doesn’t seem to be any business today.”

　

She smiled seductively in return and kissed him more deeply than he had done. Soon they were making out and fondling each other like a couple of horny teenagers. The storm picked up speed and they found themselves snowed in but happily so. By spring they were a hot item and that June the wedding bells chimed as the baby was due in October. They now live in Hoponable Falls with their two kids and dog, Buck.

　

Which just goes to prove absolutely nothing does it?

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

-Finis-

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

The American Dilemma

　

“Unfortunately,” began the mother whose son was wearing a polka-dot dress and a puffy wig, “I really don’t care for the color scheme you’ve come up with.” She hesitated as his face turned from joy to sadness and she waited for the wailing to begin.

The little boy, all of eight years old, felt the burning tears start flowing from his eyes. He looked up at his mother and then said, “You like the boots Shelly had on,” referring to his kid sister’s attire, “you even liked the black leather and fake tattoos she had found. Why don’t you like my dress mommy? Am I not good enough to be one of your kids?”

　

The mother looked skyward for an answer to her child’s query. She was trying her best to keep the kids at the school for goofy people to like her kids. It sure didn’t help that their father had to go and find a job making money. Things couldn’t be any worse; she thought as she pondered, the government will probably give us less than nothing now. The worst part is the kids of mine can’t figure out which outfits will please their peers.

　

She began to cry and the little boy hugged her as she wept and they both shed tears. It makes you wonder why a white heterosexual will never be president of the Untied States doesn’t it.



　

　

　

　

　

　
　

                                                                   Silas Rutabaga’s Secret



                                His cigar had burned for what seemed time indefinite. Despite looking twenty-nine, he had the mannerisms of an old man. With a lopsided grin he flashed a toothless smile at me and spoke clearly. “Don’t hardly seem fair that after all this time only my teeth are lost, does it?”

　

                              I was in my first year of community college and had been sent to the mansion to interview Silas Rutabaga for my assignment. Mr. Rutabaga was rumored to be the oldest man in the county or the most prolific father. It was uncertain whether he was the same man or if his descendants had replaced the family figurehead every so often. As he puffed away on the cigar, I seriously began to suspect the former was true. There was no cough or even a brief wheeze from the man. I smiled as humbly as I could, “Well, sir, I really can’t say. It seems to me that as long as a man can do what he enjoys and doesn’t hurt anyone while doing so, he should be entitled to keep as much as he wants.”

　

                              He nodded a couple of times, “You see, that’s why I thought you’d be perfect for this interview Ms. Calloway, you got decent sense about you.”

　

                             He turned to face me and looked at me with the deepest green eyes I’d ever seen. My mind became aflutter with sexual images of he and I surrounded with bubbles doing an erotic dance. Before I was aware anything had happened I was undressing and he just puffed away on that cigar without taking his eyes from me. Then he opened his mouth and a puff of bluish smoke came over me and I dropped to my knees with a smile. My sense of time and space was gone and I melted into his arms.

　

                           While making love, I realized that he was much older than anyone I’d ever met (including my great-grandparents who were both still alive) and yet more sensual than every lover I’d ever had.

　

                          By the time I awoke there was no sound and I recognized the canopy bed I was in from an old photograph that was in the museum. I rolled over and saw Silas Rutabaga laying on his side with the cigar still burning.

　

                       “Well, what can I tell you, I agree with your analysis? Truly you are a bright girl, thank you so much for reminding me that vitality is a sexual sensation, my dear. I rather enjoy having more than one partner and believe they have all been satiated. Do you agree?”

　

                         I wasn’t sure what to tell him so I nodded in reply. Then my whole body ached to be touched by him again and know the pleasure he could bring. Then I thought about how selfish that would be. I said, “Thank you Silas, I won’t tell anyone the truth about you.”

　

                        “Excellent, that way more curious people, preferably of the female variety, will be able to stop by and share in the sexual indulgencies I so very much enjoy. For your trouble I have taken the liberty of writing your report for you.” He pointed at a small pile of papers next to an old typewriter and smiled.

　

                         I stood and got dressed while keeping a close eye on him. After I was dressed, Silas put a pair of shorts on and walked me to the door. Papers in hand, he gave them to me and I parted with a bow. The old man laughed a little and I stepped out into the brightest, most beautiful spring day, I have ever seen.

　

                         The report was enough to catapult me to the top of my class and spread enough innuendo to keep the legend alive. Now I’m sixty years old and the editor of the Hoponable Chronicle and every now and then I get a glimpse of Silas Rutabaga springing around town with some eighteen or nineteen year old girl. Ah, to be so young and full of sexual energy.