You have it wrong

by Robert Fenhagen [USA]

pentru versiunea română click aici

 

 

“You have it wrong.   Man, where do you get your information–The National Perspirer?”

 

“It’s not perspirer, and you know it.”

 

“It might as well be— garbage up the ying-yang; come on, you can’t believe that

 

non-sense. ‘All the crap that fits’—that’s the Perspirer’s motto.  Anyway, what’s their

 

burger beef?”

 

“It is a legitimate paper, right?

 

“No.”

 

It outsells any other supposed high brow in the country.”

 

“”If you say so.”

 

“I do.”

 

“Oh, no you don’t—I’m not marrying you, Four Eyes.”

 

“Funny.”

 

“So, pray tell, what did your best selling paper in the whole country have to say

 

about hamburgers?”

 

“You’re just going to make fun, so why should I tell you?”

 

“Because I don’t eat meat, so it can’t affect me anyhow.”

 

“You eat meat, you liar!  You chow down as much burger after we smoke as any of us.

 

Get real, Simon!”

 

“That’s because I have the munchies, and need food quick. I’ll eat anything.”

 

“Right.   We do get the munchies—no doubt.”  A lo chuckle…..

 

“No doubt—now as far as doubting, what’s your stupid rag ragging about now?”

 

“Well, there was a story about a woman exploding.  InWyoming.”

 

“A woman exploded.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“I see.   Pray tell, why did she explode?”

 

“Don’t know.   All it said was that she exploded after eating at a Mickey Mouse.”

 

“Mickey D’s, you mean.”

 

“Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, what’s the difference?”

 

“Well, if you hadn’t been so disgustingly high, you’d know that Mickey’s is the home of

 

the Hunger Hammer, whereas Donald Duck just has the Sausage Delight, which, I must

 

say, is delightful on a late Friday night.”

 

“Look who’s the Stoner now.”

 

“I’m no stoner—I’m sane enough not to read that stupidity.”

 

“You wait.   They’ll be more news about people exploding—have you taken a look

 

around you; I mean this country is getting fat!”

 

“Fat headed, don’t you mean.   Remember, this is the country that lovvves your stupid

 

paper.”

 

 

“I heard something somewhere that the meat junk they put in burgers to expand them is

 

bad for you. That slime stuff.”

 

“You mean additives?”

 

“Right, additives and expanders—something like that.”

 

“So you’re just hearing about meat additives.   Right on top of the news, aren’t you?”

 

“No, no—not just about additives—about people exploding.”

 

“Oh, man, it must be interesting to be you.”

 

“I’m not kidding.   This thing I heard was saying that some of the stuff they add to

 

burgers and chickens can cause a human to grow so much and so fast that it can cause

 

death.  Explosion type death.”

 

“Uh, huh.  Right.”

 

“Ok, next time we get stoned; It will be my treat to see if you can turn away from a

 

delicious Hunnnnnger Hammer—mmmmmmmm.   Melt in your mouth, all beef pleasure

 

pallet, or whatever they say.”

 

“Pleasure for your pallet.”

 

“P.P. Right.”

 

“I’ve got a joint.”

 

“You do not.”

 

“Do, too.   Shelly gave it to me.”

 

“My man!”

 

“Wooooo; whow-ser-wheezer—we have got to find out where she scored that stuff!”

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Oh, I ammmmm; It’s Hungry Hammer Time!”

 

“Your treat!”

 

“My pleasure, my naïve one.”

 

“What are you going to get?”

 

“What do I always get?”

 

“Hunger Hammer times two!”

 

“It’s not times two.   We each get one–I’m no pig.”

 

“Oink.  We eat a lot of them.”

 

“Don’t be a buzz kill.”

 

“Could we have a Hunger Hammer?”

 

“Oh, what the heck.  Times two, my dear.”

 

“You have the money?”

 

“It was allowance time on Saturday.   Remember?”

 

“Yeah, but I bought the new Pink Slime c.d.”

 

“Well, I didn’t buy anything, so it’s double the pleasure time.”

 

“Oh man, I am starving.”

 

“Not for long, my rotund in the making buddy.”

 

“Don’t keep mentioning my weight, ok?”

 

“Ok.  Thank you, my dear.”  The mid-fifties waitress turned on her hell and went to yell

 

at  the boss.

 

EXPLODING TEEN-AGERS IN ASPEN!

 

“You don’t believe that tripe, do you?”

 

“I do.”

 

“I remember, I remember. We’re married—I know. Where’s Sean?”

 

“Out with Jerry from down the block.”

 

“What are they doing?”

 

“I don’t know.   Maybe cleaning the church, or praying like the good boys they are.”

 

“Funny girl.”

 

“You like my humor.”

 

“It’s why I married you—it wasn’t for your cooking skills.”

 

“Oh, poo.”