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Writer
Join Date: Dec 2006
Posts: 49
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A favorite short story for everyone "Herd" some swearing but not much
Herd
Another funeral gathering, man these things are really beginning to bore me.
Oh no. There's Aunt Flora; good God look at those boobs! I swear they touch her knees. How do they create a bra for those mountains?
Oh man, here she comes.
“Give your Aunt Flora some sugar baby.”
Jesus, I’d rather suck on a rat’s caboose. There’s at least a gallon of lipstick on those crusty lips. That pile of coal black hair on top of her head looks to me like those dip cones you get at Dairy Queen.
She shaves off her eyebrows and paints them back on. Her nostrils are volcanic openings. Give someone else a chance to get some air, will ya? Needless to say, I concede and kiss this mammoth of a woman.
Here comes the blob from hick-town right behind Flora. This man takes a bath once a month, I would guess. He is overbearing in size and he takes great pride in being a brute. They say he looked just like Al Capone in his hay-day. This I find hard to believe looking at him now.
He is always wearing the same lovely attire, the tank top underwear shirt with the beer and whiskey stain. I am sure there are a multitude of other foods and such that are part of the stain pattern. I try not to think too hard on that subject. If I did, I am quite certain I would hurl.
To round out the fashion parade, you have the pants, K-mart specials I would bet. I can't believe he can find that same red checkered pattern every time. If you have ever been to Pizza Hut, well then, you have seen his pants on the tables.
Uncle Zeb always gets off on crushing my small hand to prove how manly he is. His breath could choke a maggot. It’s a combination of stale beer and feces. After crushing my hand, he just has to rub that stubbled beard across my cheek. Every time he does this it leaves a nasty rash for a week. His beard is like one of those SOS pads or maybe barbed wire. This is his idea of a noogie.
These people are my father's relations. Flora is dad's sister. How they were not drowned at birth, like the litter of kittens my dad killed is beyond my comprehension.
Man, if I could get away, I would bolt. But dad would kick my rear end up over my head. Besides he needs me to do chores so he can support Stag beer.
“Git over here boy!” Father dear yelps in his slurred country slang. “I want everyone to see a walking, talking pussy.” Don’t let this shock you in any way, I am so used to it I am numb to the effect of this putrid, stinking slice of human waste.
Mom gives him her best disapproving look, trying her best to say this is not appropriate at your oldest son’s funeral. He’s so stinking drunk that there is no way he gives a royal crap.
“Come here baby, he’s just joshin you,” mom interjects.
“That’s okay Ma, I’m gonna try and find Elroy.”
I take a last glance at my loving father and wonder how God could have wasted all that skin on him when he could have outfitted at least a hundred more deserving sewer rats. He has been like this all my life.
The first few years of my existence my brothers and I thought our names were bonelips, shit for Brains, Dumb Ass and Shut Up.
It was like this, dad would come out to get us for dinner and every time he would say, “Hey bonelips, get in here, you too, Shit for Brains. Hurry up, Dumb Ass and Shut Up." This is just the way it was and always will be.
As I’m heading for the exit from this nightmare of inbreds, I overhear some of the people talking about my other siblings.
Great, there is our hometown hero, the sheriff, talking to Melba about some of our earlier misfortunes.
He says to her, “I’ll tell ya what sweet thing, I’ve never in my life seen so many freaky accidents. Delmar’s kids are either the dumbest children or the unluckiest bunch of rugrats I’ve ever had the honor of being aquainted with.”
“I know what ya mean, Earl”, says Melba, “What on earth could frighten those milk cows so much that they trampled that poor boy, Troy?”
To heck with this, I’ve heard this crap over and over again. I’m quite used to the talk by now so I make a hasty get away, taking a last glance at Melba’s awesome boobs. I don’t dig the chicks as much as Elroy, but who wouldn’t like Melba’s hooters? Talk about scrump-dilly-icious!
Elroy is my cousin. He’s the closest relation I have that compares to a human being. He helps me plan things. We sneak off into the woods before chores almost everyday. We hunt dinosaurs. Of course, we do realize the small tracks we follow are usually birds. But, it is fun to pretend they are Tyrannosaurus Rex hatchlings.
Elroy believes in just about the same things I do. We both cannot wait to get outta this hole in the earth and become rich doctors or lawyers, never to return to this nightmare on Elm Street.
Elroy also looks fairly normal. This leads me to believe he is either adopted or the mailman took an extra long time making his rounds one day. He is, besides my mother, the only one I will have a conversation with. It is pointless to try and talk with the rest.
Elroy is regarded as somewhat of a dimwit. This, my friends, is a ploy by the boy. He is actually one of the most intelligent people I know. He is also becoming quite a babe magnet. All of the little girls at school swoon over him. Like I said before, he has to be adopted. He is Zeb and Flora’s boy. If genetics entered into play he should look something like the hunchback of Notre Dame or possibly the elephant man.
In all actuality, he is quite an attractive lad as the girls at school describe him. They always ask me to bring him around so they can check him out. Some of the ways they depict him are dreamy, gorgeous or their favorite, a babe.
He is tall and lanky; his hair, which is corn colored, is always hangin in his eyes. He’s got big thick eyelashes and a severely pouty mouth. To me it looks like he’s constantly on the verge of crying. The girls always say that those big OLE pouty lips make him ever so much yummier.
We live in a small town outside of Washington D.C., Warrenton, Virginia. I would really love to tell you it is a beautiful place. But, it is a hole in the earth. Factories constantly belch their foul exhaust into the sky blanketing the town in a dismal shroud of gray, leaving soot on every structure. The stench of sulfur or rotten eggs is ever present. The houses are mostly tin shacks on the end of town where we live. It is a squatters haven.
“Hey bonelips, you daydreaming again? Get outside and help fat ass Flora load her shit!”
How eloquently stated dad. I guess I’m bonelips today, lucky me. Obviously, I didn’t say this out loud.
He is right about one thing. As I’m helping load this beautiful ‘72 Pinto wagon that has been spray painted gold over all the many rust spots, I keep catching the sight of Flora’s gigantic butt. How in the name of anything holy can this woman wear spandex? It is plain and simply scary.
I do make it through the day relatively unscathed. Tomorrow I can't say I will be as lucky.
We have a rather large family, minus the few that have bailed out of hell early. We get a lot of sympathy from the townspeople. They say things like, “Oh my! What a tragedy for your family, another accident.” The times they give me their condolences I am usually thinking, "It's not tragic for them." They are the lucky ones in my book. As you might have gathered, we've had our share of deaths.
What these people aren’t aware of are some of the circumstances that they haven’t heard through the grapevine or read in the paper.
Take Trina, for example, what these folks have heard is that she died from electrocution. What they don’t know is that she died in an extremely humorous scenario. She was scouring her beaver in the tub with mom’s old time ripcord douche bag, and somehow, her curling iron happened to fall in with her.
The best thing to come from all of this is that mom threw the scented snatch cleaner out after the accident. Dad frequently beat us with the cord when he was pissed.
Anyhow, the next day starts out fairly normal. I go about my chores as I always do. I get them done as fast as possible so I can meet up with Elroy to plan our next mission. We are commandos, fighting for good, justice and the American way.
Anyway in the middle of milking Flora No. 2 (This is not the cow’s real name, just one I like to substitute.) My second oldest brother interrupts me, the oldest we buried yesterday. This one is pissed as usual because he knows I'm gonna get my chores done before he finishes his. He just has to give me a ton of grief.
“Hey bonelips, you are gonna help me finish my chores fore ya go off with your little girlfriend, Elroy, else I will put a hurt on ya severe!” Oh lord I’m bonelips again.
My brother takes great pride in talking like a moron. I really think he wants to be just like dad someday. A lot of my siblings think this way.
Troy did, he was the oldest. This doesn’t pose a problem anymore, seeing how he is no longer with us. Then you had Trina who was Flora made over; again she passed over into hick hell. Finally there was daddy junior, Delmar the second. He was exactly like dear old dad, the meanest of the bunch. He also met with an early demise. All of them were tragedies to the family. Those tragedies, will be tragedies in my eyes, when pigs fly out of my crusty ass and head into outer space.
“Did you here me, Bonelips?” Jarrod screams at me to further his point. I wonder why he can’t come up with something more original.
“Yeah, I heard ya Jarrod. I'll catch up when I'm done here.” He's such a stymie; he will fall for this again. I will get something in return for lying to him but I will face that hurdle when I get to it.
I hurry and get the rest of the cows milked and race off to meet Elroy at the creek. This is the only part of Warrenton that I actually like. The woods are the only really beautiful assets that we have. This is why I work so hard to get there everyday.
It’s a bright sunny day and relatively cool out, a great time for fishing in the creek. I run through the dense underbrush into the opening to a golden meadow. Red, purple and yellow wildflowers grow here. Sometimes I pick some for my mother. On the far side of the meadow is the steep bank down to the creek. There is a sort of slide here that Elroy and I have made from our bony butts when we glide down and go swimming.
This is commando headquarters, and the second in command is waiting for his orders for the day.
“Captain Elroy, is all quiet and in order?” I grumble in my best impression of General Patton.
“Yes sir, Commander. Did you receive our orders from the Chief of Staff?” spouts Elroy.
“Our orders have changed once again Captain, we have a new directive. It seems that we have another communist infiltrator in our midst. He is threatening to spread the dreaded diseases of the communist party. He is threatening our safe zone. Like the other three, he has to be eliminated. His code name is Jarrod. He is just like the others, a menace to society. It will have to be another accident. We cannot let the enemy continue to brainwash our troops. Before it is over we will have to get the leader, the worst and most horrible of all terrorists. Yes, we will eventually have to eliminate Delmar the demon. Until such a time, we will have to keep up with Operation: THIN THE HERD.”
This makes Elroy extremely happy seeing how he came up with most of the accidents. He was the one that shot the cows with the B.B. gun to start the stampede that killed Troy. He also threw the curling iron in the tub with Trina when he stayed over one night. He got the idea while he was spying on her through the keyhole.
I believe he enjoys this way too much. What’s he gonna do when I run out of family?
Last edited by skitz : 12-28-2006 at 04:20 AM.
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