Jeffrey's Revenge
A crumb broke free from my cookie, a crumb that had no interest in making the journey to my mouth. It leaped from my lower lip, bounced off a chest hair and rolled into my bellybutton where it sat all smug and content on a bed of lint, mocking me in defiance, daring me to reach a dirty digit into my dusty gut cavity, dig it out and fling it into my pie hole, or cookie hole as it were, and then mush it together with all the other now properly moistened crumbs who knew their place to begin with and didn't have to be a pain in the ass about it. Sure, maybe I would have a fleck or two of bellybutton lint in my mouth, but that's the price you pay when you decide you're not going to take shit from some stupid fucking crumb that thinks it's special, that thinks it's better than the other crumbs, that thinks it doesn't have to follow any rules in life, that thinks it can just run off willy nilly and hide in a cave on the outside of a fellow's tummy without having to join its buddies on the inside of said tummy.
"Ha," I chortled to myself, although I don't really know what chortling is. I suspect a chortle is much like a chuckle but with a bit more ortle and a little less uckle.
"You called, sir?"
"What? No, Jeffrey, I was simply jeering at the futile attempts of certain rebellious pastry particles who shall go unnamed."
"Very good, sir. Will we be wearing a shirt today, or shall I hand out harpoons to the local children?"
"Jeffrey, are you implying that I've gained weight?"
"Only to suggest that the recent appearance of personal orbiting moons might set people to wondering."
"Let them wonder, dash it all. So I'm a planet. What of it?"
"Well (and I may have to look this up, sir), I'm not sure it's at all fitting for one planet to lie around on another planet without at least wearing a muumuu."
"Then perhaps it's time for me to find a friendlier solar system."
"Very good, sir."
"Oh, Jeffrey, I almost forgot."
"Sir?"
"Fuck you."
"Very good, sir."
I went back to my cookies but with more aggression this time, gnawing through them like a meth-addicted beaver, and these were great cookies too, those Reeses Peanut butter cookies, like Oreos but better, and not made by stupid ol' elves in a tree but rather by fat fairies in a Ford Focus, evil fairies who twiddle their handlebar mustaches and say moohoowaaha and stuff extra sugar and lard into each cookie. I shoveled them into my face, one after another, chewing and munching and gobbling as my bellybutton filled up with runaway crumbs and my moons circled me with increasing speed. I was certainly not going to be deterred by a loose-lipped valet who couldn't appreciate the genius of..of..
..and that's all I remember. I woke up in this hospital bed, tubes up my nose, catheter up my crank and something up my rectum that feels like an A-Team action figure. I can't get a straight answer out of anybody as to what happened. The doctor said something about an aneurism, the nurse said I had a conniption, Jeffrey spoke of a seismic shift in my planetary crust, and the guy in the cowboy hat who brings me my pudding cups said I was acting "plumb loco".
The doctor pulled something from my nether region, somewhere near the equator.
"Well, this is highly irregular."
"What is it, Doc?"
"It looks like..George Peppard."
"Jeffrey!"
"Moohoowaaha."
copyright 2009 John Bizarre
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