Return Of Moldy Bastard

It was supposed to be a nice day today.

I was sitting at my home office computer doing some work for a client when I caught a whiff of something foul. At first I thought that perhaps it was the off-white, yellowish-brown clump of fuzz I had just picked from my belly-button, but upon bringing it to my nose for a quick sniff I realized that it was actually odorless. Putting it away for later study into the special box labeled “Curious Things Removed From My Body”, I quickly scanned the room. At first I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but when I felt something warm and slimy touch my leg I nearly jumped out of my skin in surprise.

“Holy Sweet Mother Of Pearl!”
“Hey Bub, wassup?”
“Bread! You little bastard, you scared me half to death!”
“You’re just jumpy ‘cause you’re afraid HoBiscuit will find out you’re not putting together the rest of those invitations like she told you too.”
“Shut up! You know she has ears like a mutant bat! She probably just heard you say that and now I’m going to be in worse trouble than the time she asked me if those pants made her look fat and I told her that I didn’t think it was the pants.”

We both stopped to shudder at the horror of that memory.

“Sorry Bub, forget I mentioned it. By the way, nice Underoos. Green and yellow, huh? Who’s that, Aquafag?”
“For your information, it’s AquaMAN, thankyouverymuch. And don’t disparage on him, because he’s way cool.”
“Oh. Really.”
“…”
“Well?”
“Actually I hate Aquaman, but he’s the only one Kids R Us had in my size.”
“You are so fricking sad.”

I’d kill myself before letting him know I agreed with him.

“What the hell are you doing here anyway, Bread? I thought you were off on a six month tour of the famous butter urns of the world. What happened?”
“Ahhh, that fricking tour was a rip-off. Did you know that they don’t let no one touch the damn urns? And all those urns weren’t making no butter, neither! How am I supposed to enjoy my hot butter if they won’t even make any butter for me to enjoy?!”
“Rrrriiiight.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“I think you got caught trying to steal one of the urns and they kicked your sorry butt to the curb.”
“Well you’re wrong, jackhole. For your information, I was not ‘kicked to the curb’. I was asked to leave after the… incident.”
“The incident?”
“Sigh. Yeah. See, I met this heavenly piece of wheat bread on the tour and she mentioned to me how sexy she thought it would be to have a hot-butter bath in one of the famous urns. So, when we got to Italy and saw da Vinci’s double-wide urn…”
“You didn’t!”
“Bub, she brought her twin sister! Wheat twins! And they both had award winning crusts! Big, thick, juicy crusts! How the hell could I resist?!”
“You’re an idiot.”

For a split second, right before he turned away, it almost looked like he agreed with me.

“Well Bub, regardless of why I’m home, I am home now. So’s I figure I might as well make the best of it and kick your anus in Halo. You up for a game or three hundred?”
“Not now, Bread.”
“What? Did you just turn down a game of Halo? Are you feeling well?”
“Shut up, Bread. You can see I’m working, can’t you? But even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to play Halo with you. I don’t like it when you do that victory dance every time you kill me with a rocket. Not to mention the whole controller fiasco.”
“Bub, I told you I didn’t know that your controller wasn’t wireless! Just because we played over a hundred games with your controller unplugged doesn’t mean I cheated! It was a mistake, honest!”
“Whatever. Anywaste, I play DOA3 more than Halo right now, so if you want to play Halo you go right ahead and play.”
“DOA3, huh? I’ve never played that, but I bet I could still kick your anus.”
“Nice try but I’m still not interested.”
“Even if I let you pick my character?”
“Well… No. No, I can’t. I have far too much work to do to be distracted by…”
“Not even if I said the loser had to finish the invitations all by himself?”
“…”
“Well? what do you say?”
“I say that you’re Hitomi and that I’m going to enjoy sipping my lemonade on the couch as I watch you slave away on those fricking invitations. I am going to kick your ass. Kick. Your. Ass.”
“Bring it on, Bub. Bring it on.”

And I did.

——-

As a side note, someone out there has been sweet enough to send HoBiscuit and me another wedding gift! We want to thank this person, but although I have their name I don’t have an email address or web site to give them some linky-love. So, if you’re the person who sent us this lovely book, please send me an email identifying yourself by your first and last name with your email and web site so I can show you some very public appreciation. If you don’t have a web site, then I’ll find some other way to thank you. At the very least, I’ll publicly insult you on my web site.

And if public humiliation isn’t reason enough to email me, then I don’t know what is.