Harumph and Hububery part 3
Harumph and Hububery Part 1
Harumph and Hububery Part 2
The run-down wooden house's interior smelled of boiled cabbage and sweat. The familiar aromas of home, Eugene thought to himself as he stepped in. Paint chips fell to the ground off the front door as he closed it. He looked down at them passively, and hung his jacket and hat on the coat rack. "Mother, I'm home!" He called out, smiling to himself about the days accomplishments. "And I have good news!"
A stout woman with an abundance of bust entered the small living room, her face a scowl. "Where in the blazing heavens have you been, boy?" She gestured at him with a large wooden spoon, from which a peculiar 'vegetable' leaf was stuck. "Its nearly nightfall and you've been gone out all day! What do you have to say for yourself, and it better be something good." She thrust her chubby hands onto her fat hips. Eugene was dumbfounded. The sudden barrage of anger stupefied him, to which all he could reply to his mother with was "I-uh-abuh.." She hit him on the side of his head with her spoon. "Don't tell me a fib, neither! I have a good mind to split your skull open and send you to bed without supper!"
"Aw, c'mon Mom!" Eugene rubbed his head where she struck him.
"Nineteen years old, and a lazy shift-about!" She hit him again, this time on the other side of his head. "Its a good thing your father isn't alive to see his son like this." Eugene's mother put her hands over her heart and looked sorrowfully up at the ceiling, which was covered with brown wet marks.
"But Daddy's not dead, Mom." She hit him on the forehead with her spoon, the little vegetable whipping the side of his cheek.
"I told you never to speak that man's name in this house!" She slapped him across the face for good measure.
"Cut it out, maw! I didn't do anything wrong!" Her eyes lit up a shade of red that matched the fifty cent flowered dress she was wearing.
"Didn't do anything wrong?!" She swiped at him with the spoon in her right hand, but Eugene ducked his head. She was too quick for him, however, and slapped him with her left. "Don't you avoid a proper whipping! I have a mind to make you go get a switch!"
"I got a job, Mom!" Eugene told a half-truth. Anything to keep his mother's fury from sending her to hell. After all, God doesn't look to kindly on people who beat on his prophets.
"Oh, my dear boy!" Her face transformed into one of caring and love. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?" She reached out her hands to hold his face, and Eugene flinched. "Come give Mama a kiss. I'm so proud of you," she planted her large, wet, lipsticked lips on each of his cheeks. "Come into the kitchen and sit yourself down. I'm making an extra special dinner for you tonight. Your favorite: boiled cabbage and stewed carrots!"
"I hate boiled cabbage and stewed carrots."
"No you don't, you love them." She led him into the tiny kitchen, which consisted of an iron stove with a built in oven, a sink, a table and three chairs. She pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat Eugene down into it, the chair creaking as she did so. The wall paper was starting to peel, and the wooden floor was buckled. Exposed pipes were tied with cloth to stop leaks, and the ceiling had as many water marks here as it did in the living room. Unlike the original intentions of the decorator, the house's color scheme was brown, with a light brown touch.
"Aren't you going to apologize for hitting me?"
"Don't talk back to your mother," she said as she waddled over to the stove, which was filled with pots, each emitting its own unique foul smell. Eugene rubbed his face, frowning.
"So, tell me about your job, sweetie." Eugene had not thought this far ahead. He was always bad at lying. Horrible in fact.
"Um. Well, its kind of difficult to explain, y'see?" Eugene stammered on his words like a Vaudevillian tumbler. His mind raced to figure out what he could tell his mother where she wouldn't get angry or suspicious. However, Eugene's mind was not sharp, so it was more of a trot. "I got a um, job. At the church! Yes! At a church, even." He smiled widely, hoping she would buy it.
"Oh? Thats my boy," Eugene fell into his seat with relief. "Which church?" His mind started its trot again.
"Not ours. Um. The one down town. You know. The big one." Eugene couldn't for the life of him remember any church's name aside from his own. First Presbyterian Church of the Almighty Something or Other, and the Holy Episcopal Church of Whats-His-Name, and there were so many different churches with such long winded names.
"Oh, the Catholic church next to the park? I don't know if I like you going to a church thats not our own, but I suppose you're growing up. It will do you good to see what other churches think, even if they're wrong." Eugene breathed once again, thanking his mother silently for covering for him. Eugene's mother walked over to the table and put a steaming bowl of opaque liquid and pale chunks in front of him. She handed him a spoon and said "Eat up! I need my boy to be strong and healthy if he's going to serve God." She had no idea.
Mortimer sat in his wooden rocking chair, pondering his good luck. The inside of the wooden caravan was just as dilapidated on the inside as it was on the out. The red paint was cracked and flaked all over. The wood was weather-worn and desperately needed a sanding. "Is it possible to meet someone who is more of an idiot than you, my dear Charlie?" He looked at the gentlemen who helped him during his performances, and sighed disappointingly. Charlie was eating a cherry pie without the hindrance of silverware, and making a large mess. Mortimer ignored him. "Gadzuks, I believe that we may have found the perfect patsy! A fall man! A buffoon..." The last word was enunciated and stretched to its limits. "My only conundrum, however, is what to do with this golden goose? Why, many are the angles in which I could work, it almost seems unfair and preposterous that I am to only choose one! Ah, the tragedy!" Mortimer stood up, but bent over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. He tweesed at his long thin mustache, furrowing his brow in thought. "If we are to make any real money, we must have him drop this idea that he is the Messiah at once. No one would believe two gentlemen such as ourselves would be seen with such an icon. The thought is absurd. No, we need something else. A scheme that will award us with thousands of dollars. Millions of dollars! Billions of dollars!What comes after billions, Charlie?"
"Twiwiuns." Charlie said with a mouth full of pie.
"Trillions of dollars!" Mortimer wrung his hands together, and smiled devilishly. "We'll be the richest scoundrels this side of the Mississippi! We'll be attending parties with Rockefeller! Drinking tea with Duke! Then we'll crush them! Ha-HA! We will rule this country, then! They'll be putting my face on paper money!"
"Hey!" Charlie said, swallowing a large bite.
"Heh, yes, of course you too, my boy. Our faces on money!" Mortimer patted Charlie's back and looked at him matter-of-factly. "But yours will probably have to be on the nickle or some other such coin people just don't use very often. Politics, you know?" Charlie lowered his head and took a sad, defiant bite from his handful of pie. "Chin up. No worries." Mortimer thrust his finger into the air and resumed his pace. "We'll pull a caper so fiendishly clever, the Pope's hat will spin on its side! But, we won't be able to have a proper caper if we do not have the boy entirely."
"What do you mean entirely, Mortimer?"
"We need something to seal the deal. Make him believe in us as he believes in his...mother." Mortimer's eyebrows half-raised, and he tapped his finger on his chin, deep in thought. "Charlie. I think I have the answer to all our problems. We're going to have to kill the boy's mother."
Man, has it been a while since I wrote anything. I had so much I wanted to write, but just couldn't find the words. But, I'm quite pleased with the way these two segments turned out. Just how I wanted them to, I think. I realized something, too, as I talked to various people (Leland, specifically) that I need to go back and edit the parts I've already written. Not so much change anything, but just rearrange things. I do want to add more detail to the surroundings in the previous parts, however. When I get into it, I forget things like background, and the little details that make a story so good. I just focus on the action.
I bought a Hellblazer trade paperback yesterday. I'd never read that comic before, but knew that I'd love it. If you've ever read Sandman, John Constantine shows up every once and a while. I also bought "Naked Lunch" by William S. Burroughs. I couldn't remember what the Tenpenny had recommended, so I just went with what I knew was supposed to be good. Next time, though.
If I haven't called anyone back the past couple of days, I'm sorry. I've been distracted and hermit-like. No particular reason. Just needed some well-deserved "me-time." Lets just go ahead and get this out of the way. You: "Insert not-so-humorous masturbation joke here." Me: "Insert a well-informed and hilarious joke about your mother, in which I and her make relations." You: "Shamed and abashed." I think I handled that well.
Next time you talk to Leland, ask her about the "Blessing of the Hound" picture. Its oh so outrageous. A real hoot. Speaking of Leland, she's great. A true pleasure if there ever was one. Simply awesome.
I'm going to bed now, I think. Maybe another beer and a movie, though. Goodnight.
Harumph and Hububery Part 2
The run-down wooden house's interior smelled of boiled cabbage and sweat. The familiar aromas of home, Eugene thought to himself as he stepped in. Paint chips fell to the ground off the front door as he closed it. He looked down at them passively, and hung his jacket and hat on the coat rack. "Mother, I'm home!" He called out, smiling to himself about the days accomplishments. "And I have good news!"
A stout woman with an abundance of bust entered the small living room, her face a scowl. "Where in the blazing heavens have you been, boy?" She gestured at him with a large wooden spoon, from which a peculiar 'vegetable' leaf was stuck. "Its nearly nightfall and you've been gone out all day! What do you have to say for yourself, and it better be something good." She thrust her chubby hands onto her fat hips. Eugene was dumbfounded. The sudden barrage of anger stupefied him, to which all he could reply to his mother with was "I-uh-abuh.." She hit him on the side of his head with her spoon. "Don't tell me a fib, neither! I have a good mind to split your skull open and send you to bed without supper!"
"Aw, c'mon Mom!" Eugene rubbed his head where she struck him.
"Nineteen years old, and a lazy shift-about!" She hit him again, this time on the other side of his head. "Its a good thing your father isn't alive to see his son like this." Eugene's mother put her hands over her heart and looked sorrowfully up at the ceiling, which was covered with brown wet marks.
"But Daddy's not dead, Mom." She hit him on the forehead with her spoon, the little vegetable whipping the side of his cheek.
"I told you never to speak that man's name in this house!" She slapped him across the face for good measure.
"Cut it out, maw! I didn't do anything wrong!" Her eyes lit up a shade of red that matched the fifty cent flowered dress she was wearing.
"Didn't do anything wrong?!" She swiped at him with the spoon in her right hand, but Eugene ducked his head. She was too quick for him, however, and slapped him with her left. "Don't you avoid a proper whipping! I have a mind to make you go get a switch!"
"I got a job, Mom!" Eugene told a half-truth. Anything to keep his mother's fury from sending her to hell. After all, God doesn't look to kindly on people who beat on his prophets.
"Oh, my dear boy!" Her face transformed into one of caring and love. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?" She reached out her hands to hold his face, and Eugene flinched. "Come give Mama a kiss. I'm so proud of you," she planted her large, wet, lipsticked lips on each of his cheeks. "Come into the kitchen and sit yourself down. I'm making an extra special dinner for you tonight. Your favorite: boiled cabbage and stewed carrots!"
"I hate boiled cabbage and stewed carrots."
"No you don't, you love them." She led him into the tiny kitchen, which consisted of an iron stove with a built in oven, a sink, a table and three chairs. She pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat Eugene down into it, the chair creaking as she did so. The wall paper was starting to peel, and the wooden floor was buckled. Exposed pipes were tied with cloth to stop leaks, and the ceiling had as many water marks here as it did in the living room. Unlike the original intentions of the decorator, the house's color scheme was brown, with a light brown touch.
"Aren't you going to apologize for hitting me?"
"Don't talk back to your mother," she said as she waddled over to the stove, which was filled with pots, each emitting its own unique foul smell. Eugene rubbed his face, frowning.
"So, tell me about your job, sweetie." Eugene had not thought this far ahead. He was always bad at lying. Horrible in fact.
"Um. Well, its kind of difficult to explain, y'see?" Eugene stammered on his words like a Vaudevillian tumbler. His mind raced to figure out what he could tell his mother where she wouldn't get angry or suspicious. However, Eugene's mind was not sharp, so it was more of a trot. "I got a um, job. At the church! Yes! At a church, even." He smiled widely, hoping she would buy it.
"Oh? Thats my boy," Eugene fell into his seat with relief. "Which church?" His mind started its trot again.
"Not ours. Um. The one down town. You know. The big one." Eugene couldn't for the life of him remember any church's name aside from his own. First Presbyterian Church of the Almighty Something or Other, and the Holy Episcopal Church of Whats-His-Name, and there were so many different churches with such long winded names.
"Oh, the Catholic church next to the park? I don't know if I like you going to a church thats not our own, but I suppose you're growing up. It will do you good to see what other churches think, even if they're wrong." Eugene breathed once again, thanking his mother silently for covering for him. Eugene's mother walked over to the table and put a steaming bowl of opaque liquid and pale chunks in front of him. She handed him a spoon and said "Eat up! I need my boy to be strong and healthy if he's going to serve God." She had no idea.
Mortimer sat in his wooden rocking chair, pondering his good luck. The inside of the wooden caravan was just as dilapidated on the inside as it was on the out. The red paint was cracked and flaked all over. The wood was weather-worn and desperately needed a sanding. "Is it possible to meet someone who is more of an idiot than you, my dear Charlie?" He looked at the gentlemen who helped him during his performances, and sighed disappointingly. Charlie was eating a cherry pie without the hindrance of silverware, and making a large mess. Mortimer ignored him. "Gadzuks, I believe that we may have found the perfect patsy! A fall man! A buffoon..." The last word was enunciated and stretched to its limits. "My only conundrum, however, is what to do with this golden goose? Why, many are the angles in which I could work, it almost seems unfair and preposterous that I am to only choose one! Ah, the tragedy!" Mortimer stood up, but bent over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. He tweesed at his long thin mustache, furrowing his brow in thought. "If we are to make any real money, we must have him drop this idea that he is the Messiah at once. No one would believe two gentlemen such as ourselves would be seen with such an icon. The thought is absurd. No, we need something else. A scheme that will award us with thousands of dollars. Millions of dollars! Billions of dollars!What comes after billions, Charlie?"
"Twiwiuns." Charlie said with a mouth full of pie.
"Trillions of dollars!" Mortimer wrung his hands together, and smiled devilishly. "We'll be the richest scoundrels this side of the Mississippi! We'll be attending parties with Rockefeller! Drinking tea with Duke! Then we'll crush them! Ha-HA! We will rule this country, then! They'll be putting my face on paper money!"
"Hey!" Charlie said, swallowing a large bite.
"Heh, yes, of course you too, my boy. Our faces on money!" Mortimer patted Charlie's back and looked at him matter-of-factly. "But yours will probably have to be on the nickle or some other such coin people just don't use very often. Politics, you know?" Charlie lowered his head and took a sad, defiant bite from his handful of pie. "Chin up. No worries." Mortimer thrust his finger into the air and resumed his pace. "We'll pull a caper so fiendishly clever, the Pope's hat will spin on its side! But, we won't be able to have a proper caper if we do not have the boy entirely."
"What do you mean entirely, Mortimer?"
"We need something to seal the deal. Make him believe in us as he believes in his...mother." Mortimer's eyebrows half-raised, and he tapped his finger on his chin, deep in thought. "Charlie. I think I have the answer to all our problems. We're going to have to kill the boy's mother."
Man, has it been a while since I wrote anything. I had so much I wanted to write, but just couldn't find the words. But, I'm quite pleased with the way these two segments turned out. Just how I wanted them to, I think. I realized something, too, as I talked to various people (Leland, specifically) that I need to go back and edit the parts I've already written. Not so much change anything, but just rearrange things. I do want to add more detail to the surroundings in the previous parts, however. When I get into it, I forget things like background, and the little details that make a story so good. I just focus on the action.
I bought a Hellblazer trade paperback yesterday. I'd never read that comic before, but knew that I'd love it. If you've ever read Sandman, John Constantine shows up every once and a while. I also bought "Naked Lunch" by William S. Burroughs. I couldn't remember what the Tenpenny had recommended, so I just went with what I knew was supposed to be good. Next time, though.
If I haven't called anyone back the past couple of days, I'm sorry. I've been distracted and hermit-like. No particular reason. Just needed some well-deserved "me-time." Lets just go ahead and get this out of the way. You: "Insert not-so-humorous masturbation joke here." Me: "Insert a well-informed and hilarious joke about your mother, in which I and her make relations." You: "Shamed and abashed." I think I handled that well.
Next time you talk to Leland, ask her about the "Blessing of the Hound" picture. Its oh so outrageous. A real hoot. Speaking of Leland, she's great. A true pleasure if there ever was one. Simply awesome.
I'm going to bed now, I think. Maybe another beer and a movie, though. Goodnight.