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Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m., and there were several Styrofoam packages of bacon and French fries at my doorstep. I no longer shop at conventional stores for my groceries. Instead, I order all my vittles over the internet. This modern world is very convenient.
I looked at Rice-Boy Larry. "Would you mind putting this shit in the refrigerator?"
He shook his head. "Nope, can't do it."
"Why?"
"It's simply not my job. We have a contract. I'm the garbage boy and the internet guru. You're in charge of everything else."
My boy was being a complete dick. But in all fairness, that was the bargain we had struck back when his mother hit the road. So I decided not to yell at him. After all, a deal is a deal.
I said, "Do you want me to cook, or would you rather go out to a restaurant?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care. But I have to meet my friends at 9 p.m."
To make a long story short, we walked across the street to the chicken house. We ordered a platter of fried bird and a picture of beer. I only drink one time a week. My old body can't handle alcohol these days. It tears me up if I consume too much.
Anyway, we struck up a conversation as we shoved the poultry into our hungry mouths.
I said, "Your Mom is coming on Monday. Are you nervous?"
"Not really. I'm just going to ignore her."
I frowned and sighed. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea. It's probably better to be nice to her."
He sneered at me. "Nice to her? That bitch walked out of our lives four months ago. She should choke on a ham sandwich and die."
I patted his hand. "Back in my day, there was a famous singer named Mama Cass. One day she died, and the official story was that she choked on a ham sandwich. You should have seen Mama Cass. She was huge like a whale."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because it never actually happened. What really killed her was a drug overdose. The ham sandwich story was simply another example of fake news." I paused for dramatic effect. "Fake news has been around a long long time."
Larry took a huge bite from a chicken leg and began speaking with his mouth full. "Did she sing anything famous?"
"Yes. Have you ever heard the tune California Dreaming?
"I don't think so."
"That's too bad. It's actually quite beautiful."
We got home at 8 p.m., and my boy started packing his overnight bag. Then he waved to me before walking out the door. I really hate being alone. I'm one of those cowardly assholes who always hears bumps in the night. Yet all that beer in my belly gave me some courage. I didn't melt with fear upon his departure, and I even enjoyed some classic porn on the internet.
I watched a couple of old-school films starring Seka and Honey Wilder. They were actually quite good. For a moment, I felt like a kid again. Sadly, smut has been a part of my life for many years. And now that I'm single, I'll never experience coitus again. In fact, I plant to spend the remainder of my life like a twisted old eunuch. So dirty movies are the only thing left in my sexual arsenal.
