Athanasius Finch: Registered Flex Offender - ONC 2024

American History W

"That's a nice pussy you got there," I said, licking my lips in anticipation.

"It is. I keep it clean and healthy. It's a very inviting pussy."

Indeed, it was a nice pussy. Fluzzy, a bit plump, and just begging for some heavy petting. "May I touch it?"

"Oh, honey, it loves to be touched," said Mr. Katz, handing me his adorable cat. "But he has a name. He's Mr. Trash. Or maybe she's a she? I never really checked. Maybe you can help him decide. Or her. That's your whole Flanderization quirk, isn't it?"

I ignored Mr. Katz's cheeky remarks as I stroked the wonderful feline between my legs. How can something so adorable live alongside something so hateable as Peter Katz?

Speaking of the devil, he was nursing a whiskey while giving me bedroom eyes. It would've been sexy if it weren't for the Greek elephant in the room, standing between us, going to town on a bowl of macadamia nuts. Only thing was, he wasn't eating them, but sucking the salt out of them and spitting them into a bag for later consumption. Glad to see some things never change.

If someone could squeeze water out of a rock, it was Athanasius Finch. He would then find a way to endlessly reuse each drop of rock water like he was on a desert planet scavenging spice, instead of shelling a buck fifty for a Dessani and having the same experience without all the hassle.

Some would find it endearing, while others would find it resourceful. I find it OCD, with a touch of Autism to boot. Perhaps that's what made him such a great detective in his mind. He truly sees the world in a way nobody else can. Shame it's in a way that goes against public decency.

"Dude, the fuck are you doing?" said Mr. Katz. "What did I tell you about being gross in front of ladies?"

"I'm not a lady," I added.

"Naturally, I am conserving valuable resources while they are still at my disposal," said Athanasius, spitting a fresh batch of seeds into his pouch. "Like the mighty predators in the wild, such as the abominable grizzly bear, and the humble, yet indomitable squirrel, one should gather all the tools one needs for the trials ahead. My trial just happens to be tomorrow's breakfast."

Mr. Katz stared at Athanasius like one would stare at an eclipse, meaning, preferably not a lot, if one wishes to keep their retinas intact. "I have a whole bag under the bar. You can take it home if you want."

Athanasius sprinted away like a headless chicken, and just about as graceful, diving head-first beneath the mahogany minibar. I know it's mahogany because Mr. Katz wouldn't shut the fuck up about it being mahogany.

"Anything tickles your fancy?" said Mr. Katz, standing to refill his cup. "A drink? A shelf-stable foodstuff? A mahogany coaster that I see you fucking swiping, Athanasius?!"

The clanking of half-a-dozen wooden coasters hitting the floor was music to my ears. "Methinks it was some sort of big, flat peanut."

"I'll take a Virgin Cuba libre," I said, scratching Mr. Trash's butt. He's a good girl, they are.

"So, a coke?" said Mr. Katz with an inquisitive look.

"Yeah. Hold the bubbles. They tickle my nose."

"A flat coke, got it," he said, jumping to the bar.

I took this moment to take in Mr. Katz's apartment, because I forgot to set the scene earlier, and while I always strive to be subversive, that's just proper scene etiquette.

The apartment, like Mr. Katz himself, looked well-kept and orderly at first glance, but just like the man himself, cracks begin to form when inspected closely. Basically everything besides the recliner chair, the mahogany bar, and a Mr. Trash-shapped shadow on the big couch was covered in a thin layer of dust, as if nobody used anything besides those three things. The kitchen, so modern and spotless, betray the fact that it had hardly been used in years, the onlyu sign of life being the trash bin full to the brim with takeout boxes. Even the seventy-inch Tv displayed on the wall had not been used in a while, given the fact that it was unplugged, with no extension cable to see.