Slept in this morning and C.W. was already busy with my
computer when I walked into the living room. I had my morning coffee and was
scarcely awake. He had a shape I’d not seen before, sort of a cross between the
actors Don Knotts and Jim Nabors. He was wearing farmer’s khakis and a John
Deer baseball hat and was typing away.
Careful not to disturb him, I sat quietly and took a sip of
coffee. After a moment, he quit typing, looked at me, and said, “Morning, Poo-poo
Head.” Then he waited.
“What?”
“No,” he said, “Too sissy.” He ignored me and went back to
his typing. I heard him muttering to himself, “Just like everything else, they
think this is easy.” He typed for a few seconds and then looked at me again. “Morning,
you stump-broke female of the species Bos
taurus, family Bovidae.”
As one might imagine, I sat in stunned silence. He punched a
single key and said “Save.” He smiled and started to speak but stopped and
began typing again. “Slant-eyed lawn jockey.” He waited for a reaction.
“Stop it,” I said. “Please tell me what you are doing.”
“Busy,” he said, “Got to finish this assignment by Monday at
noon.” He started to type again, but stopped, and looked at me again. “Fart-sniffing
wiener dog.” He gave a shrug that implied, “What do you think?”
“I’m giving you one last chance,” I said. “You know I have
the ‘hot-line number’ to the Falloonian Elders.”
“Working,” he said. “I told you I had a job.”
“A job?”
“It’s not a job. It’s an
adventure. You wouldn’t understand you sun-dried douche-bag.” He gave me that
look again.
“Wait a minute. Wait just a
minute. Who are you working for and what are you doing?”
“I’m working for myself, my own
company.”
“And what company is that?”
“Taunts in Twitter Style,” he
said. “Want to see some TITs?” he said, holding up a pile of papers. He shook
them at me. “You short-stack pile of steaming … ,”
“Stop it,” I said. “Where did you
get the idea for this company?”
“From a man named Vince,” he said,
“you dried-up testicle bag.”
“I’m calling the Elders,” I said,
if you do that one more time.”
“Go ahead, you sewage-sipping half-pint.”
I slumped in my seat. “This ‘Vince’
man, who is he?”
An entrepreneur,” he said, “I
think he’s in the entertainment business. Something about the sport or activity
of grappling with an opponent and trying to throw or hold them down on the
ground, typically according to a code of rules.”
That stopped me. I just sat there
shaking my head. Then, realization started coming toward me like a gray horse
emerging from the fog. “Are you talking about Vince McMahon of World Wrestling Entertainment?”
“Who else, you dingleberry-nibbling
midget?”
 |
| He's Number One, or says he is, anyway. - C.W. |
“He’s paying you to think up
taunts?”
“He’s the go-between man, you crap-collecting
moron.”
“I think I understand.”
“About time, you scab-scratching
imbecile.”
“Vince McMahon is contracting with
you to think up taunts for his professional wrestlers.”
This time, he looked at me with confusion.
I continued. “I don’t think,” I said,
“that they would allow some of those on a family-oriented TV show, even a
pro-wrestling show.”
“I have no idea what you are
talking about,” he said, “you scum-sucking child of a hairless baboon.” He
smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “I’ll have no problem with any censors.”
He laughed to himself and repeated, “Censors my ass, you knuverhataklu.”
“You what?”
“Never mind,” he said. “They don’t
allow me to use Falloonian.”
“Even on pro-wrestling? They would
probably come closer to understanding Falloonian than they would English.”
“Some of those fans are
earth-born, I'll have you know. A few are, anyway. And why do you keep harping on pro-wrestling?”
he said, “you piss-ant’s underbelly.”
“Aren’t you into serving the
entertainment industry?”
“Heavens no,” he said, “you
skunk-sodomizing simpleton.”
“If not for pro-wrestling, then
who for?”
“If you must know,” he said, waving
a hand at me, “I’m helping out with foreign policy, at the highest level.” He paused
and raised one eyebrow. “And I do mean the highest level, Loser Man.”
See also:
This alien is onto something... I'm con-Vinced!
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