This Might Explain Many Things

As you might have guessed, the Bobber and me shared a bedroom when we were kids.  Being monoplacental twins and all, it made sense.  We had a pair of twin beds that Dad made by hand from barn lumber and a couple old doors he stole from a farm outside town the bank had repossessed.  They were rickety, but cool.

One night when we were…oh, I guess we were about seven or eight years old, I don’t know what time it was, I woke up when something plunked into my head.  It was pitch black because there was no moon that night, so I had no idea what hit me.  I started feeling around the pillow to see if I could find it.  Then something else hit me.

I could hear Bob sniggering in the other bed.  He was trying to fake being asleep, but I wasn’t buying it.

“Bob,” I said.

He stopped with the noise but didn’t say anything.

“Bob!  Quit it!”

I rolled over and shut my eyes again.

Plunk! It felt like a marble. I could hear Bob giggling now.

“Bob! What the fuck?”

Mom wasn’t real careful with her language when the kids were around.

“What was that, Bob?” It smelled odd.

He was barely holding it together now.

“Turds,” he said. “I been saving them up.”

“What?  You’re throwing crap at me?”

I realized that he could make out where my head was because I had the window side of the room, and even in the dark my outline was visible.  I started digging in the sheets, looking for crap balls so I could throw them back at him. Eventually I found all three of them and pegged all of them in his direction at once.

“Ow!” Bob said.

I laughed out loud. “HA!” And while my mouth was wide open, he hit me again.   It had to be a lucky shot.  He couldn’t see my face in the dark.  I started coughing and hacking, trying to get the turd ball out.  I could hear his bed rocking on its uneven feet and I knew he was shaking with silent laughter.  He probably had his hands over his mouth, both to keep the hysterics in and to keep me from shoving down his face the stuff he’d just tossed into mine.

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Author: Paul Krendler

The Thinking Man’s Zombie

11 thoughts on “This Might Explain Many Things”

  1. So how did it make you feel? Did your initial disgust morph into a lifelong obsession? How did it compare to a spoonful of straight mayo?

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    1. From your link:

      Prices range from $600 (£389) for the smaller cremation urn to $2,600 (£679) for a larger one.

      From my Magic 8-Ball:

      All signs point to no.

      Seriously, JWR costs... Hmm, $28 for a 1.75 in Chicago? Really? So, almost 175 liters of JWR for the higher priced urn, and it still doesn't have a clock? And it has to be cheaper in Wisconsin. Too bad it's over 30 miles to the nearest Woodman's.

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  2. Okay, I admit it; juvenile scatological humor is funny in small doses. Then again so is was Benny Hill.

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  3. "Mom wasn’t real careful with her language when the kids were around."

    Heh.

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  4. Marilynn sure had her hands full with those two and the older retarded one.

    It would have helped if John was there and not servicing...er, serving drinks.

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