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A Peanut-Casings Excerpt
From: Boswell
Remote Name: 207.136.29.214
Date: 6/8/00
Time: 10:35:11 AM
(PPX: I assume Boswell was suggesting I insert in this "blank" the following text, sent to me by Mike Jubera, a reader I've never met, or heard from since. Is Boswell 207.136.29.214 the same guy as Jubera 207.251.201.41? Who the fuck knows?)
The Musty Old Peanut Casings
by Mike Jubera
"Cold-soder pops for all," Grandpa quietly wheezed.
"But Lispy!" Lispy was what I called Grandpa. I called him that because of the violent lisp his wooden teeth gave off. He couldn’t even pronounce the word "banana" without lisping every syllable!
"But Lispy, it’s only four o’clock." Lispy sat there for a moment. With his fingers caressing the crack in his chin, you could tell he was thinking hard. He began to speak a piece about his old war-time hero days. That’s when I sat up and left the room. "See ya later, Lispy," I forcefully shrieked. Maybe he didn’t hear me. As I left the room, I heard him faintly re-inacting old battle cries, the kind most men shouted after having their limbs blown off by a pineapple grenade.
When I got outside the hospital, the sun’s rays of heat beat me about the face, and that’s when I remembered! "Lispy’s toes aren’t covered!" I stated rather loudly in a snapful tone. Lispy couldn’t stand being in a bed with his toes unsheathed from the warmness that a blanket brings. I can vividly recall the time when Lispy awoke from his kidney transplant and instantaneously moaned, "Ungloved toes make for one dead man!" At the time, I had thought Lispy was completely wrong, but I now realized exactly what he had meant. If I don’t get back into that hospital and entomb his toes from the stale, musty air, Lispy’s gonna reach the end of his rope!
I lunged back through the dirty glass doors. As I ran through the maze-like hallways, a doctor shouted, "No runn-..." I gave his jaw one good buckling. I didn’t have time for talking doctors. I finally made it to Lispy’s room, but I guess I wasn’t the only one. Many doctors and nurses filled the room. I knew it. Lispy’s probably dead. I went over to him and just before he let his last humid breath of rank air out, he quietly wheezed, ".....Cold-soder pops for all." I went to the end of his bed and lapped up the last drop of sweat that his toe would ever squeeze out. I then took the blanket and covered both feet. "See ya later Lispy." And with that, good ol’ Lispy would forever etch himself into my pulsating brain.
The End
