purse, and one shot later, Gumdrop met his maker. Mom then keeled over and began verbally spazzing, using language about as brutal as is possible for her to use: "Oh shoot! Sugar! Ouch! Oh, Ethan, it hurts! Is that nasty little thing dead? Good."
I kicked Gumdrop's carcass. "You evil litde shit. Come to life so we can shoot you again." I turned to Mom. "Let me see your shin."
There was one deep bite that barely missed a varicose vein. Oddly, my thought was, Mom has varicose veins?
"That awful, awful dog" Using her good leg, Mom gave Gumdrop a kick, too. Lyle opened the door. He said, "Carol, what the fuck did you do to my dog?"
Mom looked up with an about-to-go-ape shit goggle-eyed stare that I had only ever seen once before, when Greg and I were horsing around the living room and broke her porcelain figurine of Shakespeare knocking on the door of Anne Hathaway's cottage. "Give me my fucking money, you ugly piece of trash."
Mom swore for real!
'You crazy bitch, you shot my dog!"
' You dirty little man. Gumdrop punctured my shin bone, and you owe Carol Jarlewski fifty grand. Give it to me now."
"Fuck off and die."
I said, "No you fuck off and die. Pay up!" Mom fired a shot into the wood floor a whisker away from Lyle's foot. He backed right up.
"Jesus, you're both totally fucking nuts."
Mom and I stormed the house. It reminded me a bit of our grade-three class's gerbil environment—a tossed salad of biker mag porn foldouts, old TV Guides and KFC debris drizzled with cat pee. Across the room, Lyle's toasted biker buddy was playing Chrono Trigger on Sony PlayStation, and this is truly shameful of me to report, but I really wanted to go over and join in.
Lyle said, "Andy, Carol's out of her fucking tree."
Mom shouted, 'You've made my day unpleasant enough already, Lyle. Give me my money or I'll shoot your foot."
"No."
Mom shot the tip of Lyle's worn black cowboy boot, and he screamed like a girl.
"Lyle, give me my money."
Lyle was keeled over. "Andy, get her the fucking money." He looked at me. 'Your family is one sick mess, dude."
Mom fired a warning shot at the ceiling, and a small cauliflower of plaster dust floated downward.
Andy reached into an Ikea Billy bookcase full of sun-faded VHS tapes and removed an Adidas box full of thousand-dollar bundles as Lyle removed his cowboy boot, cursing. Andy counted out fifty of them. "Here. Fifty grand. Now go."
Mom became sugar sweet. "Thanks, guys. All you had to do was be nice."
"Meddlesome hag."
Mom shot the ceiling once more and we left.
Out in the car, we did a further inspection of Mom's shin. "I think I'll go to Dr. Tuck and get some stitches."
A few minutes later I said, "Isn't it weird that bikers would have Ikea furniture?"
"Don't talk to me about Ikea furniture. Your father tried assembling an Ikea shelf last year, and it nearly ended our marriage. Look—it's a yard sale over there. Let's stop for a minute."
Intel® 865PE Chipset-Based
865PE
Neo2
Designed for Intel® Pentium® 4 Processors
Defender
Manufacturer: Williams
Year: 1980
Class: Wide Release
Genre: Shooter
Type: Videogame
Conversion Class: Williams
Number of Simultaneous Players: 1
Maximum Number of Players: 2
Gameplay: Alternating
Control Panel Layout: Single Player
Controls: Joystick: 2-way (up, down) Buttons: 5
Sound: Amplified Mono (One Channel)
. . .
When I got back to the pod around three, a FedEx box sat on my desk—Kaitlin's Belgian keypad of the corn. She was away from the pod, so I swapped it with hers. Bree said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Ethan, but I think you and Miss Thing are sort of sweet on each other."
"She's talked about me?"
"Not directly. But when she makes her exasperated snorts, they're always aimed more at you than the rest of us."
"You think?"
"I know."
Cowboy's phone rang and nobody picked it up. I asked, "Where is everybody?"
"Everybody's so bummed out by this charismatic turde character that they all fled," said Bree, adding, "You
I kicked Gumdrop's carcass. "You evil litde shit. Come to life so we can shoot you again." I turned to Mom. "Let me see your shin."
There was one deep bite that barely missed a varicose vein. Oddly, my thought was, Mom has varicose veins?
"That awful, awful dog" Using her good leg, Mom gave Gumdrop a kick, too. Lyle opened the door. He said, "Carol, what the fuck did you do to my dog?"
Mom looked up with an about-to-go-ape shit goggle-eyed stare that I had only ever seen once before, when Greg and I were horsing around the living room and broke her porcelain figurine of Shakespeare knocking on the door of Anne Hathaway's cottage. "Give me my fucking money, you ugly piece of trash."
Mom swore for real!
'You crazy bitch, you shot my dog!"
' You dirty little man. Gumdrop punctured my shin bone, and you owe Carol Jarlewski fifty grand. Give it to me now."
"Fuck off and die."
I said, "No you fuck off and die. Pay up!" Mom fired a shot into the wood floor a whisker away from Lyle's foot. He backed right up.
"Jesus, you're both totally fucking nuts."
Mom and I stormed the house. It reminded me a bit of our grade-three class's gerbil environment—a tossed salad of biker mag porn foldouts, old TV Guides and KFC debris drizzled with cat pee. Across the room, Lyle's toasted biker buddy was playing Chrono Trigger on Sony PlayStation, and this is truly shameful of me to report, but I really wanted to go over and join in.
Lyle said, "Andy, Carol's out of her fucking tree."
Mom shouted, 'You've made my day unpleasant enough already, Lyle. Give me my money or I'll shoot your foot."
"No."
Mom shot the tip of Lyle's worn black cowboy boot, and he screamed like a girl.
"Lyle, give me my money."
Lyle was keeled over. "Andy, get her the fucking money." He looked at me. 'Your family is one sick mess, dude."
Mom fired a warning shot at the ceiling, and a small cauliflower of plaster dust floated downward.
Andy reached into an Ikea Billy bookcase full of sun-faded VHS tapes and removed an Adidas box full of thousand-dollar bundles as Lyle removed his cowboy boot, cursing. Andy counted out fifty of them. "Here. Fifty grand. Now go."
Mom became sugar sweet. "Thanks, guys. All you had to do was be nice."
"Meddlesome hag."
Mom shot the ceiling once more and we left.
Out in the car, we did a further inspection of Mom's shin. "I think I'll go to Dr. Tuck and get some stitches."
A few minutes later I said, "Isn't it weird that bikers would have Ikea furniture?"
"Don't talk to me about Ikea furniture. Your father tried assembling an Ikea shelf last year, and it nearly ended our marriage. Look—it's a yard sale over there. Let's stop for a minute."
Intel® 865PE Chipset-Based
865PE
Neo2
Designed for Intel® Pentium® 4 Processors
Defender
Manufacturer: Williams
Year: 1980
Class: Wide Release
Genre: Shooter
Type: Videogame
Conversion Class: Williams
Number of Simultaneous Players: 1
Maximum Number of Players: 2
Gameplay: Alternating
Control Panel Layout: Single Player
Controls: Joystick: 2-way (up, down) Buttons: 5
Sound: Amplified Mono (One Channel)
. . .
When I got back to the pod around three, a FedEx box sat on my desk—Kaitlin's Belgian keypad of the corn. She was away from the pod, so I swapped it with hers. Bree said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Ethan, but I think you and Miss Thing are sort of sweet on each other."
"She's talked about me?"
"Not directly. But when she makes her exasperated snorts, they're always aimed more at you than the rest of us."
"You think?"
"I know."
Cowboy's phone rang and nobody picked it up. I asked, "Where is everybody?"
"Everybody's so bummed out by this charismatic turde character that they all fled," said Bree, adding, "You
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