Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Three Words...

Pickle

Repertoire

Dictator

7 comments:

  1. The day started out well enough. We’d arrived in this god forsaken, backwater dump last night on the midnight train. It was a one night pit stop as we worked our way through a country new to us.
    A violent sun beat down on the back of my neck as we balanced on rickety chairs at an outdoor cafe sipping the strongest coffee I’d ever had the pleasure to gag over. And I’d had some nasty. Turkey and Greece came to mind immediately. I stared at the sludge on the bottom of my tiny demitasse cup.

    “You think we’re actually supposed to drink this stuff on the bottom or use it as an ointment for venereal disease?”

    Joey coughed on the last sip. “Jesus, Cam, you’re disgusting.”

    “So’s this shit,” I said. “I need something to cut the bitter taste or I’m going to be emitting fumes soon.”

    “Well, the choice of breakfast food here does not include an Egg McMuffin, dude.” Joey reached down and brought up the backpack, rummaged around and produced a jar. “All we’ve got is that jar of pickles we bought at that farmer’s market two days ago.”

    “God, I think I’d rather swallow...”

    “Stop. Right there. Go no further with that thought cause I do not want to know.”

    I grinned at his embarrassment, which I loved to goad any chance I got, then reached out for the jar. “Hand it over, it can’t hurt.”

    The pop on the seal caused heads to whip in our direction. I fished out a gherkin, brought it to my open mouth, and was just sinking my teeth in when I noticed Joey’s wide-eyed stare at something behind me.

    An iron hand gripped my shoulder while another snatched the pickle our of my grasp.

    “What the f...?” I twisted as best as I could, given the steel grip holding me to my seat.

    Next thing I knew we were being hauled into a urine infused stronghold.

    “How was I supposed to know that waving a pickle around is considered a sign of subversive behavior?”

    “Explain it to the dictator,” Joey muttered as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “We’re up next, I think.”
    “I’ll do whatever it takes to get us out of this mess, Joey. Anything, ” I said as a door opened and a tall, swarthy man sauntered in. I squirmed under the intense scrutiny of his black eyes. A slow grin revealed white teeth before his tongue slowly licked his lips.

    “Yeah, well dig deep in your repertoire, dude,” Joey whispered. “Cause if you don't produce something fast I have a feeling it’s going to involve swallowing.”

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  4. Ya heard of a banana republic? Our POS country was a pickle republic. Smaller than a banana republic, less popular, and a little sour.

    I shouldn’t complain. I was the effing dictator. If our country sucked, it’s my fault.

    Still, it’s not like I grew up thinking, “Hey, ya know what? When I grow up I’m gonna lead the secession some redneck county in Indiana.” So I was kinda unprepared. But when they all gather up at the 4-H and ask for a show of hands – “Who’s all got management skills in their repertoire” – and you’re the only SOB that raises a hand, you’re kinda boned.

    Oh well. Live n learn, I guess.

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  5. hahahaha Deb, that's one of the best-voiced pieces I've seen from you. Well done.

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  6. Nevets, *snort* that is crazy funny!

    And thanks! You liked it because it was raunchy and glimpsed at the possibility of torture. ;)

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  7. Well, those two things helped for sure, but I really did like the voicing. I swear. :)

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