Covid-19 Norm: Social Dining at a Distance

Mario and Claire pick up their Sunday Special lunch order at Shay Grill’s curbside. They drive to a neighboring office park, where they easily spot their friends already set up in folding chairs next to their SUV in the wide expanse of the empty parking lot. Roger and Ann wave to them.

Mario parks about twelve parking spaces down from where Roger and Ann are situated. He and Claire position their folding chairs to face their friends. Claire snaps her finger just before she sits down, remembering to grab the bullhorn from the trunk of the car.

“We’re so glad to see you both. How are you guys doing?” Claire calls out through the bullhorn.

Ann picks up their bullhorn and responds, “We’ve been looking forward to finally having lunch with you and Mario.”

Images: Pixabay

Game of Thongs (A Matter of Wear and Tear series)

Part 1 of 4

(Warning: Some language and sexual references may be objectionable)

Summer has come. The annual thong pageant has begun. A throng of staunch thong supporters gather before the stage, set against the nautical backdrop of the beach. Friends and families of the contestants call out to their hopeful entrants. Locals and out-of-towners alike sit and stand together with anticipation. For as long as any of the loyal followers can remember, the battle of the thongs is an event that’s been going on for years. Because the competition is open only to permanent residents, the ceremony has a rather incestuous reputation. Nonetheless, everyone ultimately has great fun and the celebratory bash after the show is even more of a blast.

Meanwhile, in the makeshift backstage, made up of rows of connected cabanas, the contenders get ready as they string on their thong, along with other accessories. Every year, the stake gets higher for how original one can be in designing and presenting their strips of decadent material.

“If I look back, I can see your crack.” Theo Silverbliss teases Juan Nieves, as they both don their thongs.

Juan sighs, “If you keep looking, you’ll get lost in the abyss.”

“This place makes people strange,” Sunny Lark says from her own little area, across from them.

Sunny’s sister, Anya, pipes up, “I swear to you wearing a thong is a thousand times harder than designing one.”

Sunny and Anya’s cousin, Tyrone, groans as he walks by them. “A sore is a reminder . . . and each reminder makes me angrier.” By “sore,” he is referring to the unfortunate red scratch marks in his pubic area. “Once you’ve acquired crabs, no one will want to sleep with you.”

“TMI, dear cuz, please.” Anya shakes her head at Tyrone. Sunny smiles at Tyrone and agrees. “That’s shorthand for a little too much information, darling. Come on, let’s go and show them our stuff!”

The three cousins, Juan, and Theo head toward the stage. Passing a portable toilet, they see a friend, Walter, stumble out, gasping and mumbling, “O’dore . . . o’dore . . .” Barely strung on, his thong threatens to flap open, and then he trips, face down.

To be continued . . . 

Mumble

“Ya got a big mouth on ya is yer problem, Eddie. How many people ya ate? Ya gotta pace yerself or we’ll get caught. I gotta do somethin’.” Royal, Eddie’s best friend glares at his shack mate, who is moaning at every chew.

Eyelids half closed, Eddie is too preoccupied savoring the last of his ill-gotten meat. There’s nothing like a good summer barbecued shoulder. Granted, it took him a few hours to wrestle it out of his prey who outweighed him by 65 pounds, but he triumphed, making him especially proud of his latest kill.

“I just looove tourist season,” Eddie mumbles, trying to keep in food from spilling out of his mouth.

With pressed lips, Royal saunters off to get his leather sewing kit. As he approaches his friend from behind, he says, “Sorry, buddy; this is fer yer own good.” Royal takes a swing at the back of Eddie’s head with a big sock filled with heavy rubber balls.

With Eddie stunned, he quickly proceeds to sew his friend’s mouth. As he almost finishes, Eddie’s lids flutter open. Eyes looking panicked, Eddie grunts, “Mmmph . . .”

“Oops, I forgot to ask if ya had any last words,” Royal mumbles, feeling a little guilty as he locks the stitches.

Childish Memories

Image: Pixabay

Jack is nimble,
Small as a thimble,
Just like his friend Tom,
Whose last name goes by Thumb.

Raining cats and dog,
Better than warts and hogs.
Though rain won’t go away,
Thinking of Rebecca’s sunny day.

Still with hundreds of kids
All crammed in a Keds,
That old woman makes enough soup
To last until they droop.

He goes by Rumpelstiltskin
With such an evil grin,
He’s known to be mischievous
And can be so devious.

Tales so wondrous,
Fond memories
Of my friends,
Invisibles and pretends.

End Game

end of the world

Image: Pixabay

“What this messed up world needs is to be new-cleared.”

“Just because everything seems to be going to hell doesn’t mean we deserve to be nuked.”

“We’re all nothing more than just pawns of the elite greedy liars we call leaders.”

“Still doesn’t mean we have to throw in the towel.”

“Look, I’m hungry, so let’s just end the game.”

The two old men clear the chess board and head out to get their daily lunch special.