Graham is the youngest son of Chet. He accelerated quickly through school, but seemed to reach his fullest potential in the 2nd grade. He hasn’t advanced since and his father couldn’t be happier. Graham is a boy of few pleasures. He has recently discovered walking on just his legs and has even expressed desires to run and jump with the other boys. He aspires to be a stamp licker, but his father slaps him in the mouth whenever he mentions it. He has no idea why.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Born with knife in hand, Bruiser had a tendency to cut himself. While in middle school he witnessed his best friend stealing baked beans from a lunch pale. This was quite a trying time for Bruiser. He had a very deep sense of justice yet his loyalty to family and friends was unbounded. Thrown in the midst of a difficult moral quandary he turned to cutting to ease the pain. It has been a curse that has haunted him since. His father doesn’t seem to mind the gore, he is allowed to cut twice a day for half an hour but only if his completes his homework.
He has recently begun dating a girl named Ellen from his school. She’s just shy of ten years his senior and they share homeroom together. Bruiser pinches her butt when they salute the flag; he gets an odd mix of arousal and patriotism that he can’t explain and feels only marginally guilty for. He has also joined the school choir but has found singing to be so far removed from just talking loudly that he’s had feelings of quitting.
Standing among his choir he feels strong, much like that of an ox watching over the fields of Nebraska. He often thinks of farming. He longs to feel the seeds drip from his hand while providing a steady income for his step-children. Alas, this is a far off dream. He must settle for crunching cheese-its and sprinkling them over a box of shredded paper at his local Kinko’s.
He feels a bit separated from the other children in his class. Probably because he’s the only one who has a court appointed “Boston Terrier Depression Companion” as a part of a depression therapy developed by college psychology students that lasted less than a semester. The experiment is now defunct, but Bruiser still must carry the dog around daily in its “Happy Day Excursion Bag.”
According to his classmates and his dog, nine out of ten times, while bruiser is wearing pants, his fly is down.
Chet Sota was conceived one dreary evening in Wisconsin during a repeat episode of American Bandstand. His mother had no knowledge of the pregnancy until Chet was nearing puberty when she caught him rummaging through her unmentionables with the umbilical cord firmly attached.
Through his formative years he was quite the swarthy brute, feasting on Jack Daniels Sausage Link Patties and experimenting in free-form dog tossing. He never had many friends, save his overly admiring uncle. Nights when Chet would visit his uncle, the two would share a bed and recount their day while drinking Foxhorn wine and eating semi-warmed aerosol cheese on Wheat Thins. Chet was able to work through many of his early hold ups in this way and in times of crises one can still find him curdled up with a can.
Leaving the rustic cabin in which he was raised was very difficult for Chet. He would no longer experience the loving embrace from a man sharing his own bloodline. Aside from his romantic life, Chet aspired to be great. He vowed to finish grammar school and pave the way for a lucrative career in stamp licking. He soon discovered that stamp licking is reserved for volunteers and girl scouts. But that wouldn’t deter our young Chet and he jumped right in and even earned a merit badge in both whittling and Wahatchee kinsmanship.
Little Chet had never felt so good in his life. He was on top of the world. Twelve-year-old girls and their mothers alike looked upon him with great esteem. The awards just kept rolling in. When he turned roughly eighteen years old (no one knows his exact age for sure as his birth certificate gives only approximate dates) Chet applied for a position on the local school board. He petitioned and walked from door to door in his Girl Scout uniform, replete with all his various awards, telling each resident that he was “very interested in their little boys and girls.” As election night drew near, Chet couldn’t handle the stress and he fled town never to return again.
Since a young age Chet has been scared of roads, both literally and metaphorically. Settling in a town near the Mexican border, he sought refuge in the local RC factory. Staying true to his kinsmanship badge he befriended each and every machine, bringing them juices and fresh meat late into the night, all while avoiding the employees. Chet felt close to his mechanical companions, he saw apart of himself in them (just his reflection). One evening while urinating in his own drinking water, he noticed there was something wrong with a machine. A batch of brown coloration had appeared near a sprocket. Afraid and confused Chet took a fire ax to the machine. He was banished from the plant and has never worked since.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Larry Ingleberry rolled down the hill his village was perched atop at the tender age of two into a neighboring village. His stroller was quickly confused for a dumpster and trash piled up on the baby for years until a WIZARD came along and adopted this intrepid baby who had by this time blossomed into a beast of a man; feasting on trash and occasional plastic bag filtered rain water.
The WIZARD, forcing him into work to help offset the costs of his belated Alchemy research, grew to hate the man-child with vehement fervor. Communication grew to a standstill and the WIZARD thenceforth began hiding Ingleberry’s face filter, used at the Asbestos Manufacturing Company where he worked in the developmental division, quality testing scented Asbestos.
To Larry’s benefit he contracted and was recently diagnosed with Mesothelioma and has been collecting worker’s compensation checks every two weeks that pay all bills incurred by all inhabitants and pays the rent on the apartment. It totals roughly 559 dollars every month. He still lives (with the others) in the studio apartment that the WIZARD first brought him to all those weeks back.
Open on Chet Soda, roughly between the ages of 19 and 76, a Taurus by profession. He lays sprawled, pantless on a series of unsheeted mattresses that cover the entire floor length of his studio apartment.
In walk his boys, four in number, and each carrying a load of books bound with leather belts. They are: Graham 11, Najide-Hasapeedapedelon 16, Bruiser 22, Sergeant 50. As with every afternoon upon returning from school, they remove their shoes and pants and join their father in a circle around the hibachi grill which lies in a cut out in the middle of the mattresses.
As if this scene weren’t picturesque enough we now introduce Larry Ingleberry. He’s just come back from cashing his bi-monthly mesothelioma settlement check. And removing his pants takes his place among the happy grillers. His boys are late in arriving because bowling practice ran late after school and in his check cashing induced mania Larry forgot to pick them up, (read; meet them at the bus stop). Hence they were wandering around the hallways of the complex for a good twenty minutes. Larry’s boys are as follows; Barns 6-11, Eight 18, Maple 42.
The My Boys and Me Clan is now complete. Pantless, they sit laughing and joshing and grilling up tonight’s dinner. Looks like chicken, but uh oh! Where’s the BBQ sauce!?
The wizard hid it! The wizard who comes out of the bathroom laughing with a crudely drawn treasure map that appears to indicate the BBQ sauce’s location.
This is the dream.