Bring Back Mugwump

Posted on November 25, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

Forget putting selfie in the dictionary. We need to revive the word, mugwump.

I have been reading The American Language, by H. L. Mencken, a fascinating history of American English, although at 770 pages (and that’s the abridged version!) it’s not for the faint of heart. I’ve learned the history and origin of many familiar terms and those that are no longer common, but the passage that has struck me most is the one on mugwump.

Originally, it was an Algonquian word meaning “chief,” but became widely circulated during the Presidential election of 1884 when some Republican power brokers refused to support the party’s nominee, James G. Blaine. Those folks took it as a compliment, signifying their obvious “intellectual and moral superiority,” as Menken put it. Since then mugwump has been used to signify one who bolts from one’s own political party or as a political fence sitter. Mugwump was given another definition by General Horace Porter, however, and this is the context in which we absolutely must return this word to current usage. Porter, who received the Medal of Honor for his conduct during the Battle of Chickamauga, deserves a medal for defining mugwump as “a person educated beyond his intellect.”

You immediately see why a return of this word to common usage is necessary: Mugwumps seem to be everywhere. I.T. departments, insurance companies, school boards, and the screen actors’ guild have their fair share, and the condition is a prerequisite for any middle-management position. Then there’s that cousin who got a degree in Medieval Spanish literature who just covered the sweet potatoes with aluminum foil and tried to reheat them in the microwave.

Mugwumps have run amok in Washington where you can hit one by simply throwing a rock in any direction. A really big rock. Blindfolded.

Words such as idiot or moron have lost their steam and jackass, when applied to a politician, for example, is an insult to male donkeys everywhere. There are other terms, of course, but their constant inclusion in everyday conversation has taken all the starch out of them, although I’m happy to say that I know a healthy number of ladies who would still blush upon hearing such epithets which, to maintain their power, should be reserved for hitting your thumb with a hammer, driving a birdie putt eight feet past the hole, and the United States Navy.

For my money, Horace Porter was a genius, devising the greatest definition for any word that I have ever heard. It is a word whose application could be instantly universal, for the same reason that the word snow is popular in northern Alaska. Bring back mugwump.

Posted in Life is Interesting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

A Dollar Does Go As Far As It Used To

Posted on November 9, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

Mr. Freddie Ciampi, dance instructor extraordinaire, and owner of Social Graces Ballroom Dance Studios, provided the basis for this story in response to my October call for ideas from my readers. Thank you for suggestion, Freddie, and thanks for being a loyal reader. Keep ‘em coming, folks!

Bill remembered when he was crisp and green and ready to meet the world. Here he was now, however, soft and wrinkled and somewhat surprised that he was even still in circulation. All that time that he had spent inside that birthday card, however, had kept him from wearing down early on, so he was just starting on his journey when others his age were on their last legs.

Brenda, the teller, removed Bill and his colleagues from the moneybag that had been brought to the mall branch of the bank by the Foot Locker assistant manager, and she began to count. Brenda paused when she came to Bill and wondered who “Cheryl” might be, since that had been written across Bill’s face, along with Cheryl’s phone number, some time ago. The counting completed, the teller slipped Bill into her cash drawer.

It was dark and cozy in there, and it reminded him of where he spent the first part of his career. A young boy named Freddie had gone to the bank and asked for a new one dollar bill to put in a birthday card that he was sending to his friend. When Freddie’s birthday rolled around, the friend sent the same card—and Bill—right back to Freddie. This became a running joke for several years, but eventually, Freddie’s friend moved away and the card, along with Bill, fell behind Freddie’s sock drawer where he wasn’t discovered until Freddie was moving out of his parents’ house after college. Freddie smiled when he saw the card and vowed to spend Bill in a happy way in honor of his childhood friend. That evening, Bill was left as part of a generous tip at a very fancy restaurant. The waitress gave Bill to her son the next day, who bought a bag of gummy bears with Bill, whose career had now begun in earnest.

There were the high points, like the time he was used to buy a souvenir copy of the Declaration of Independence at Colonial Williamsburg; and then there were the low points, such as the time he was in Greensboro with that creepy guy Landon, who kept chatting up that barmaid, Cheryl. She finally relented, giving Landon her phone number, which he promptly scrawled across Bill’s face, but by that time he was so drunk that he mindlessly left Bill as part of Cheryl’s tip; left him in a water ring, too. . . .scan0059

Suddenly, the cash drawer opened. A $100 bill was placed in the drawer and Bill and 99 colleagues were removed.

“Won big on the ponies over at Charles Town today, and tonight I’m celebrating at one of Berkeley County’s finest entertainment establishments!” said the bank patron, picking up the envelope containing Bill.

“Mr. Morgan, you’re not heading to a strip club tonight, are you?” Bill heard Brenda ask playfully.

“Yep! Me and a hundred of my friends!” said the patron waving around the envelope.

That night, Bill and his bankrollmates found themselves lying stacked on the rail. Bill was getting closer and closer to the top of the stack and finally, it was his turn. It was cool and dark in the Kitty Kat Club, and Bill was enthralled with the thumping music and the smell of lotion. Despite all his travels, he had never been in a gentleman’s club before, and Bill covered his face with his hand. He could barely see between his fingers. He felt suddenly embarrassed when he remembered that he had another woman’s name written across his front, and he hoped that would not cause any offense. In another minute, “Jezebel” crouched near him and then snapped her garter shut on Bill. He never felt such soft skin.

Perhaps because Jezebel was grateful for the moneymaker that God had given her, she rarely missed attending church, although given her work schedule, she rarely made it to the early service. The next morning, she slipped Bill into the collection plate. On Monday, the church treasurer took a moneybag containing Bill into the bank branch at the mall. Brenda began counting the money and paused when she came to Bill.

“Hey!” she called to her manager, Joanne. “I had this very bill last Monday! I remember because ‘Cheryl’ is written on it with a phone number.”

Joanne came over and looked at Bill. “Boy, if this dollar could talk. I bet it would have quite a story to tell,” she said.

Posted in Five Minute Fiction for Free | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Halloween and a Little Help

Posted on October 24, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

Halloween is almost upon us which means businesses across the country have lost countless man-hours as workers incessantly search the Internet for the perfect costume. When I was a kid, adults didn’t worry about their costumes, because Halloween was basically just for children. If there is one thing certain about the Baby Boomers, however, it is that they refuse to grow up. There should be about 100 million Peter Pans flying around this year.

Today, Halloween seems to be the holiday in which young women channel their inner pole dancers. They parade around as wanton nurses, wanton princesses, wanton pirate wenches, and wanton Wonder Women. Halloween now has more cleavage than the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders and that whole “trick or treat” thing is beginning to take on an entirely new meaning.

I don’t stress about my costume; and I don’t shell out big bucks for one either. I like to go with what I got in the closet. Last year, I went to the Social Graces Halloween dance as a baseball player, because I had everything I needed except a game jersey, which I borrowed. My persona excited no attention whatsoever, however, because I don’t think anyone saw it as unusual for me to be dressed that way, which I take as a compliment. Martha went as a flapper, which is perfect for a dance and, indeed, several ladies showed up as flappers. This year, I think Martha is going as “not a flapper.” I think she’s going as a human resource manager, which for costume efficiency, you can’t beat. Plus, many people find human resources scary, so it’s perfect for Halloween.

***

I would like to say “trick or treat” to all my readers in the following fashion: I could use a little inspiration for the Five Minute Fiction For Free series. I’ve published 15 stories so far, which at one a month is pretty good if I do say so myself, but I could use some help. How about if you give me a character or two or ten, along with a situation in which they find themselves? If you treat me to your idea, I promise not to come over trick you. Or to show up on your doorstep dressed as a wanton baseball player.

Posted in Life is Interesting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Tip of the Day

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

The first discovery made on their foray into the countryside was that of electric fencing.

“What the–!” hollered Sean when his fingers felt as if he’d stuck them in a bee’s nest. Jamie laughed at his new roommate while gingerly stepping over the wire.

Freshmen at Shepherd University which was located along the upper reaches of the Potomac River in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, Sean and Jamie found their new surroundings to be rather unfamiliar. Shepherdstown had no mall, no movie theater, and no subway to take them to King’s Pizza in the town’s one shopping center, out where the Food Lion sat. Beyond the edges of the town all of which could easily be reached by walking, there were plenty of soybeans, corn, and cows. The new roommates decided one September night that, with few other options available, they would seek an avenue of entertainment that they had heard about, but did not exist in their home communities: They were going cow-tipping.

Standing now in a field with darkness falling fast in the early autumn dusk, they scanned the horizon.

“Let’s walk towards that white boulder on that little hill and see if we can find some cows.”

Sauntering through the gloaming, the boys got within ten feet of the “boulder” when it suddenly bellowed and swished its tail.

“What the–!”

Jamie landed safely back in his shoes and after swallowing hard, Sean’s heart returned to the regular place in his chest.

“That’s weird. Somebody must have tipped this cow over already.”

The bellowing bovine boulder, had set off a series of bellows and moos from the hollow off to the right and the boys made their way to a herd of totally untipped cows.

“All right!! Let’s tip ‘em all over!”

“That’ll be hilarious! Take some video of me tipping this one and we’ll put it on YouTube!”

These Holsteins, being dairy cattle, were used to humans and thought nothing of two members of the species integrating their herd. Being cattle in general, they really didn’t think about too much at all. Being rather unsophisticated, they knew nothing of YouTube.

Sean approached a heifer at the edge of the herd. They stared dully at each other.

“Which end of this thing is the best one to push?”

“Try pushing in the middle.”

At this point, the second discovery of the night was made, and it had more to do with physics than with animal science. When 800 pounds is evenly distributed across four points of contact, that 800 pound mass is difficult to set in motion. Unless, of course, that mass has a mind of its own and resents, as any lady would, a strange pair of hands on her waist. The heifer made a start and trotted away from Sean. This created a general round of trotting and harrumphing among the herd.

“I think you’re doing it wrong. Let me try.”

Jamie approached a large cow and pushed on its hind flank. The cow, older and more experienced in these matters than the young heifer, looked back at this rather large fly and did what any cow does with a fly, giving it a mighty swat with her tail.

“What the–!”

The fly in the Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie buzzed off.

“Try the other end.”

The suggestion proved no help.

Jamie, now a bit more selective, picked out the smallest animal in the bunch and pushed on her front haunches. This 650 pound future milk machine never moved. Sean joined the effort, thus doubling their cow-tipping force, but they only succeeded in pushing this heifer around in a circle and so they ended up where they started. The heifer appeared amused.

The boys went off to contemplate the situation under a nearby clump of trees. The first cow that they had attempted to tip followed them, and in an almost mocking gesture, lowered itself to the ground all by itself and closed its eyes. (Cows, of course, are more gracious than humans in that way, for they do not, in fact, mock. Nor do they go around trying to tip over a random person innocently standing at a bus stop say, or coming out of the grocery store.)

The boys gave up.

Sean and Jamie returned to Shepherd’s campus having made their third discovery of the evening, which was not that cows were untippable, although that had become obvious. They had discovered that something they had always held to be true was not necessarily true. And so in one night, a herd of cows taught these two boys the most valuable lesson that they would ever learn in college.

Posted in Five Minute Fiction for Free | Tagged , , , , , | 14 Comments

A New Fan, Baseball in West Virginia, and Lefty Grove

Posted on September 27, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

A hearty Welcome to the World to the newest Baltimore Oriole/New Market Rebel fan, Jackson Thomas Smith. A September call-up, on the 6th to be precise, he will be managed by parents Ed and Laura Smith. No word yet on whether he’s a righty or a southpaw, but grandparents Al and Margo Smith will make sure that he switch hits. Al should be familiar to readers of this blog as my long-time, baseball playing pal.

Speaking of Al, we finally christened West Virginia with some ball playing. We’ve played Oatsdale Park, M'burg, WV 9-27-13 1baseball in every state from Pennsylvania to Florida (and the Bahamas) except our neighbor state that I can see from the upstairs window. We’ve been too busy driving through it to actually stop and play there until today when we swatted around the ole horsehide at Oaksdale Park. It’s a great little facility!

Finally, it has come to my attention that I never posted the 5th episode of Off the Beaten Basepaths to this blog, although it was posted to Seamheads some time ago. So, if you missed it, it is presented below and features a trip to Lonaconing, MD, the home town of Hall of Famer Lefty Grove. The library there contains his Most Valuable Player trophy and it is the only such trophy not in private hands or on display at baseball’s Hall of Fame.

Posted in Baseball in General, Off the Beaten Basepaths Video Series | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

The Intersection

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

The cement mixer sped down Salvon Avenue. The driver had received a tip that the police had set up a speed trap on Lincoln Boulevard and, being in something of a hurry to deliver his load, he decided that he could make better time on this side street. He frequently hit red lights on Lincoln and besides, once he crossed 7th Street, he would encounter no more stop signs before reaching the construction site.

***

George looked at the clock on the microwave as he walked to the refrigerator. The former told him that he was on time as usual this morning, but the latter contained no orange juice. He went to the basement to bring up another jug of juice from the refrigerator down there, and noticed that his dehumidifier needed to be emptied. He hated to waste the water and so he took the catch basin around to the front porch where he watered the potted plants. While on the porch, he looked around for the paper, but discovered that it had been dropped at the end of the driveway. A mockingbird seemed to be singing at him from a tree in the front yard. He took in the paper, replaced the catch basin, drank his glass of juice, and, noticing the time on the microwave once more, jumped up with a start, and hastily left for work. He would have to speed a little to get to work on time, which shouldn’t be a problem as there was never much traffic on 7th Street. As long as he reached 7th and Salvon by 8:00, he should make it to work on time.

***

“I must be livin’ right!” the truck driver said to himself as he noted that traffic was indeed light on Salvon Avenue. In fact, he felt no sense of obligation to completely stop at the stop signs at 5th and 6th Streets. One more stop sign at 7th, and he was on his way.

“Traffic and weather next. It’s 8:00 and you’re listening to WCGR,” said the morning DJ.

“I’m movin’ now!” thought the truck driver as he barely slowed down through the 7th Street intersection.

*  *  *

George could not believe the disaster that had befallen him as he crossed 7th Street around 8:20. He had been pulled over by the same speed trap that the cement truck driver had sought to avoid.

If I hadn’t run downstairs to get more orange juice and then found the dehumidifier full . . . If I’d have just pitched the water . . . If I hadn’t bothered with the paper . . . If any one of those things hadn’t happened that cop would have been busy giving somebody else a ticket! If it weren’t for all that, I would be on time! I’d be driving through this intersection right at 8:00 instead of now!

George cursed his luck—and the orange juice and the dehumidifier and the paper boy and the ticket most of all.

George couldn’t help it. Being merely mortal, he could not see that an empty orange juice container and a full catch basin had saved him. He could not see that thirsty flowers and the paper boy had delivered another 50 years worth of days at the beach. He could not see that the speeding ticket was actually his ticket to 50 more years of football and good coffee; afternoons in a hammock and evening strolls. Actually, to be accurate, it would be another 48 years 11 months, and 12 days of such things, but mortals are funny like that. They can measure time with tremendous precision, but most haven’t learned to value it with any degree of accuracy.

Posted in Five Minute Fiction for Free | Tagged , | 8 Comments

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Useless Sign

Posted on August 25, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

Has anyone else noticed the increasing number of stupid signs that seem to be sprouting everywhere? For example, there’s a sign posted along the northbound lanes of I-81 just before the Pennsylvania line that reads, “Caution: Low flying aircraft.” In what possible way does this sign help me if there’s not a second sign that tells me what I’m supposed to do about any low flying aircraft, stuck as I am in my car, in one of two lanes, heading straight up the road at 70 miles per hour?

“Look, honey, some low flying aircraft. Let me veer violently off the road and hop the General Lee over that chain link fence so we can cut through the corn field and avoid it.”

I'm not sure if this is a warning sign or an advertisement for Extreme Canal Games.

I’m not sure if this is a warning sign or an advertisement for Extreme Canal Games.

Similarly, there is a sign along the C & O Canal warning people about falling rocks. Yes, I know that a rock could dislodge and fall at the very minute that I’m strolling by, but

the odds are so astronomical that there may as well be a second sign that reads, “Watch for Wile E. Coyote dropping an Acme safe on your head.” Beneath the falling rock sign is a sign giving very explicit directions about how to safely ride a

Over you go! Where you'll wash up, nobody knows!

Over you go! Where you’ll wash up, nobody knows!

bike along the newly reconstructed towpath. That’s highly ironic because three miles downstream exists no sign whatsoever warning people that they are about to step off the side of Dam #4 and into certain death in the churning water below. The National Park Service posts instructions on how to ride your bike, but it can’t put up a sign that reads, “Watch your step: We’re too stupid to erect a railing.”

Then there’s this useless admonition on the gas pumps at Sheetz: “Do not over fill your tank.” What does that even mean? It’s not possible to fill something past full. Translated into English, this sign would read, “Do not spill the gasoline,” which in itself is about as helpful as your mom telling you not to catch a cold.

Crossing the street is a game of blind man's bluff. Here's the blind man.

Crossing the street is a game of blind man’s bluff. Here’s the blind man.

Of course, the granddaddy of all useless signs is the traffic crossing signal. In fact, it’s worse than useless because of how often that little bent-over stick figure indicates that it’s safe to cross, only to suddenly stick up a big orange hand telling you not to as soon as you’re half way into the street. That stick figure has no clue about the traffic situation and I suspect that’s why he walks with that hunch. He probably followed his own advice and got run over in a cross walk. I’ll trust my own eyes before I trust the stick figure’s. Come to think of it, the stick figure has no eyes, which may explain his lack of solid guidance concerning when it’s safe to cross the street.

We have so much information coming at us these days that it would be truly helpful to delete the information that is truly useless. And I haven’t even mentioned the sign, posted in Braille, at the drive-through window of a local bank. Think about that one for a second.

Seen any stupid signs lately? If so, let us know. Feel free to paste a photo in the comment box.

Posted in Life is Interesting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Former Rebel George Carroll an All-Star of Sorts!

Posted on July 24, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

Former New Market Rebel George Carroll was one of several catchers hired by Major League Baseball to handle Home Run Derby and bullpen duties. Always an outgoing guy, George was gracious enough to do an interview with me which I posted to Seamheads.com. Please click on this link to read about George’s unique experience.

Posted in Baseball in General, New Market Rebels | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Tune Taste Can Be Very Personal

Posted on June 24, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

It is fascinating how personal one’s musical taste can be. Just recently two different ladies in two totally different settings were waxing nostalgic over the “great” music of the ‘80s. That’s interesting to me because I view the ‘80s as that vast musical desert stretching beyond the ‘70s before a few oases appear in the ‘90s. Both of those ladies came of age in the ‘80s which probably explains their preferences, but the era in which one grows up is not necessarily the determiner of musical taste. A lady at our Social Graces dance studio loves to cha-cha to Tom Jones’ “Sex Bomb” and before you conjure up any visuals on that, know that she’s a grandmother. (I’m pretty sure, however, that none of the ladies in the linked video are grandmas.)

Musical talent has nothing to do with one’s taste either. My father was of the strong opinion that good music ceased around 1950. He couldn’t sing or play an instrument. Or dance a lick, according to my mother, but that didn’t stop him from having a definite opinion on the matter.

Of course, one’s musical taste is sometimes a matter of genre rather than era. I think that I love ‘70s music so much, not just because it is the music of my youth, but also because so much of it is good dance music. Discovering the dance music of different eras has been one of my great pleasures the past few years. Martha, however, has not necessarily enjoyed all of my discoveries. While she likes Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, she cannot tolerate Ella Mae Morse. (Contact me immediately if you know who she is because we need to meet at the nearest rockabilly club.) Thanks to the wisdom that has come to us in our 50s, we have not argued over music, however. (Besides, what’s the point? She’s wrong, but won’t admit it. . . . I know that’s actually not a very mature attitude on my part, but hey, maturity is overrated.)

I begin to wonder, however, if sharing certain musical tastes isn’t as important as sharing other values in a relationship. I had a Catholic cousin who married a Jewish man, back in the ‘60s when both families frowned upon the match, but they’re still married. I bet if she loved nothing but opera and he loved nothing but jump blues, however, that the marriage wouldn’t have lasted five years.

Please share your thoughts on musical taste. I’ll be happy to point out where you might be wrong if necessary.

Posted in Life is Interesting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Posted on June 9, 2013 by Austin Gisriel

Brian Gunderson sighed as he stared out the window of his classroom while his 12th grade students finished their grammar quiz. Reflexively, he turned to look at the clock which was making its rounds as slowly as an old watchman with bunions, and then glanced at Ed Merkle, who was the last student still working. Ed was always the last student still working. His cousin, Jacob Merkle was always the first student finished. Jacob was reading Hot Rod magazine, Jenny was adjusting her low-cut top to make sure that her cleavage was prominently displayed, Kevin was tearing one big piece of paper into many little pieces of paper, and the rest of the class simply sat and stared; except for Pork Pie who was asleep as usual. Perhaps that name had come to him in a dream for everyone insisted on calling Robert Edward Chamberlain “Pork Pie” including Robert Edward Chamberlain himself, but no one could say how the nickname originated including Robert Edward Chamberlain.

Ed finally put down his pencil, because once again he forgot a pen, and the class stirred knowing that this was the signal to collect the quizzes.

“Jesus, it’s about time you’re finished,” said Jacob to Ed as they passed their papers forward.

Mr. Gunderson calmly instructed Jacob not to say “Jesus” in such an off-handed manner lest he offend any Christians.

“Sorry, Mr. G,” replied Jacob sincerely.

This conversation repeated itself on at least a daily basis.

Jenny turned and grabbed Pork Pie’s paper which was largely blank. Pork Pie never stirred.

“So, we readin’ Macbeth now?” asked Kevin who popped out of his seat as he was want to do every ten minutes or so. Mr. Gunderson had learned to use this to his advantage whenever possible.

“We sure are, Kevin. How about passing out the books for me?”

“Gotcha, Mr. G.” said Kevin who slammed a book down on Pork Pie’s desk for the sheer joy of waking him up.

Mr. Gunderson pretended not to hear the sleepy obscenity that followed.

It was now time to teach Macbeth to the “academically challenged class,” which was this year’s euphemism. The previous year they had been dubbed the “sub college level class.” These kids, who were refreshingly unpretentious, unlike most school administrators, referred to themselves as “the dumb class.” What Mr. Gunderson realized, however, also unlike most school administrators, was that even these kids were smart about something, and he did his best to find out what it was. The Merkle cousins, for example, both worked on the family farm and so Mr. Gunderson would always ask Jacob about tractor oil or some such thing and he would ask Ed about the soybean harvest. There were no tractors or soybeans in Macbeth, however, just “ghosts, murder, and mayhem” explained Mr. Gunderson as he did his best to pump up the story.

“Let’s get Pork Pie to be a ghost! They don’t talk,” suggested Kevin, not helpfully.

“Yes, they do!” said Jenny. “Don’t you ever watch Ghost Adventures?”

“That show ain’t real,” retorted Kevin and a discussion about Ghost Adventures ensued for five minutes before Mr. Gunderson could bring the subject back to Macbeth.

Based on his summary, the class was actually excited to read the Scottish play, but within a few lines, their spirits began to sag as they tripped and stammered over the Bard’s complex syntax.

“Why do we gotta read this stuff, Mr. G?” asked Jenny.

Mr. Gunderson sighed and gave his charges what they deserved, which was an honest answer.

“I have no idea. We have a lot of time to kill and this is one of the few books for which we have copies for everybody. We’re all in this together, so we’re just going to have to make the best of it.”

There was silence in the class. Even the pencil tapping and foot bouncing ceased for a moment and something akin to reflection seemed to be occurring.

“All right, but if Kevin makes fun of the way I read, I’m gonna kill him,” declared Jacob.

“Get bent.”

They resumed reading and even Pork Pie was convinced to take the part of Lennox, since this noble thane spoke only two lines in the first scene. Ed was doing remarkably well as Duncan until he got to the line, “No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive our bosom interest,” pronouncing the pen-ultimate word as “bahz-um.” He screwed up his face and interrupted himself. “What’s bah-zum?”

“They’re tits, you moron. Jesus, I can’t possibly be related to you,” stated Jacob.

A lively discussion on the meaning of bosom ensued and Mr. Gunderson had to admit that in a vague, general way, Jacob was correct, although, he continued, that wasn’t what Shakespeare was thinking when he used that word.

“Bet he was,” said Jenny, “Cause my mother says that’s what all men think about.” She then added, “Do we gotta read this again tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Us and all the other petty creeps that fret and strut our hour upon the stage.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, Jenny. Yes, we’ll be reading Macbeth tomorrow.”

Mr. Gunderson sighed.

Posted in Five Minute Fiction for Free | Tagged , , , , , , , | 10 Comments