look more pissed off than a pissed off cat. They’ve mastered the art of wounded dignity and elevated it to an art form. Like post impressionism, only angrier.
So Danny’s first job of the day turned out to be scrubbing bird guts off the dining room table. Not a propitious beginning to any day. Although it did keep him from thinking about sex for a while.
He was still fuming about the cat when he finally sat down to eat his own breakfast. A soup tureen full of Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries. Just because a guy’s an adult and thinks about sex all the time, well, that doesn’t mean he has to eat like one. Danny figured Cap’n Crunch was good for him. It was practically gravel after all. It was so rock hard and crunchy it probably scraped all the tartar off his teeth like Milk-Bone biscuits do for a dog. And everyone knows that good oral care is essential to a healthy lifestyle.
Plus Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries tasted great, and he could get his required weekly allowance of sugar in three minutes flat. Saved time.
While he shoveled in the cereal with a serving spoon, he stared at the little portable TV perched on the kitchen counter by the sink. Too lazy to get up and change the channel, he was stuck watching a news report.
The Middle East was a seething hotbed of unrest, as usual. In Washington, the Republican senators were throwing darts at the Democrat president, trying to piss him off. Also as usual. The economy was struggling. The oceans were polluted. The price of gas was up. Diane Sawyer needed a haircut. And closer to home, right here in San Diego, someone had taken it into his head to knock off a succession of young men, murdering them and leaving their massacred bodies scattered around the city like so much jetsam. Citizens were up in arms, demanding the police catch the killer, and the police were up in arms, telling the citizens to get off their ass, they were doing the best they could. So far the body count was at four.
Danny watched it all, unconcerned, mindlessly consuming his cereal, and when the last Crunch Berry had gone the way of the dodo, he lifted the soup tureen off the table and tilted it in front of his face like a wash tub to slurp down the remaining quart of pinkish-greenish-yellowish sludgy milk still lingering in the bottom.
Aah. Breakfast of champions.
Sated for the moment, he sipped at a cup of instant coffee to help get the mail moving, since everyone knows a good bowel movement is also essential to a healthy lifestyle. Then, after the mail was moved, he planned to get to work around the joint fulfilling the promise he had made to himself to help his dad out with some of the stuff he had been putting off.
Before he finished the coffee, however, the phone rang. Probably his dad, checking in.
Danny picked up the phone. It wasn’t his dad. It was his mom. As soon as he heard her voice, he felt his heart sink into his lower colon like an anchor gurgling its way to the bottom of the ocean after being tossed over the side of a boat. Christ.
His mom was frantic. He wasn’t sure why. Danny’s crime had been committed a week ago, and the judge’s proclamation had come down three days after that. It was a little late to get all riled up about it now.
“My poor baby! I knew I shouldn’t have let you move away and live with that man in the city.”
“You mean Dad?”
“Oh, don’t call him that. Gerald is your father. You know that, baby.”
Gerald was the putz she’d married. Danny hated Gerald. Gerald was an asshole. “No, I don’t know that,” Danny said, his voice turning to steel. “My dad is my dad. As far as I’m concerned, Gerald is nobody.”
“Oh, you’re breaking my heart, Danny!”
“Maybe it’ll heal.”
“Why are you being so mean? It’s that man, isn’t it? Leaving you all alone with that horrible thing strapped around your ankle. How could he do that? And how’s your leg? Does it hurt, baby? Is it uncomfortable?”
“It’s fine. What do
So Danny’s first job of the day turned out to be scrubbing bird guts off the dining room table. Not a propitious beginning to any day. Although it did keep him from thinking about sex for a while.
He was still fuming about the cat when he finally sat down to eat his own breakfast. A soup tureen full of Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries. Just because a guy’s an adult and thinks about sex all the time, well, that doesn’t mean he has to eat like one. Danny figured Cap’n Crunch was good for him. It was practically gravel after all. It was so rock hard and crunchy it probably scraped all the tartar off his teeth like Milk-Bone biscuits do for a dog. And everyone knows that good oral care is essential to a healthy lifestyle.
Plus Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries tasted great, and he could get his required weekly allowance of sugar in three minutes flat. Saved time.
While he shoveled in the cereal with a serving spoon, he stared at the little portable TV perched on the kitchen counter by the sink. Too lazy to get up and change the channel, he was stuck watching a news report.
The Middle East was a seething hotbed of unrest, as usual. In Washington, the Republican senators were throwing darts at the Democrat president, trying to piss him off. Also as usual. The economy was struggling. The oceans were polluted. The price of gas was up. Diane Sawyer needed a haircut. And closer to home, right here in San Diego, someone had taken it into his head to knock off a succession of young men, murdering them and leaving their massacred bodies scattered around the city like so much jetsam. Citizens were up in arms, demanding the police catch the killer, and the police were up in arms, telling the citizens to get off their ass, they were doing the best they could. So far the body count was at four.
Danny watched it all, unconcerned, mindlessly consuming his cereal, and when the last Crunch Berry had gone the way of the dodo, he lifted the soup tureen off the table and tilted it in front of his face like a wash tub to slurp down the remaining quart of pinkish-greenish-yellowish sludgy milk still lingering in the bottom.
Aah. Breakfast of champions.
Sated for the moment, he sipped at a cup of instant coffee to help get the mail moving, since everyone knows a good bowel movement is also essential to a healthy lifestyle. Then, after the mail was moved, he planned to get to work around the joint fulfilling the promise he had made to himself to help his dad out with some of the stuff he had been putting off.
Before he finished the coffee, however, the phone rang. Probably his dad, checking in.
Danny picked up the phone. It wasn’t his dad. It was his mom. As soon as he heard her voice, he felt his heart sink into his lower colon like an anchor gurgling its way to the bottom of the ocean after being tossed over the side of a boat. Christ.
His mom was frantic. He wasn’t sure why. Danny’s crime had been committed a week ago, and the judge’s proclamation had come down three days after that. It was a little late to get all riled up about it now.
“My poor baby! I knew I shouldn’t have let you move away and live with that man in the city.”
“You mean Dad?”
“Oh, don’t call him that. Gerald is your father. You know that, baby.”
Gerald was the putz she’d married. Danny hated Gerald. Gerald was an asshole. “No, I don’t know that,” Danny said, his voice turning to steel. “My dad is my dad. As far as I’m concerned, Gerald is nobody.”
“Oh, you’re breaking my heart, Danny!”
“Maybe it’ll heal.”
“Why are you being so mean? It’s that man, isn’t it? Leaving you all alone with that horrible thing strapped around your ankle. How could he do that? And how’s your leg? Does it hurt, baby? Is it uncomfortable?”
“It’s fine. What do
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