Look Evelyn, Duck Dynasty Wiper Blades. We Should Get Them.: A Collection Of New Essays Read Online Free PDF

not sure, but it might have been, ‘Please kill me’,” I replied.
    The band finished playing Proud Mary and Ben’s dad approached the microphone.
    “We’re going to take a quick five minute break now as Dennis has a cramp. Please help yourself to refreshments and chips in the foyer.” 
    “You told me the band was like Linkin Park, ” I said to Ben.
    “No,” he replied, “I only asked if you liked them.”
     
     

Badminton
     
     
    I died when I was ten. I stopped breathing and my heart stopped beating. My father didn’t know CPR but he tried blowing into my mouth and hitting my chest while my mother, grandparents, sister and cousins stood in a ring around me waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
     
    I had a dream while I was dead. I was swimming and the water turned to ice around me. There weren’t any lights or tunnels like I have heard other people describe, just ice. I could see my arms below the surface but I couldn’t move them. My legs were also trapped but the frozen layer stopped at my ankles, leaving my feet free to move in the water below. I saw a large dark shape swimming under me. It brushed my left foot.
    “David!”
    There was suddenly a lot of noise. Sirens, yelling, beeping.
    “He’s conscious.”
     
    Badminton is a stupid game and people look stupid while they are playing it. My cousin Susan, a large girl, played competitive badminton for a team. Who plays badminton for a team? It’s a game for backyards and bored children.
     
    She and I were playing against each other at her house during a family gathering. The adults were inside eating fondue and listening to Boney-M records. I’d never played badminton before and the fact that Susan was losing by several points was making her quite upset. She blamed the wind direction, and her shoes, and how spongy the grass was. I suggested it might be because the game is easy and stupid and not a real sport like tennis.
     
    “Of course it’s a real sport. What would you know?”
    “I know I’m winning even though I’ve never played before.”
    “Only because this isn’t my regular racquet.”
    “This isn’t my regular racquet either. ”
    “I’m actually just letting you win. I usually play really well. I’ve got a trophy.”
    “Really? For badminton or pie eating?”
     
    My sister and I were under strict instructions never to mention Susan’s weight. We’d been told that she had a medical condition or something but every time I saw her, she had a mouth full of chips, cake or sausage. It wasn’t just ‘big bones’, she had no neck. She looked like a slug, with other slugs for legs and arms.
     
    Susan lost it. She kicked over one of the poles that was holding up the badminton net and threw her racquet into the air. It landed on the roof of the house. She glared at me, gave me the finger, and stormed inside.
     
    My sister had been waiting to play the winner and groaned about the loss of the racquet.
    “You’ll have to go up there and get it,” she said.
    “I’m not going up there,” I replied. It was a double story house.
    “Oh, go on. If you climb on to the water tank, you should be able to reach that tree branch which goes up to the roof.
    It looks easy.”
    “You do it then.”
    “I’m wearing sandals.”
    “Fine.”
     
    As champion of the game and having nothing else to do, I was kind of keen to play again. Making it up was actually easy. I stepped from the branch onto the roof and edged my way along the slope to the racquet. I heard the front door slam.
     
    “Where’s David?” yelled my father.
    My sister pointed. He craned his head around and up.
    “What the fuck are you doing up there?”
    I held the racquet up to show him.
    “Did you call Susan fat?”
    “No, she said she had a trophy and I asked if it was for eating pies.”
    “Right, you’re in big fucking trouble. Get down here now. You’re going to go in there and apologise to her in front of everybody. ”
    “No.”
    I’d have spent the