Revoltingly Young Read Online Free PDF

preferred weddings to funerals, although the money wasn’t nearly as good. So true, said Mr. Dugan, who lamented that he used to clear several thousand dollars on a nice mahogany casket, but now could barely make a sawbuck on a souvenir gold-plated rose.
    Personally, I’m glad that it costs less to get married than to croak, as I hope to experiment with the former one of these days. Do you suppose if I knock up his daughter, Mr. Spurletti will insist I marry Uma? Or, alternatively, will he just knock me off?

 
     
    JULY
     
    FRIDAY, July 1 – The most depressing day of the year in the marriage biz. June is over for another entire year. People get married willingly (more or less) in June, but the rest of year their natural reluctance to commit frequently prevails. This is unlike the funeral biz where people croak reliably without regard to the calendar.
    Not one to let moss grow under his Bible, Mr. Dugan put an ad in the newspaper offering a complete “Adore Ceremony” for only $29.95. Mrs. Dugan and Toby were skeptical, but, boy, were we proved wrong. All day long we were swamped by doting teen couples clutching coupons. For their 30 bucks they got a candle-lit ceremony featuring love songs on the organ, touching exchange of commitment vows, handsomely engraved certificates of adoration, and an opportunity to purchase celebratory lemonade and cookies (sorry, no free eats at those prices). A few couples exchanged rings, but the offered love tokens were all over the map. Bryan Dinger and Mindy Preel, for example, exchanged silver ear studs.
    Even though hustling the snacks added to my workload, Mr. Dugan chiseled me down to just $3 per adore service. What a cheapskate. And no tips to speak of either. I was regarded with interest by the celebrants, but no one appeared to recognize me–not that I cut that large a profile among the upperclassmen in my high school.
    If I had $30 and a girlfriend, I doubt I’d blow my wad just to hear “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet” and get a crummy certificate proving I was going steady. Still, if darling Uma found the concept charming, I expect I’d be lining up in a hurry. All this romance on the hoof today made the emotional chasm between me and Uma particularly painful. It is most stressful to be stuck on someone who is barely aware of one’s existence.
    8:47 p.m. Lots of firecrackers exploding along our road. I hope no one starts a wildfire that burns us all to glowing cinders. I should call up Uma and invite her to the big fireworks show Monday night. Yeah, right.
    I have wiped off my greasepaint and turned off my cell phone. If someone wants to declare their mutual adoration tonight, they can sure as hell do it without me.
     
    SATURDAY, July 2 – I had a dream last night that I was sharing a private hot tub with Uma. I was filled with anticipation because only I knew that I had switched our bathing suits to a special kind that dissolved in hot water. Anticipation quickly turned to panic, however, when the water suddenly grew cold. Frantic valve fiddling only made things worse. That’s when I woke up and discovered that my five-week respite from you know what was over. So tiresome! I already go to bed in gloves. Do I have to put a clothespin on my dick as well?!
    Carlyle came over after my gloomy breakfast with his foster dad’s credit card number, and we were able to order him a large afro wig over the Internet. (Just try purchasing such an item in Winnemucca.) We also ordered two jumbo jars of mocha brown greasepaint (one for each of us). We’ve agreed that even if we can’t always dress in brown, we’re still upholding our gang colors if our exposed skin is brown. Carlyle also wanted to order an ex-military Soviet handgun, but I drew the line at such fraud. The guy is scary enough just packing all those lethal-looking knives. Carlyle gave me a dozen cans of spray paint to help with the cause. Whenever he sees an open garage door, he sneaks in and helps himself to