On a sunny spring morning, Jack Jackson sat down by the river listening as it gurgled with pen and pad in hand. He scratch-scratched away at the pad, stopping occasionally to glance around dreamily. The willows swayed with the morning breeze and the shadows from the slopes at Jack Jackson’s back moseyed across the rippling water.
Loud crunching and crashing sounds distracted Jack Jackson from his contemplation and he glanced over his shoulder at the river-side growth from whence the disturbance came from.
Rob Roberts burst out of the willows with a curse.
“You’re ruining the serenity,” said Jack Jackson.
“You’re quite a work, freak-sauce.” Rob Roberts waved his arm toward the east. “You have to yell to hear yourself over the dammed surface mine. Don’t talk to me about serenity.”
“Why do you have to be such a smart-aleck?” Jack Jackson asked, placing his pen and pad carefully on a rock next to the river as he stood.
“What are you drawing?” asked Rob Roberts.
“It’s not a drawing, jerk-face.”
Rob Roberts picked up the pad and the pen rolled into the river with a plop. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s a poem,” replied Jack Jackson.
“It’s toilet paper.” Rob Roberts flicked his wrist and the notebook flew out over the water with a flutter of pages before descending into the river to speed away with the current.
Jack Jackson whipped the sword of his hand out at Rob Roberts’ throat. Rob Roberts grasped his neck while his breathe wheezed in and out. “I bet you don’t have any smart-alecky thing to say to me now that I’ve crushed your laranix.”Larynx, thought Rob Roberts, Larynx, as he sank back down on the riverbank.
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3 comments:
Oh, man! That really gave me a good chuckle.
"Quite a work, freak-sauce"? OK bro, but it was funny, the ending seemed vaguely familiar. Little B
I was just reading this again. So funny! I have a guess to make. You wrote this because someone you know mispronounced "larynx," didn't you?
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