Summer Follies

“Summer Follies”
By: Rob Bresser
3 March 2008
© Rob Bresser 2008

It’s been a long, cold winter. Finally, warm weather begins to move in. All the snow is melted from the ground, birds have moved back in, and the infamous April showers have begun. Suddenly, a freak noreaster drops ten inches of snow, and the Sock Puppets from Hell, are pissed.

“Goddam rodent!” Bob shouts. “The fucker said this shit was over.”

“You realize, of course, that the groundhog neither controls nor predicts the weather change,” Doc said in a matter-of-fact way. “In fact, the whole Groundhog Day idea is a ridiculous idea. Shadow or not, the time frame is the same. It’s just an excuse for a bunch of morons to polka.”

“Yea, I know,” Bob said. “But it gives me something to blame. And that makes me feel better.”

“This winter is never going to end…” Lost Cause sighs as he stares out the window. Goblin can be seen leaping through the snow like a gazelle. Suddenly, he jumps into the air and does a nose dive straight down. A split second later a fountain of blood erupts into the air and stains the snow red. Goblin returns to frolicking. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“Should we tell him we’re out of milk?” Bob asks Doctor Sanity.

“Nah, he’ll figure it out.” A piercing scream and then sobbing can be heard from the kitchen. “You know, I might be able to modify the microwave to speed up time. We can make summer now.”

“That would be terrific! But I just got an idea that will take less time. Pick L.C. up off the floor. This is gonna be fun.”

Some time later, Sam arrives home from work. As he walks to the front door, he notices the large red splatter in the sow. Sam doesn’t break stride as he shakes his head and mumbles to himself, “I really hope that was an animal.”

As Sam enters the house he sees the numerous boxes marked “Summer” strewn about the living room. Bathing suits and beach supplies are scattered from one end of the house to the other.

“It looks like a bomb went off in here,” Sam exclaims. He isn’t surprised about the mess, only the fact that his swim trunks are involved. He now notices the music coming from the back of the house. “Please don’t let this be another of their ethnic parties,” Sam whines aloud. He makes his way toward the back of the house. As he approaches closer to the source of the music he realizes that it’s not coming from inside, but outside. Terror grips Sam’s soul as one word forces itself through his lips from the deepest part of his anatomy, “FUCK!” The back door flies open as Sam reaches for the knob. Lost Cause comes skipping in with a plastic cup in hand.

“Hey!” L.C. cheerfully greats Sam. “What’s up big guy?”

“What are you so happy about?” Sam asks suspiciously.

“Nothing. Just ringing in the summer.”

“But there’s like, a foot of sno… Never mind. Do you have any idea what Goblin slaughtered in the front lawn?”

“Huh? Oh, no. He’s crazy as bat-shit,” Lost Cause adds as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Sam steps outside and closes the door behind him. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. A small piece of Sam died in that instant. His backyard resembled a special he saw on the History Channel about the scorched earth tactics of the Russians during World War II. The lawn was bare and blackened. Half the shrubs were still burning, the other half just a smoldering pile of ash. The remains of several lawn ornaments and a few squirrels lay charred near what used to be Sam’s lawn furniture.

“WHO NAPALMED MY YARD?” Sam screamed.

Bob looked up from the grill to see Sam with a look of shock on his face. “SAM! What’s up? Welcome home. Grab a beer. Why not throw on some shorts and sunglasses? We’re having a picnic.

“You napalmed my yard!” Sam shouted.

“No we didn’t,” Bob stated. “We used gasoline and hairspray.”

“You’re being over dramatic, Sam,” Doc interjected. “All we did is speed up the melting process.”

A vein somewhere deep within Sam’s head burst. He temporarily looses the ability to control the volume of his voice. “SPEED up the PrO- You FUCKING TORCHED MY lawn!”

“But we saved the microwave,” offers Bob. “Doc was going to turn it into some kind of machine to speed up the Earth’s rotation.”

“No,” Doc states, simply. “I still did that. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Oh, nevermind.”

Suddenly, Sam tastes blood. The only explanation he can come up with for this is that his brain must have spontaneously melted. Incomprehensible sounds begin to pour from his mouth.

Interrupting Sam’s babbling Bob says, “Sam, buddy. You need to relax. Grab a beer. I’ll fix you something from the grill.”

“Yeah. Beer. Yeah,” is about all Sam is capable of saying at this point.

“You might want to let the hot tub cool down a little before you hop in Sam,” suggests Sanity. “It’s still pretty hot.”

“I don’t have a hot tub.”

“A matter I saw fit to rectify. The neighbor’s pool works just as well.”

“But-“

“-I know what you’re thinking Sam. And the answer is yes. Heating the pool proved to be quite difficult. We ran out of gasoline while melting the snow. First we tried using water heated on the stove, but that was taking too long. So we turned the toaster oven on high and tossed it in. You need a new extension cord by the way. The old one is melted.”

“But-“

“Yes, I know. Our test subject didn’t fare well. It’s OK though. They didn’t like the dog much anyway. I don’t think,” concludes Sanity.

Before Sam can say anything, a cheerful Bob chimes in. “What’ll it be Sam? Bar-b-q chicken, broiled fish, or hamburger?”

“Where the Christ did you get all that?” Asks Sam.

“Well, your freezer was empty. So we went next door.”

“You stole the neighbor’s food?”

“Incase you were wondering,” adds Doc. “That was before we flash-boiled their-“

“STOP!” Sam interjects. Then turns his attention back to Bob. “You stole the neighbor’s food?”

“Well, not really,” Bob explains. “They must be on vacation or something because their cupboards were bare too.”

“Wait.” Sam thinks aloud. “I’m confused.”

“Sorry, Sam, I guess the question I should have asked is: ‘Do you want bar-b-q parrot, broiled goldfish, or hamster burgers?’”

At this point, on the other side of the planet, a Chinese man is wondering who is screaming. Sam’s posture and heavy breathing give him the appearance of a rabid mongoose.

“I guess that means he’s not hungry,” suggests Sanity.

Lost Cause comes happily prancing outside and shouts, “Hey, guys. Sam brought home more milk!” Then he sees Sam, lying on the ground in the fetal position sobbing. “I’ll get the Windex,” he says empathetically and sulks back into the house.

“You realize this is all Puxatony Phil’s fault,” Bob says to Sanity.

“Road trip?”

“I’ll get the nail gun. You put Goblin in his cage and warm up the car.” Bob then turns toward the house to yell to L.C. “HEY! FORGET THE WINDEX. WE’RE GOING ON A TRIP.”

Muffled by the house, Lost Cause’s response is, “Kay!”

“What about Sam?” Inquires Sanity.

“He’ll feel better when we get back,” says Bob. “We’ll get him a t-shirt or something.

END

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