Just Sayin'

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  Here are some of the towns he’s booking me in next year:

  Mosquitoville, Vermont

  Fleatown, Ohio

  Flea Valley, California

  Ticktown, Virginia

  Tick Bite, North Carolina

  Bug Hill, North Carolina

  Roach, Nevada

  Roaches, Illinois

  Cricket Corner, New Hampshire

  Cricket Hill, Virginia

  Grasshopper Junction, Arizona

  Shoofly, North Carolina

  Spider, Kentucky

  Spiderweb, South Carolina

  I was surprised to learn that the kid’s, Cassie’s, birthday is the same day as my big show, The Last Insult Standing. Upon discovering this, I sent Cassie two tickets to the show. I don’t know how far Hamilton really is from Hannibal, I’ll admit. But how far can it be? They’re both in Missouri. Maybe you could drive her. I don’t have many—any—friends, and I kind of like writing you like you are one. Just pen pals, of course. Never too old to have a pal.

  You know what Sam Clemens, aka Mark Twain, said about that, don’t you? “Age is a matter of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”

  So, how ’bout it, Emma? Will I see you in Hannibal?

  Your friend,

  Johnny

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  August 5

  Nick!

  Let’s do it! Let’s enter that contest!

  Did you hear that the winner of The Last Insult Standing gets a 10-day cruise for the entire family? Think about it, Nick! We could get both of our parents on that cruise! We could convince the producers that we’re all family! I know we could. I know if I won, Mom would love to have you and Julie come on the cruise with us, and then Travis would have to come along too. (Same thing if you won, of course.) Either way, we’d have 10 days together! AND, maybe after spending 10 days together, Travis and Mom would remember what it used to be like. And who knows?

  I know. I’m getting way ahead of myself.

  By now, you must have gotten the letter from Mom I sent on to you. I read your dad’s side. I’m not sure what to think. Only, I think they’re both being stupidheads. Don’t you? It’s like they each think the other person doesn’t want them around. I wish we could do something about it. Any ideas on that front?

  In the meantime, let’s work on our lists of 10 best insults. The deadline is right around the corner!

  Insultingly yours,

  Cassie

  P.S. NEWS FLASH! I just got the mail, and you’ll never guess what King Kirby sent me—tickets to The Last Insult Standing! Two tickets! I guess if you and I make it as finalists, we won’t need the tickets, but it was nice of him to send them. I think if I play my poor-me-with-no-mom-and-no-birthday-party card, I can get Gram to drive me to Hannibal. But what about you? How are you going to get from Chicago to Hannibal?

  Julie Barton

  Retirement Community

  Chicago, IL

  August 4

  Dear Cassie,

  Thank you so much for that great get-well card you and Gram sent! I laughed so hard I got a coughing fit. (But it was worth it.) I haven’t hurled in two days, and I’m eating applesauce and yogurt, too.

  Will you guys please send me a picture of Kirby? With you standing next to her? That way I can see how much she’s grown. I wish I would grow that much.

  I love that you’re writing to Jesus. I wish I could read better so I could read his letters in the Bible too.

  In case you’re wondering, Nick is writing this. He told me about you guys wanting to go to Hannibal to see that TV show. Wouldn’t it be great if you could meet up there? I was hoping I could go too. I’d love to see you and Gram! But I talked Nick into asking Dad if he’d take us to Hannibal to see the show, and that was a big mistake. Dad doesn’t like that show. Still, I think he might have said okay until he put two and two together and figured out he’d probably run into you guys there. Not that he doesn’t like all of you. (Nick here. Julie said “love” instead of “like,” but I couldn’t make myself write it. Right now, it doesn’t feel like Dad loves OR likes anybody or anything, not even me and Julie.) I think Dad misses you as much as I do. And that’s a whole lot.

  I need to go now. (Nick here: Julie just got walloped with one of her king-size headaches, so the place she needs to go now is to bed. Hold on, she’s giving me a P.S.)

  Love,

  Julie

  P.S. I told Dad I liked the uniforms of the new school he’s putting us in. But I really don’t.

  Nick Barton

  Old Folks’ Home

  Chicago, IL

  August 7

  Dear Cassie,

  I’ve been working on my list of 10 insults, and this is it. So if you think I should scratch any of these and come up with a new one, you’ll have to call or write me real quick because we’re running out of time. You should get yours in right away too. I’m pretty sure that some of these insults may be things you’ve said to me, but I’m not sure, and I don’t know which ones came from you in the first place. So call me if I’ve written an insult that’s yours. I’ll take it off my list. Promise. That’s why I put in extras.

  Here goes:

  I’ll bet it takes you an hour to cook Minute Rice.

  Take a long walk off a short pier.

  The last time I saw a face like yours, I fed it a banana.

  If you were any dumber, you’d have to be twins.

  Are you going to sue the guy? (What guy?) The guy who ran over your face.

  When they were handing out looks, you thought they said “books,” and you asked for a funny one. OR: When they were handing out noses, you thought they said “roses,” so you asked for a big, smelly one.

  You are really down to earth . . . just not far enough.

  You’re so clueless that you got fired from the M&M’S factory for throwing away all the W’s.

  You’re so ugly that when you were born, the doctor slapped your mother (who, BTW, had sold her car for gas money).

  You’re so ugly, I’ll bet when your mom dropped you off at school, she got a fine for littering.

  Julie told you about Dad refusing to drive us to Hannibal to see the show. (He’d go nuts if he knew I might be IN the show.) What Julie didn’t say was that Dad exploded. “Hannibal is in Missouri!” he shouted. “HAMILTON is in Missouri! What if Cassie talks Jen into taking her there to see the Insult King? Did you think about that? I can’t see Jen now. I won’t do it! I can’t go through this all over again!”

  “But Cassie’s mother is in California,” I explained logically and calmly. “She won’t even be in Missouri.”

  “You can’t know that, Nick!” Dad screamed. “I will never go back to Missouri! Not ever! Never! You got that?” Then he stormed out of the old folks’ home and didn’t come back for hours. Poor Julie was afraid he’d never come back.

  So I’ve moved to Plan B. I have some money saved up from mowing lawns. Plus birthday money from Grandad. I think it will be enough for a bus ticket to Hannibal.

  See you there!

  Nick

  P.S. Be honest about the insults and let me know if something doesn’t work! We both have to win this thing!

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  August 10

  King Nick,

  You nailed it! I think Johnathan Kirby better watch out! His throne is in jeopardy (my word for the day). I hope you mailed in your insults, including the last two, which were some of the best, if you ask me. Way to go, Nick!

  You’re coming alone, by bus? You are fearless! You don’t know the meaning of the word FEAR. (On the other hand, you don’t know the meaning of a lot of words. Ha ha!)

  You’ve probably figured out that the money in this envelope is to make sure you can afford a bus ticket from Chicago to Hannibal. Or maybe there’s a train, and now you can afford a ticket for that! Gram has been paying me for doing chores that Mom makes me do for free. I sp
ent some on a roll of postage stamps, but I don’t need the rest of it, so don’t worry about paying me back. It will be payment enough seeing you onstage in Hannibal.

  I’d like to be there too, but I don’t know if I will. I didn’t exactly do what they said to do to enter the contest. I don’t know. I wrote up a list of insults, but when I read over it, it didn’t sound funny to me. It sounded . . . kind of mean. Definitely not wholesome. Something a bully might say to Julie. That’s all I could think about. This thinking about words thing is tough. Insults have always been easy.

  I flipped through the Bible, looking for great insults like “whitewashed tomb” and “sons of vipers.” Nothing. So after youth group, I asked Pastor Mike, and he showed me how there’s this kind of dictionary in the back of those Bibles they gave us for joining up. He said it was a concordance. You look up a word, like PRAYER, and it gives you all the verses that have PRAYER in them—and there’s a lot, let me tell you.

  At home, I looked up INSULTS but got nothing. Then I tried DUMB, LOSER, and other words like those, but that didn’t work either. So I tried SPEECH and WORDS, and man, did that work, but not like I’d hoped. Here are some of the things I found:

  Let your conversation be gracious and attractive so that you will have the right response for everyone.

  Colossians 4:6

  Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them.

  Ephesians 4:29

  See what I mean? But this one is cool:

  Whoever loves a pure heart and gracious speech will have the king as a friend.

  Proverbs 22:11

  Think I should send it to the King of Insults?

  Still, I did my best. I have my ticket for the show. So I will be there in Hannibal—if not onstage, in the audience cheering for you!

  Your fan,

  Cassie

  P.S. Now we need to talk about Travis and Mom. After reading both their letters, I am more convinced than ever that if there’s a chance of getting them back together, it’s up to us! Mom and Travis should be writing (or calling or texting) each other and saying what they said in their letters to us. But they’re both too stubborn. Or too hurt. Or too messed up in their grown-up ways. And so . . . what if you and I write for them? Ta da!

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  August 10

  Dear Producer of The Last Insult Standing,

  I’ll bet you guys have brains that are as good as new . . . because you sure haven’t used them to think through this insult contest. Insulting is an art. The best insults are person-specific, not generic or appearing in a list of 10. I know. You’ll tell me you worked hard coming up with your plan. I say you did the work of three men: Larry, Moe, and Curly (the Three Stooges, in case you don’t get out much).

  Also, although Hannibal, hometown of Mark Twain (who said, “I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it”) is the perfect place for the show, you neglected to give the address of the studio, or wherever you plan to film this thing. So, what, is it like at the corner of Walk and Don’t Walk? Inquiring contestants want to know.

  Look, here’s what’s wrong with making us list 10 insults and then you choosing the best list. Suppose I list an insult like this: “What happened, buddy? Did you suntan through the kitchen screen?” But the other contestant doesn’t have freckles. Did you think of that?

  Or if I tell someone, “I’ll bet your eyeballs have blonde roots, Blondie.” But she’s not blonde. Or dumb.

  Not funny.

  On the other hand, take a line like “The lights are on, but nobody’s home.” Not a big chuckle on the page, right? But delivered at exactly the right time to exactly the right person, and your audience would crack up.

  Since my best friend’s list of 10 insults contained five that appeared on my initial list, I decided to let him go ahead and use the insults to enter your stupidhead contest, and you had better pick him as a finalist. (His name is Nick Barton. Don’t forget it.) If not, I will be writing your mother and quoting Mae West, who said, “You should have thrown him away and kept the stork.”

  Disappointed,

  Cassie Callahan

  P.S. Don’t thank me for insulting you. It’s been my pleasure.

  P.P.S. I think there are 10 insults in this letter if you quit goofing off long enough to count them. And don’t forget to count this one.

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  August 10

  Dear Julie,

  I wrote this letter three times, but tore it up because I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. (And Nick, if you’re reading this to Julie like you should, here’s another great reason to write letters. You can tear them up if you say the wrong thing. Can’t tear up phone conversations, can you?)

  I’ve been thinking a lot about insults lately. They’ve always come easy to me—too easy, Mom says. Like the words are out of my mouth before my brain gets in on it. I’ve never meant to be mean with the insults—just funny. But lately, I’ve been wondering if something I say that I think is hilarious lands on the other person as mean.

  So I decided to ask you. I’ve seen you get slammed, teased, and insulted at school. And although Nick and I are quick to attack anybody who says anything mean to you, you always take it with a smile, like it doesn’t matter.

  But does it? On the inside? Even when you laugh along, are you laughing inside, Julie?

  I never wondered this before, but I do now. I need to know how insults make you feel.

  And if I’ve ever hurt your feelings by saying something I thought was funny, I will cut out my tongue.

  Or maybe I’ll just cut out Nick’s.

  Love ya,

  Cassie

  Julie in Chicago

  (And Nick)

  August 13

  Dear Cassie,

  I am glad you sent me that letter about insults, although it makes me miss you even more.

  First, I want you to know that you have never hurt my feelings with one of your insults. You couldn’t, because I know you love me. (Nick here: Julie admits that I’ve hurt her feelings a few times, even though she knows I love her. I feel pretty rotten about that and never even suspected it. I sure won’t call her Shorty or any other name again, except Julie. And if I do, I’ll cut my own tongue out.)

  Julie again—Cassie, I know you would never want to hurt me. Even if Dad and your mom never speak to each other again, you will always be my sister.

  You ask how I can smile when kids make fun of me or tease me about the way I talk, or the way I learn, or how I have to leave the class for different therapies. Your mom told me once that when bullies say mean things to me, a simple smile can let the air out of their balloons. She said they want to get me all mad and upset, and they’re disappointed when they see me smile. Besides, some “insults” are funny. Some are not.

  You’ve made me think about this—why some insults or name-callings bounce off and make me smile, and why other insults make me sad. Here’s one answer I came up with—the meanest insults are the ones that are a little bit true.

  Once when I ate more pizza than you and Nick did, you called me “Pizza Piggy.” I still grin when I think of that night with you and Nick and your mom and Dad. And me—the Pizza Piggy. If I weren’t so skinny, maybe my feelings would have been hurt. But since I’m so not fat—no piece of truth in that insult—it was funny.

  On the other hand, I still remember the day in kindergarten when it hit me that I didn’t talk like the other kids. Dad and Nick had always been so nice to me. They’d never said a word about me being hard to understand. I don’t think I realized I left off letters at the ends of words (“wan’” for want; “hoe” for home). So I raised my hand to answer the teacher’s question. Not even she understood my answer. Michael, the redheaded boy in front of me, turned in his seat and called me “Mush Mouth.” It was an insult that hurt my feelings all year.

  Nick
here: Julie left to go lie down. She said to tell you she loves you and not to worry about her.

  Why is everything so mixed up?

  Nick

  Nick Barton

  Chicago, IL

  August 13

  Dear Cassie,

  Today I got your letter with your idea about us writing our parents and pretending to be them. At first, I thought you’d gone off the edge of crazy. But the more I think about it, the more I think you just might be onto something. They both need to know what the other one is thinking, and they’re too mixed up to figure it out on their own.

  What have we got to lose, right?

  I think you better write my dad, though. He’d know right away that I was the one writing him, if I did it. Besides, I’d have to mail the letter from here, so it would be postmarked Chicago. I will do my best writing your mother. If you tried to write her, pretending to be Dad, she’d know right away it was you because of the big words. So I’m Travis, writing your mom. You’re Jen, writing my dad. And at least the Chicago postmark will be right. Do it! Soon we should hear back from The Last Insult Standing.

  Signed,

  Nick, aka Travis

  Emma Hendren

  Hamilton, MO

  August 6

  Dear Johnny,

  I hope you don’t mind if I call you Johnny. I’ve known Johnathans and Jonathans and Johns. But never a Johnny. And I’m not comfortable calling you King, sorry. It’s kind of nice having a pen pal, though. Sort of feels like we’ve been old friends for quite a while. I could use a friend about now. My daughter Jen shows no sign of coming back yet.

  Thank you for sending Cassie tickets for her birthday. When she opened your letter, she screamed so loud that for a second, I was afraid you really were a creep. Ha! But when she could get her words out (and that gal has a lot of words), she said you sent her the best birthday gift ever, including her bike and the mini-trampoline she got last year. She has managed to injure herself repeatedly on those gifts, and I don’t see how she could hurt herself on the tickets. So even though Jen and I don’t approve of insults, and Jen doesn’t allow her to watch your show I admit I enjoy it. Reminds me of the old-time comedy shows with guys like Groucho Marx and Red Skelton. Mind you, I’m still not fond of the insults. But I don’t suppose one live performance can do much harm.