pilot bread back?” Marion asked, but she had said it so low that the clerk hadn’t heard her.
“Excuse me,” the clerk said, louder than Marion would have liked.
“She said put one of the cracker boxes back because she is too stupid to manage her money.” Val cried cheerfully.
Marion spun, and faced her foe. Val was all smiles, at first. But Marion refused to break eye contact, and in the end she stared her opponent down. Val smile faded and she lowered her head. Marion noticed that Val’s cart was completely filled with cases of beer, and somehow Marion didn’t think Val was planning a party. No, Val would be drinking her lunch and dinner for the next few days.
Marion turned back to the clerk.
“Please put one of the pilot bread boxes back. I don’t have enough money.”
As soon as Marion turned, Val was at her throat again.
“You know I’m only trying to help. You don’t have to be such a bitch.”
The clerk rang up the total. Minus one box of pilot bread, the new total was thankfully just under twenty bucks. As a parting shot to her “friend” Marion told the clerk to keep the change. Though, she probably could have used the two quarters the clerk held out for laundry...
Marion raced outside, nearly abandoning her purse and grocery bags in her desire to escape. She had a moment of panic when she couldn’t find her car. Then she remembered she had parked it on the other side of the lot. She found her car, dumped everything into the backseat, and hopped into the driver’s seat. She was just started to close the door, when she heard:
“Can you give me a ride?”
Marion couldn’t believe it. Somehow Val had snuck up on her.
Val didn’t have her cart. She must have abandoned it in the checkout line, and followed Marion out.
Marion was seriously creeped out. Val must have been behind her the entire time.
“Is this your car?” Val asked. “You should get a new one. I’d be embarrassed to drive a piece of shit like this.”
At the same time Val made her way over to the passenger’s side backdoor. Marion woke up from whatever trance she was in, and reached over to lock the door. Val glared at her. Marion could feel the hatred in the stare.
“Well, you don’t expect me to ride up front with you, do you?” Val asked.
In answer, Marion shook her head. Val sighed, loudly. Again, Marion was struck dumb as Val began to make way over to her side of the car. Somehow, she got the key in the ignition. As soon as Val was clear of the car’s backside, Marion gunned the car in reverse. She drove in reverse about half way down the parking lot. Finally she turned around, and skid into traffic.
Marion made it home in record time. She didn’t bother to take the groceries out of the backseat. Instead she ran up the stairs to her apartment. Her head was splitting, but she held out long enough to unlock the front door.
It was when she was safely in her apartment that the anger finally hit her. That’s when she started screaming...
God, she thought afterwards, the poor old woman who lived downstairs must have thought she was a lunatic.
Article VIII: True Grit
Everybody must be some kind of lunatic, the Duke thought. It wasn’t the first time he had thought that either. The Duke had long suspected that he was the only sane man left in this world. The first time the thought occurred to him was at a barbecue that he and Ruthie threw back at their old place in Seattle. The Duke didn’t care much for his neighbors, finding them to be a bunch of nosy pricks, but it’s always good to keep up appearance. If you don’t play nice, folks tended to get curious as to what you’re really up to. He had to blend in, or the Commies might get wise.
The Duke got to jawing with his next door neighbor, Keith. Keith was a carpenter by trade, just like our Lord and Savior.
“You’re a lucky man,” Keith said.
The Duke nodded he felt blessed...blessed that he had managed to fool so many people. But, Keith surprised him when he said “Ruthie is a very attractive woman.”
The Duke was gob smacked. His Ruthie? That old and smelly bitch Ruthie? But, Keith hadn’t been the first to tell him “what a lucky man he was.”
He had no idea what the hell people were talking about. Ruthie didn’t seem to have a clue either, thank the Lord. Ruthie was a rather stupid woman. The Duke just shook his head every time she had one of her “accidents”. I mean nobody could be that stupid unless they were doing it on purpose. Still Ruthie was his wife and his wife alone, and he was free to do whatever he wanted with her. That was his God given right. None of that feminism lesbo crap in his house. No sir. And if Ruthie ever got any funny ideas in her head, the Duke was more than willing to arrange another accident, and that one would be permanent.
The Duke smiled.
“Did I tell you my daughter is in therapy right now?”
The Duke beamed with pride, but Keith seemed less than impressed.
“Yeah Duke, you told me.”
“Did I?” The Duke was momentarily taken aback, but he soon recovered. It wasn’t his fault really. The Duke was like an excited little kid. He just couldn’t keep the secret all to himself.
“Well we’re all really worried about her, you know.” The Duke confessed happily. “But, it’s brought us all closer together as a family.”
And, for the second time the Duke was taken aback. Keith stared at him, and Keith was afraid. Had the Duke been found out? If his mission was to succeed, it was important that he carefully controlled what the neighbors thought of him.
“I just remembered,” Keith said as he stood up, “My wife and I have plans today. I’d better get going.”
The Duke breathed a sigh of relief. So that was it. Keith was pussy whipped. Figures. If the Duke were any less of a man then he would almost feel sorry for Keith. Sympathy, though, was an emotion that real Americans did not feel. Maybe sympathy is something they taught kids in Mother Russia, but the Duke was proud to say that he was not a sympathetic character at all.
Keith waved good-bye, and the Duke being neighborly returned the gesture. All the while, the Duke kept thinking that old Keithy boy should bring that snotty wife of his around next time...because the Duke knew how to treat a woman right.
Perched over the hot grill, the Duke came to the alarming realization that he was all alone with no one to talk to.
Ruthie was over on the patio getting a little too friendly with some of the neighbors. The Duke shook his head. Lord, why did his wife have to be so stupid? Every god fearing American knows that the man is supposed to be the center of attention. The woman is supposed to be invisible and speak only when spoken too by her husband. The Duke figured that maybe a broken arm would set Ruthie straight. The thought got Duke excited, and he felt a stir in his pants.
His thoughts turned suddenly morbid. He hated the time after one of Ruthie’s accidents. The time he would have to waste being nice to her. The time he would have to waste pretending to be sweet and caring so he could slowly regain her trust. The time he would have to waste waiting until her wounds healed so the neighbors wouldn’t get suspicious. All of that loving husband crap made him sick to his stomach. It was only those brief moments of release that kept him going. Because it was the hurting he loved the most. It was the only time he was truly happy. The only time he felt alive.
Maybe he would fuck her fist, and then break her arm. That’s how his daddy would have done it. The thought of what he was going to do to Ruthie got him even more excited. Then he saw the girl...
...And immediately went flaccid.
The girl was once again rotting her brain listening to that hippie rock n’ roll shit. God damn why had Ruthie ever bought her that stupid radio? They could have used the money for other things. The boy needed a new football for one. And, as far as the Duke was concerned the girl deserved nothing but contempt. Stupid Ruthie was only encouraging her.
Ruthie’s kids… sigh. A mixed bag really. The Duke deeply loved the boy. Oh, he had had to get rough wit
h the boy on a couple of occasions— once even breaking the boy’s nose with a football— but the boy could do no wrong in the Duke’s eyes. The boy spent a lot of time hanging out with his friends, and that was alright. He was supposed to be here at the barbecue, but he was downtown with friends. Stupid Ruthie tried to remind the Duke that the boy had been suspended from school and was supposed to be grounded. The Duke let the boy go anyway. He knew what was best for the boy, and he knew the boy would turn out alright. That’s all any parent could hope for. That their kids would turn out normal and not end up as a bunch of freaks. The Duke couldn’t wait for the boy to be old enough that they could go down to the bar and share a drink together. He had high hopes for the boy. The boy would play football, of course, and get a scholarship to play on one of the college teams. The Duke could see them sitting together going over which schools had the best college teams. After the boy graduated college, top of his class, he would move onto a career in politics on a Pro-American ticket— none of that liberal commie bullshit for his boy. After a few years the boy would become President. As President, the boy would clean up America. He would round up all the Commies and kick them out. Finally, under the boy’s leadership, this country would be what it should be: a decent place for decent folks. Only the best and brightest would be allowed to live in this great God fearing Nation.
And when the descent folks ask the boy how he
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