The game started right after dessert and had been going on for a solid four hours. Mary watched from the sidelines and shook her head now and then as she glanced at her watch. Matt had lost interest ten minutes in, but didn’t want to say anything. At the ninety minute mark, he tried to throw the game, but it backfired. Chris was having a blast though and kept loosing track of the turns he was laughing so hard.
Matt stretched his leg out and rubbed under his aching knee. He was getting too old to sit on the floor like that for so long, but he didn’t have the heart to stop the game out right like his father had. The longer the game continued, the more his mind wandered to his own childhood. The many lonely nights while his father worked late, or spent time with his mistress. The countless wishes he had made on the wishing star that something would change. It never did. Not until he met Mary his first year in college. She changed his life, and so did Chris. Chris meant so much to him he treasured these moments, and hoped that one day Chris would sit on the floor and play with his children.
“DAD!” Chris screamed with glee.
Matt looked at the cards on the table and grinned. “I’ll get you this time. One.”
“Two.” Chris leaned in close.
“WAR!” Chris screamed.
So, A Guy Called Bloke and K9 Doodlepip wrote a post today about John Wayne, and I know that a lot of people still love him and his movies, but my gut reaction was “Good Lord, why. He was such a vile human being” and it got me to thinking (scary thought there)…
- What author will you just refuse to read and why?
- What actor/actress will you refuse to watch and why?
- Is there an eatery you refuse to go to?
- What is something you hate that others might find odd?
As for me, my answers would be:
- I will not read Bentley Little. I actually liked him up until 2002 when The Collection was published. The story, Life with Father, is just foul. It tells about a father who is obsessed with recycling and his daughters. Now, the father doesn’t just recycle paper, and plastic…you know the normal kind of recycling. He makes the girls recycle their pee, poo, clothes, food, and his sperm. Yep, you read that right. The story is about an incestuous **** who rapes and impregnates his own daughters. When they give birth, the offspring are deformed and the family calls them their pets. To this day I refuse to also read Stephen King because he highly recommended Little and this book.
- This is a harder one for me because I rarely ever judge actors based on their roles (my mother on the other hand refuses to watch anything with Jason Alexander in it because of his role as Stucky in Pretty Woman). I think the most I could narrow it down to is teenage sex movies — you know the kind, American Pie, American Pie 2, etc. Those movies that seem to have the same type of cast in them whose sole purpose is to get laid.
- I don’t go out to eat much, but I refuse to eat at Jack-in-the-Box. One time in the 80s, my mother and I were on Greyhound for some reason, it was probably on one of her “I’m getting back with him/no I’m not trips” and the bus stopped at a Jack-in-the-Box. She made me stay on the bus while she went and got the food. When she got back and we drove off, she told me to eat and the hamburger was still mooing — I mean the entire bun was bloody mooing. She got mad at me (obviously I had something to do with it), but I refused to eat, which made her even more mad because she had spent money on it. Half the bus arrived to our destination with food poisoning. This was before the outbreak in the early 90s that killed all those people, but I will never forget it and I will never eat there as long as I live.
- Many people would find it odd that I dislike (hate is a very strong word), chocolate. There is only one time I like it, and that is in a chocolate cream pie. No cake, no cookies, no doughnuts, no candy bars, nope…I just dislike chocolate. Always have. My son is like that too except he loves Peanut Butter M&Ms, which obviously has chocolate.
Forrest Street was a fairly typical suburban neighborhood where the kids played out in the street, everyone nodded to their neighbor, and everyone knew everyone else’s routine. It didn’t take newcomers to learn that Mrs. Gracie likes to fetch her morning paper still wearing her nightgown, that Mr. Tyler was having an affair with a young lady that drove a dark blue Mercedes, or that the Franklin kid was the last person you should ever trust with watching your child or pet, but no one spoke of the kitten incident to newcomers.
It came as no surprise to anyone when Gregory Lightfoot’s truck wasn’t in his yard, and it came as no surprise when Mrs. Lightfoot pulled her car up on to her lawn one late afternoon. She often did that when he was away on a hunting trip, or out of town on the job.
Yes, everything on Forrest Street screamed of typical suburbia.
That was until the entire street was barricaded off with police tape. People through they had finally come for the Franklin kid, but the police were localized on the other end of the block.
Gasps and shocked expressions filled the evening air as police walked a handcuffed Mrs. Lightfoot out of her house and put her in the back of the patrol car. Screams and cries of horror replaced the shocked faces as police brought out the body bags. Seems Mrs. Lightfoot found herself a hobby.