I grew up down the street from a kid named Lithium Jim. We were good friends. One day I convinced him to take puffs from a grasshopper wrapped up in that brown, wide lined notebook paper that you get to use until about the third grade. He rolled that sucker up, lit it with a match and just started inhaling it like a fiend. He smoked that thing down to his fingers in a couple puffs. Then we went and downed a couple bottles of flinstone vitamins and then I would slingshot him in the gut with frozen cauliflower.
   I remember the fernival twins. They were straight Sheena Easton look alikes. They were dating elves. One time The Pukester was kneeboarding his skateboard along the sidewalk under the trees that we were in. Lithium Jim blasted out this stream of piss that sliced The Pukester in half. His family had a backyard portable pool, but they didn't have a little one. They had one that was about three feet deep. I think Lithium Jim was in there, his sister, The Pukester, and me. I took a huge dump in the pool and everyone jumped out. Of course, I blamed it on Lithium Jim. And everyone believed me because Lithium Jim had a track record for not telling the truth.

   I used to really be into ninjas. I knew everything about them. I built a shrine in my bedroom closet. And prayed to the spirits of Earth Wind Fire and Water. I used secret ninja hand signs. Have you ever smelled a bucket of dead frogs? One day I woke up feeling very stealthy. I put on my ninja suit and went down and had some breakfast. About noon, I saw a kid riding his bike over our front lawn. I thought nothing of teaching him a lesson and blowgunning a dart into him. Later that afternoon, the cops stopped in front of our house. I thought this was interesting until the kid and his dad stepped out of the car. Along with two cops. I ran into my house, shit driping down my leg. My mom came out to talk to the cops. When the cop produced the blowdart that had stuck in the kids stomach, I said with an air of arrogance, "I use those."
   Me un Flip were dawn bu the crik afishin fer walleye. "Don't care how greasy those feces are, I am not eating that log of shit!" "Would you suck farts from a gipsy's greasy cornhole?" "Now, that I'd do," Ron said.
   Rodger used to bust through our front door drugged out of his mind. He'd jump up and down and then start hitting his head with whatever he could get his hands on. Then he would jump around and kick the walls yelling, "I'm gonna kill everyone." You never get used to living next to someone like that. Our solution was to scare him away with weirdness. We'd shoot guns into the oven at three in the morning just to keep the neighbors at bay. That's just what living next to a bank robber is like.

   Gratz meef,
       Reverend Speef Narkle

speef@dreamscan.com