“Jenkins!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Boston, Jenkins.”
“Beantown, sir.”
“Oliver Wendell Holmes called it the Hub. Do you know why?”
“No, sir.”
“Terrible speech impediment. Couldn’t pronounce ‘Boston.'”
“Ah.”
“I am excited, Jenkins! Let’s get in the Boston spirit.”
“How, sir?”
“Segregate the office.”
“No, sir.”
“Sell off Babe Ruth.”
“We can’t, sir.”
“Strangle someone.”
“Lots of towns have had stranglers, sir.”
“Yes, but the Tulsa Strangler didn’t get a Rolling Stones song written about him, did he?”
“No, sir.”
“Bring me your neck, Jenkins.”
“Absolutely not, sir.”
“They say it’s the most intimate way to murder someone.”
“The poster, sir.”
“Poster!”
“Any ideas, sir?’
“What about a toothbrush for your asshole? That’d stick it to Big Toilet Paper.”
“Let’s table that, sir.”
“You don’t get to table anything, Jenkins. I’m the chair.”
“Perhaps I didn’t couch my statement properly.”
…
…
…
“Floor.”
“Yes, sir. Floor. Now, the poster?”
“Bear.”
“Bear, check.”
“One of those tank-lizards.”
“Turtles, sir. They’re called turtles.”
“They wear their ribs on the outside, Jenkins! Preposterous rib placement.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jenkins?”
“Do you want ribs for lunch, sir?”
“You read my mind.”
“Anything else for the poster?”
“Bucky Dent refusing to make way for ducklings.”
“No, sir.”
“Whitey Bulger running over Tom Brady in a duck boat.”
“No, sir. No duck-related trolling at all.”
“What? We can’t make fun of Boston? Next, you’ll tell me we can’t make fun of homosexuals or the poor!”
“I shouldn’t need to tell you that, sir.”
“Oh, fine. Just throw the bear and the turtle and some skulls and whatnot in there.”
“So, same as usual?”
“Precisely. Rib time?”
“Rack ’em up, sir.”
That cloud of dust looks like mushy Honey Combs cereal. 🙂
interesting addition of the wharf rat’s 12-step stealie in the outfield.
reminds me of John Berryman, and his back and forth with “Henry.” Love the writing.
I have often had that same thought around these parts. I think of the chiding italics voice as ‘Mr. Bones.’ All hail the Dream Songs.