Whistle while You Work
type story here:
"Olivia," Byrom said smoothly since her name began with a vowel but when he added that the custard stand was closed on Mondays the whistles hit the fan.
She looked at him with a face that could have been his father's and dismissed his come hither wave with disdain.
"I have a headache!"
"Olivia?" he whispered softer.
"Go to hell - whistling man!" she said turning her back on him abruptly while taking off her blouse.
"Why don't you open the stand on your own initiative and tell my son you will keep most of the profits? Are you afraid of Ron?"
He determined he would make the best custard in Fat Ballot, Ohio that even the super elite would enjoy.
"(whistle) your (whistle) son-"
She interrupted his speech therapist's suggestion he whistle before saying words beginning with a consonant so they would come out whole by saying: "Well, mister person who was supposed to be named after the great poet with the club-foot can you finish what you tried to do this more in a more successful way?"
He could feel the unhidden pall of irritation copulating within her words. In a forceful move he mounted her but after a minute she pushed him away saying he was on "Vucation" and then lifted herself wearily from the bed.
She told him to leave that she no longer wanted to be used as a connector to her son - the custard king of the state of presidents.
He wanted to tell her they were both using each other in a cynical way but instead he tried to suck out pity from her by telling her - not using the whistle - that he always felt like a motherless child; always being eaten by bats - the shape of ladles with wings and long wooden matches that burned his flesh as his father had done to him as a child for having done another "fifth infraction".
"Get out fool. You are no longer part of my life!" Olivia said with the same disdain his father had used when saying losing positions one after another was the action of a total failure and indeed he was afraid he would not loan Byrom the money to get a bridge that might have given him a smile and a better chance to succeed in the art of Global Gobbling.
"Olivia," he whispered feeling he had done another fifth infraction!
" "Olivia, ( whistle) do you (whistle) believe (whistle) the (whistle) child is (whistle) the (whistle) father of (whistle) the (whistle) man?" he said looking away from the shape of her eyes.
"Fool, since your country's inception it has been one lie upon another.per the elite English and your so-called Founding Fathers cohabiting in their bunkers fed stories about a land of opportunity and the Irish the first cheap labor suckers worked twelve hours a day for one dollar that the American-English would not do and your streets were not paved with gold for the poor; instead, they were paved with sweat, tears and the blood of their children who were sent off to meaningless wars. And you say free education. Sure they were taught to read and write at a fourth grade level and one day they will rue that they did this injustice since the forbidden fruit to think was kept from them and even the elite and super elite's children could not master that gift judging by what's going on in the world today! Prove me wrong!"
There on that gooey surface of the Empire State Building as planes were hurtling by him watching his every move intently and one piloted by his father the Old Warrior, Percival McKinley Bush, was shooting limp bullets at him; screaming that it was his birth that had stopped the Golden Era of no regulations; bringing on a polio infested president who forgot his elite roots to help riffraff whose only purpose was to die for There World Orders and there Byrom Hoover Bush began making love to Olivia who had the faces of his two daughters who resembled their grandfather The Old Warrior - though she was ten years older than he. She bit his ear and neck with wild abandonment; pushing his head down to where instruments were all lit up showing him the way to fame and fortune to define his worth. Her screaming overcame the drone of all the airplanes swooping around them; now his father was in the same plane as the Lone Eagle saluting Hitler as a savor that would save them all from The Red Menace and they were yelling for him to stop; wanting so badly to control his every movement as they kept whizzing by shooting red hot bullets - the shape of even limper penises. Byrom borrowed one of them while he covered his "mystery lady" with both of his strong arms while the king of gorillas began to fall miles to his death; attempting to save humanity from the dark ages that were going to reappear in the shape of Geronimo's skull while two leaders one called "shrub" and the other named Johnny Iranian President with their death wishes of Apocalypse Now - whose followers would jump with them over the abyss to oblivion to get away from their self-hate too.
Byrom recalled only this of the dream: a huge wave smashing into a tall lighthouse, a long winding road with banks the shape off ass cheeks, Olivia with her dress up over her large firm breasts while giving him her Berlin look from almond-shaped eyes, a ditch with curly black moss and bushes growing on its edges and something about a looming tall mountain covered with white glistening frost from which he was falling and just before he landed - he awoke. END 1-4-08