Snake and Freaky John return to rock your Friday night…

These being Snake’s wheels, it was up to Snake to turn on the radio.  Recognizing the song playing, he announced, “The Who.”

Freaky John was rolling a joint on the dash.  “Who?”

Snake nodded.  “Yes.”

Freak raised his eyebrows.  “Doesn’t sound like Yes.  Maybe the Stones.”

Snake shook his head.  “Who.”

“The Stones, man, fuckin’ Mick Jagger.  ‘I can’t get no-oo, sat-iss-fack-shun…’”

“Not the Stones, dickhead, this is fuckin’ ‘Baba O’Riley.’”

Perplexed, Freaky John blew a smoke ring.  “Pop a wheelie?”

Snake pounded the steering wheel.  “No!  From Who’s Next!”

“I don’t know who’s next, we gotta wait for the next song and shit.”  Freak leaned back and took another nice big hit.  This was really good shit.  And this song kicked.  Ass.

Snake gritted his teeth.  “The album Who’s Next, brainiac!  Gimme that!”

“Snake, man, this station don’t play whole albums.”  Freaky John passed the bud to his colleague.  “They got fuckin’ Two-for-Tuesday, though.  That rocks.  Unbelievable.”

Snake took a hit and passed the bud back to Freakster.  “The Who, you fuck.  Townshend, Daltrey, Entwhistle, Moon – the goddamn, cocksucking, motherfucking Who!”

Freaky John relaxed.  “Oh, The Who.”

“Yes.  The Who.”  Snake released his death grip on the wheel.

Freaky John yawned and contemplated the dashboard.  “That was my next guess.”

Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.

Snake and Freaky John are back!

“We can’t smoke tomorrow afternoon,” Freaky John commented.

Snake cocked an eyebrow.  “We gonna finish this whole ounce tonight?”

“No, man, I gotta watch my nephew.”

“He doesn’t smoke?”

“He’s in second grade,” Freak explained.

Snake grinned.  “Maybe we should give him a head start on the other kids.”

Freaky John swatted the air in front of him.  “We gotta think of a fuckin’ activity for him.  My sister-in-law says we have to do something, can’t just watch TV and shit.”

“Fuck.”  Snake stroked his goatee.  “I gotta be honest, I don’t know shit about kids.”

Freaky John took a deep hit and rolled his eyes back in his head.  “I’m fuckin’ awesome with kids,” he coughed.  “I’m like his favorite uncle.”

“So then what do you do with him when he’s over?”

He passed the joint to Snake.  “Watch TV.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment.  Snake nodded.  “I could bring my knives and teach him –”

Freak shook his head.  “Shana’d shit a brick.  She’s so strict, man, it’s unbelievable.  Fuckin’ orthodox or something.”

“Everybody should know how to use a knife.”

“No.”

“Nunchucks.”

“Think of something else.”

“I want to get another tattoo.  Is your nephew into tattoos?”

Freak brightened.  “Yeah, man!  He’s always got those little fake shit things on him, Spongepants and crap.  Good idea, dude.  We’ll get tattoos.”

Snake shook his head.  “I don’t know, you might have to be eighteen to go into a tattoo shop.  Is he eighteen yet?”

“I don’t think so.  Second grade and shit.”

Snake banged his fist on the end table.  “Dude!  We’ll take him to church!”

Freaky John stared.  “What.  The.  Fuck.”

“I’m serious, dude.  A church has art and shit all over, and history and shit.  Am I right?”

“Yyyyyyeah….”  Freak was dubious.

“So your sister-in-law can’t be mad about that.  Fuckin’ educational, right?”

Freaky John conceded this point.

“There’s this really hot nun at St. Agnes!  I work my magic on the nun, you take the kid around on a tour of the church.  Case closed.”

“Snake, man, I gotta hand it to you.  You’re unbelievable.”

Snake smiled.  “I have my moments.  So.  What’s the little nipper’s name?”

“Shmuel.”

“His mom gave him a hippie name, huh?  Well, she’ll be happy once we get him into church.  Hey!  Maybe we’ll get him baptized, too!”

Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.

For drsmax. I was originally going to mention the P-word, but I think I’ll save it for another Snake and Freaky John story.

Snake picked up the little robot from the coffee table.  “And your cousin made this?” he inquired.

Freaky John shrugged.  “He’s like a fuckin’ Bill Nye guy, I don’t know.  Professor and shit.”

Snake set the robot down, pleased.  “I’m looking forward to meeting him.  You know I appreciate intellectualistics.”

“Yeah, unbelievable.  That’s probly him now.  Door’s open!”

Cousin Pete was grinning widely.  “Greetings and salutations, Jonathan!”

Snake turned to Freaky John for clarification.  “I’m Snake.  You’re Freak.  Who’s he talking to?”

Pete was still grinning.  “His real name’s Jonathan.”

“Get the fuck out of here.  Serious?”  Freaky John nodded wearily.

Snake nodded dubiously.  “Hey, Pete.  Grab a seat.”

When Pete nodded, his whole upper body bobbed up and down.  “Thanks.  What’s your real name?”

“Snake.”

“Oh.  Is one of your parents a herpetologist?”

Snake sprang up from his seat.  “What are you saying, cunt?”  Pete swallowed noisily.  “Um.”

Freak patted Snake on the arm.  “Chill, he always uses words that don’t mean anything.”

Snake leaned way into Pete’s face so Pete could smell his breath.  “That right?”

Pete nodded.  “A herpetologist studies snakes.”

Snake relaxed.  “Dude, I know that’s a compliment, but you fucking totally said it the wrong way.  Don’t use words that you don’t know what they fuck they mean.”

Pete blinked rapidly. “I’m… sorry?”

Freak leaned back, steepling his fingers.  “It’s all good.  Me and Snake were just about to do some coke.  You want some?”

Snake sat back down.  “That’s not Pete’s shit.  He’d get all fucked up, man.”

“No!  I mean, it’s cool, I’ll imbibe.”

Snake looked at Freaky John, who shook his head.  “Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it means.  Pete, talk fuckin’ English.”

Pete looked down at the rolled-up bill in Snake’s hand and held his hand out.

Snake whooped.  “Look at that!  He’s doin’ four lines!”

Freak grabbed for the bill.  “Come on, man, this stuff ain’t cheap.”

Pete was babbling.  “It tingles.  I didn’t expect that, but of course it stands to reason.  It’s a stimulant, drawn directly into the nasal passages, which are incredibly sensitive tissue, and, and, and,” his eyes gleamed.  “Let’s blow things up!”

Snake’s own eyes filled with wonder and awe.  “Can you make a bomb?”

Freak sat up.  “Pete, can we blow something up outside the fuckin’ house this time?  Cause you set my dad’s place on fire the one time.”

Pete’s left eye twitched.  “Do you have any Windex?”

Snake smacked the Freakster on the arm.  “See?  This is what we needed.  A true intellectualistarian.”

“There’s no such word.  You mean intellectual.  You’re relatively uneducated, aren’t you?”

Snake punched Pete in the nose.  Pete emitted a high-pitched scream as he went down.

“I told you, don’t use words that you don’t know what the fuck they mean!”

Blood spurted from Pete’s nose.  Snake threw Pete’s robot against the wall.

Freaky John smiled.  Fuckin’ intellectuals.  He’d known they’d get along. Unbelievable.

Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.