“Born-againers are exactly the same as mash potatoes,” Snake declared.

Freaky John took a hit off the bong and coughed violently. “Good stuff,” he added, eyes watering. “With or without butter?”

Snake eyed the bong suspiciously. “You’re smokin’ butter, dude?”

“Fuck, no, the potatoes.”

“What potatoes?”

“The ones that are born again.” Freak giggled. “Fuckin’ giant mashed potatoes with crosses on their necks.”

“Potatoes have eyes, not necks,” Snake countered. He took a nice deep hit and held his breath for a minute. “I mean born-again people. All you got to do is get baptized, and you’re saved. Just add water, and bam! Instant God.”

“How do you know? Is that one of those fuckin’ Snapple Facts?”

“No, man, you ever watch that televangel shit on Sunday morning?”

Freak rolled his head back and belched. “Do they have potatoes?”

“No, they only got communion wafers and shit.”

“Oh.” Freak sounded disappointed. “French fries?”

“I said, they only got communion.”

“Baked.”

“Dude, you’re fuckin’ baked, not the potatoes.”

“Unbelievable.” Freak shook his head and poured the crumbs left in the Doritos bag down his throat. “Fuckin’ unreal.”

Snake laughed and took another hit. “I’m glad we can have deep fuckin’ conversations like this.”

Freak smiled benevolently. “It’s cause I’m a student of philosophophy.”

“No, dude, you’re in law school.”

Freaky John grew grave. “Oh, yeah. Unbelievable.”

Copyright 2005 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.