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.